Med K40655 THE LITERATURE AND CURIOSITIES DREAMS: 3 Commonplace 33oolc OF SPECULATIONS CONCERNING THE MYSTERY OF DREAMS AND VISIONS, RECORDS OE CURIOUS AND WELL-AUTHENTICATED DREAMS, AND NOTES ON THE VARIOUS MODES OF INTERPRETATION ADOPTED IN ANCIENT AND MODERN TIMES. FRANI£ SEAFIELD, M.A. SECOND EDITION, REVISED. LONDON: LOCKWOOD & CO., 7 STATIONERS’-HALL COURT. 1869. ! VVtLLCOME lUSTIlSIt ! LIBRARY Icon. welMOmec jcaSi No. VxM .... -- u_ 1 LONDON: LEVEY AND CO., PRINTERS, GREAT NEW STREET, FETTER LANE, E.C. PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION. —*-—■ The great object of this volume has been to select, from all sources, whatever is most characteristic of the opinions which have been held on the subject of Dreams, and of the examples upon which these opinions have been founded. No amount of research has been considered irksome or irrelevant; and it is believed that there is nothing extant in the way of dream- speculation or anecdote which is not fairly and impartially represented. It was not the purpose of the work to throw light merely on one or more corners of the subject; and as there was nothing departmental in the idea, so there has been nothing exclusive in the exposition and the illustration. The crudest opinions of piety or of superstition, from the very twilight of history, are typified, no less than the latest discovery resulting from yesterday’s scientific investigation. Thus it is hoped that the work may claim to be as honest in fact as it is here affirmed to have been in intention. A little praise may perhaps be conceded to it on the score of modesty, when it is seen that the author has foregone such chances of greater credit and importance as would have been PREFACE. open to him if he had seemed to claim the whole as original, by incorporating the several theories and anecdotes with a textual commentary of his own. In trust, however, of finding readers who can appreciate the bearings and the transitions of an argument, and refer to their several classes the anecdotes, which are, in the main, chronologically arranged, he has not thought it right to occupy space with lengthy and neutral- tinted articulations. For the Author’s part of the work, as author, it is sufficient for him to profess that he has done what he could ; and that, especially in the chapter devoted to a survey of the various methods of dream-interpretation, he has endeavoured to place before the reader the results of a treatment as comprehensive as possible. In conclusion, he ventures to hope that his labours in the several departments of his subject, have been prosecuted in such a way as to prepare for him a genial recognition when he next has the honour to appeal to the suffrages of the public. May 24/A, 1865. CONTENTS. PART I. ON DREAMS. CHAPTER I. PLACE OP DREAMS IN SYSTEMS OF DIVINATION. Gravitation of the Human to the Divine—Filial longings—Revelation and its Substitutes—Divination a hack Providence—Principal classes of Diviners—Natural and Artificial Divination—Professor Ferrier on “ fashionable deliraments ”—Opinions of Epicureans, Stoics, and Peri- patetics—Place of Dreams ascertained 3—12 CHAPTER n. ON BIBLICAL DREAMS. Their varieties—Classifications of Moses Amyraldus and Philo Judaeus— Various Theophanic Dreams—Immediate authority—Angelic Appari- tions— Some Dreams suggested by the Devil—Necessity of a Criterion —Morality the test—Pertinence of Scripture Dreams . • . 13—23 CHAPTER III. ON DREAMS AS BEING SENT BY GOD. Various opinions, ancient and modern—Interposition and Law—How to secure a Dream-revelation—The Olympian Deities at Night-work—A Lying Dream—Pedigree of Dreams—Hesiod—Cicero—Opinions of the Greek Tragedians—Herodotus—Philosophers—Christian Fathers—Peter Martyr—Chaucer—Spenser—Bishop Ken—Bishop Bull—AndrewBaxter —Prerogatives of Greatness—Sending a letter to Heaven—Are Divine Dreams to be expected now?—The Affirmative not ridiculous . 24—37 CHAPTER IV. CAUSES, USES, AND PHENOMENA OF DREAMS. Proximate cause of Sleep—Etymology of the word “ Dream ”—Canses of Dreams numberless — Dream-suggestiveness — Dream-prognosis— Unsuspended Activity—Dream-inspiration—Imagination versus Fancy —Vivid reality of Dreams—Dreams as arguments for Immortality— Tracele3S Dreams—Heraclitus—Herrick—Magnificent Phenomena of Dreams—Time and Space—Intellectual value — Moral value—The Dream a Law unto itself—Appeal from Waking to Sleeping . 38—51 CHAPTER Y. ONEIROCRITICA, OR MODES OF DREAM-INTERPRETATION', ANCIENT AND MODERN. Antiquity of Oneirocriticism—General identity of Method—Dream- analysis—Dreams of Nebuchadnezzar—Penelope’s Dream interpreted by Ulysses—Claims of Amphictyon—Cradle of Oneirocriticism—Skill of the Telmessians—Specimen—How to avert a threatened evil—The Choephorae—Electra—Hecuba—Effects of Herbs on Dreams—Effects of times and seasons on the frequency and value of Dreams—An Athenian Oneirocritic—More sides than one to a Dream—Artemidorqs —Scepticism of Bayle—Signification of objects seen in Dreams—Classi- fication of Macrobius—Subdivisions of the “ Somnium ”—Astrampsy- chus and his Century of Oracles—The Sifat-i-Sirozah—Gabdorrhacha- man—Abstract of “ L’Onirocrite Mussulman”—Professor Vattier— The “ De Insomniis” of Synesius—Achmet—Jerome Cardan—Maio— Rabelais—Pantagruel on Dreams—Necessity of an Interpreter—Tem- perance necessary to procure Prophetic Dreams—Inconveniences of Hunger—Panurge suggests a Charm—The two gates of Sleep — Raphael—“ The Royal Book of Dreams ”—The Art of “ Sephromancy ” —Sephromancy exemplified—M. Nicholas Oudot and his Dream-pub- lications—Dreams and Lovers— The present condition of Oneirocri- ticism 52—95 PART n. OPINIONS ON DREAMS. CHAPTER I. ORIGIN OF DREAMS. Summary of Opinions amongst the Ancients—Opinions of Fathers and Schoolmen—Conviction of Josephus — Philip Goodwin — Survey of Dreams Self-Examination—The Devil in Dreams—Sleep amenable to Law—Evil Dreams prevented—Dreams from God both possible and actual—Theosophy of Dreams—Encouragement of Good Dreams—To be prayed for, and turned to account—John Sheppard—Dreams as Theocratic Instruments—Bishop Bull—Ministry of Angels—Bishop Ken—St. Michael—Hymnotheo, or the Penitent—Baptist°Magazine— Two Classes of Angelic Visitants—Dr. Johnson’s Prayer—Adopted by Vll Boswell—Bov. Alfred Barry—The Dream an Obsolescent Medium Professor Haven—Four possible Solutions of the Facts of Dreams Dr. Frederick Hoffmann—Dignity of the Mind in Sleep—Pliny the Younger—The Advocate in doubt—Virtue versus Omens—Doubt the bar to action 99—121 CHAPTER II. ON DREAMS AS ARGUMENTS FOR IMMORTALITY. Opinion of Cyrus the Elder—Richard Baxter—The Soul never inactive —Bishop Butler—Immediate Mental Perception — Dr. Young on Dreams—Bishop Newton—Mind and Body distinct substances—Leon- hard Euler—Sleep illustrating Death—Prebendary Broughton—The Soul’s material vehicle—Frederick C. Bakewell—Argument from probability—Independence of Intellectual processes—Argument from Phenomena—Sir Walter Scott—The Living and the Dead—Crises of Feeling—Tendency of Coincidences—Mrs. Sigourney—Spiritual Per- ception—Lord Brougham—Separate Existence possible—John New- ton—Hymn on Dreaming—Life a Dream ....... 122—132 CHAPTER III. ON DREAMS AS PROPHETIC, PREMONITORY, ETC. Gonzalo—Why the Soul may Prophesy in Sleep—Rev. Mr. Greaves on Dreams—James Beattie—Objections to the Prophetic Character of Dreams—Superstitious credence — Coincidences to be expected — Journal of Psychological Medicine—Prophecy and Instinctive Anticipa- tion—Sir Thomas Browne—Gratitude for Happy Dreams—More than ourselves in Sleep—Liberty of Reason — Illumination of the Dying 133—139 CHAPTER IV. RESPONSIBILITY AND MORAL USES OF DREAMS. Sir Thomas Browne “ On Dreams ”—Zeno—Touchstone of Morals— Dream of Hilpo—James Beattie—Qualified Self-examination—Regula- tion of the Passions—Pinnock’s Guide to Knowledge—The Judgment off Guard—Exaggerated license of the inferior faculties—Dreams may be corrective of Evil—And may stimulate to Good—Journal of Psycho- logical Medicine—Dreams dependent on Habit—Spontaneous behaviour —A Good Man should never be off his guard—Phases of Dreams— Caprices—Study of the laws of God recommended . . . 140—149 CHAPTER V. STATE OF THE MIND IN SLEEP AND DREAMS. John Locke—The Mind not always active—Hypothetical duality—No thought without traces—Vanity of resultless Mental Activity—State- ment of alternatives—The Soul at fault—The Soul not always thinking — Dr. Watts — The Soul never intermits its activity — Unity of person — The Soul vindicated—Defence of traceless Ideas— Ceaseless activity God-like — The Soul free and immortal—Scots Magazine—Waking Ideas frequently traceless—Andrew Baxter—The Soul does not act by itself—Will never unconscious—Involuntary obtrusion—The Soul does not evolve dreams—Agents external to the Soul—Possible causes—Chance and bodily mechanism—Matter not automatic—Dreams have an intelligent cause—William Smellie—Pos- sibility of Supernatural Suggestions—Thomas Cromwell—Argument for Immortality repudiated—The Brain partially awake—Against Andrew Baxter—David Hartley—Causes and occasions of Dreams— Theory of Vibrations—Reasons for various Phenomena—Corollaries— Erasmus Darwin—Dreams received by the senses—Ceaseless flow of Ideas—Nerves of Sense—Criterion of Volition—Characteristics of Dreams—Robert Dunn—Unconscious reflex action—Dugald Stewart— Volition without power—Confusion of Dr. Darwin—Spurzheim—Acti- vity of particular Organs—Robert Dunglison—Dreams a partial waking of animal life—Gall’s Theory of Plurality—Andrew Carmichael—Pro- gressive complications of the severally waking Organs—Robert Macnish —Phrenological Analysis—Edward Binns—Phrenology does not Ex- plain all Dreams—Andrew Carmichael—A septenary scale—Phrenolo- gical genesis of Dreams—Dreaming of Dreaming—Perfect Sleep— Christian Spectator—The Organic theory repudiated—Phrenology un- satisfactory—Irregular irregularity—Cerebral irritation—The Senses in Dreams—Probable Volition—John C. Colquhoun—Remembrance of Dreams—Corporeal Organism—Interruption of Harmony . 150—198 CHAPTER VI. MISCELLANEOUS PHENOMENA. Ovid—Poetic Personality—Morpheus and his Relatives—Lucian—The Island of Dreams—J. Muller—Worthless Reasoning of Dreams—John Abercrombie — Various Characteristics — James Beattie — Difference and Analogy—Dido and Eloisa—Coincidences—Recurrence—Morning Dreams—James Hinton—Relative truth of Illusions—James Hogg, the Ettrick Shepherd—Facts, not Philosophy—Uselessness of Speculation — Thomas Churchyarde—Dignity of Dreams—Spectator—Excellency of the Soul—Intensity of Dream-life —Relation of the Soul to the Body — Blessings and mishaps of Dreams—Slighted valour of Gladio—A Conflagration prevented—Impertinence of Street-cries—Unconscious Philanthropy—Pledges of Affection—Notes and Queries — Thomas, Lord Lyttleton—Walter C. Dendy—Suspension of Judgment—Sound Sleep Dreamless—Multiplicity of Being—William Shakespeare—Freaks of Queen Mab—Infinite Expansion of Moments—John Dryden— Intellectual Saturnalia—Scots Magaziue—Double Identity—Lucre- Hus Professional Association— Lord Byron—“ Sleep hath its own World ’ Dean Swift “ On Dreams ”—Lord Brougham—Time under Dream pressure—Nodding and Dictating 199—232 CHAPTER VII. ANALOGIES OF DREAMING AND INSANITY. Edward Binns—Dreamers and Maniacs—M. Moreau—Transmutation of Personality—Time in Dreams and in Insanity—Duration and Uncon- scious Impressions—Brierre de Boismont—Hallucinations and their Modifications—Dreams taken for Waking Realities—Sir Henry Holland —Analogical caprices of Reverie—Dreams of Children—Henry Monro —The Reasoning Faculties—Mystery of Dreams—Walter C. Dendy— Moral Causes of Dreaming—Hobbes’s Illustration—Communities of the Senses—Want of the Senses—Instrument of Consciousness—How Fulfilment may be a Consequence—Physical Causes of Dreams— Influence of Dark Blood in the Brain—Requisites of Natural Action— Languid Arterial Circulation 233—248 CHAPTER VIII. PSYCHOLOGY, ETC., OF DREAMING. Leopold H. Grindon—Certissima Mortis Imago—The Imagination— Dreams as Spiritual Phenomena—Duality and Distinction of Substance —It is the Soul that remembers—Medical Critic—Conspectus of Opinions—Psychical aspect of Sleep—Journal of Psychological Medicine —William Shakespeare—Clai'ence’s Dream true to Nature—“ A Glimpse at the possibility of Omniscience 249—258 CHAPTER IX. PHYSIOLOGY AND PATHOLOGY OF DREAMING. Thomas Hobbes—Dreams caused by Distempers—Journal of Psycho- logical Medicine—The Sense of Smell a Suggestive Cause—Lodging at a Cheesemonger’s—A Camisado—A singular Epidemic—The obsti- nate Pedals—Sir Henry Holland—The Physiology of Sleep—Never absolutely Dreamless—Fluctuating condition—Medical Critic—Sensa- tions of Dreams—Experiments of M. Maury—M. Macario’s Division— Morbid Dreams—Effects of Diseases—Formey’s “Essai sur les Songes” —Disturbance of the Interior extremity of the Nerves—Arthur E. Durham—Partial activity of nervous centres—Sir Benjamin C. Brodie —Physical Organisms of the Mind—Crowding of Events—Various results of impressions—Theory of Transition—Dreams and Memory. 259—279 CHAPTER X. DREAMS OF ANIMALS. Aristotle—All Viviparous Animals Dream—Oviparous Animals possibly Dream—Dreams and Dreamlessness—Pliny—Undecided Questions— Count de Buffon—Dreams independent of the Soul—Animal inability to distinguish Dreaming from Waking Impressions—Robert Macnish— Dreaming a universal Law—Horses—Dogs—The Ruminantia—Walter C. Dendy—Animals likely to Dream—Memory is the test of this power—An Imaginative Dunnock—Dream-Melody—Answer to Aris- totle 280-284 PART III. DREAMS, ANCIENT AND MODERN. Dream of Achilles—Dream of the Mother of Zartusht—Series of Dreams from Herodotus—Croesus— Sabacon—Sethon—Otanes—Hipparchus— Xerxes—Artabanus—Pherecydes—Socrates — Xenophon — Alexander the Great and Jaddua the High Priest—Hyrcanus— Calpurnia—Series of Dreams from Cicero—Dream of Hecuba—Tarquin—Mother of Phalaris — Cyrus—Hannibal—Hamilcar—Publius—Decius—Detective Dream of Sophocles—A Roman Rustic—Appearance of Tiberius Gracchus to his brother Caius—Preserving Dream of Simonides—The Two Arca- dians—Cicero’s Dream—Imperial Dreams—Tiberius—Caligula—Clau- dius—Nero—Vespasian—Domitian—Fannius’ History cut short—The Dreams of a Neophyte—Dreams and Visions about the death of the Emperor Julian—The Genius of the Empire—Monica and Augustine— Genadius persuaded—King Arthur’s Dream and its fulfilment—The Story of Caedmon—Dunstan—Anselm—Fate of William Rufus fore- shadowed—Henry more pious than Rufus—Eagle and Seven Missiles —The Scribe and the Angels—Mystical Dream of Giraldus Cambrensis —Case of Walter de Barri—Charles VI. flies a Falcon in a Dream— The Flying Hart—Vision of Ingulphus—Thomas a Becket a razer of Walls—Dream of Chaunteclere—Sir Thomas More’s eminence foretold —Dr. Faustus Dreams of Hell—Symbolical Dream of the Emperor of Saxony—Polemical Dream of Zuinglius—A King in a ditch —Bene- volent imprisonment—Sir Thomas Wotton—Joannes Maria Mauro- cenus—Ludovicus Madius—The Legend of the Swaffham Tinker — Bishop Hall’s Mother—Bread eaten in secret—Wallenstein’s Dreams— Dream in an Unknown Tongue—Henry the Second of France warned in vain—Lord Strafford’s Death mysteriously represented—Van Hel- mont listens to a Bottle and sees his own Soul—Peter Sterry makes a mistake—Milton’s Dream-Sonnet—A Nnmismatologist providentially enlightened—A Lady foretells her Death, and justifies her prediction —Thirteen at Supper—The lot falls on the Chaplain—An Island of the Blessed—Madame Guyon’s Dream and its Analysis—Not to be done to death by a Dream-bully—Series of Dreams from John Aubrey— Archbishop Abbot’s Mother—Doctor Harvey’s Life preserved—Nine Finches—Premonitions of the Death of Friends—A Triple Elm-tree— Admiral Dean’s Wife—Robbery and murder of Mr. Stockden dis- covered through a series of Dreams—Determination of Dr. Reid— Mrs. Griffiths’ Dream saves her nephew’s life—Dreams of Emanuel Swedenborg—A Dumb Man recovers Speech—Zimmermann’s Dream —The Man in the Bine Coat—Dr. Johnson’s Wit Contest—Murder and Conviction in Ireland—A native of Alderney’s dream—Coleridge’s Kubla Khan—Dr. Cromwell’s Dream-poem—The Sacrilegious Dentist —Richter’s Appreciation of Dreams—His “ Dream upon the Universe ” —Joanna Southcott—Dreams of the English Opium-eater—The Lottery Ticket— Dream of Count de Lavalette—Murderer Self-dis- covered—Dreams dictated by External Suggestions—Remarks and Examples of Dr. Abercrombie—A Volunteer’s Dream—A Bank-defi- ciency—The Portugal piece of Gold—Domestic anxiety vindicated— A Patient’s Wife—Prevention of Murder—The Devil accepts a Substi- tute—A vain Dream—The Church Ladle—Simultaneous Stoppages— Spectral and Dream testimony—Discovery of the Red Barn Murder— The Idiot Detective—Various Dreams from Chambers’s “ Edinburgh Journal ”—An unexpected Illness—A Visitor—The withered Branch— Preservation of Life foretold— A Dream as it should be—The Avenger of Blood—The Dream Log-book—Lady Nunehara’s Dream—Case of Captain Anstruther—A Dream of Conscience—A Dream of Affection— An Officer announces his Death—Dream of Africaner—Retributive Justice—A Bundle of Dreams from the Night-side of Nature —A strange Bishop—Major Andre’s Death prefigured—Letter to a Dead Brother— Evidence of the Brooms—The Visionary Axe—A Lawyer and his Clients—Dr. Fosgate’s Father Rides on thin Ice—A Dream of Dream- ing—Dream Testimony—Legal Responsibility of Dreamers—Azrael and his Impersonator—Singular Prognostication—Out of his Bed— The Little Black Boy—General Historical Review—Argumentative value of General Belief. 287—496 APPENDIX. Dictionary of Interpretations, from Artemidorus and others . 497—518 LIST OF THE PRINCIPAL AUTHORS, TREATISES, AND OPINIONS CITED OR QUOTED IN THIS WORK. Abercrombie, John : Inquiries con- cerning the Intellectual Powers. Achmet: Oneirocritica. Addison, Joseph: Spectator. FEschylus : Agamemnon ; Choe- phorse. Ammianns Marcellinus : History. Amyraldus, Moses : Discourse con- cerning Divine Dreams. Anecdotes for Youth. Apuleius : Metamorphoses. Aquinas, Thomas. Aristotle : History of Animals. Artemidorus: Oneirocritica. Astrampsychus : Oneirocriticon. Aubrey, John : Miscellanies. Augustine: Confessions. Bakewell, Frederick C.: Natural Evidence of a Future Life. Baptist Magazine. Barry, Alfred: Dr. W. Smith’s Dictionary of the Bible. Baxter, Andrew : Inquiry into the Nature of the Human Soul. Baxter, Richard: the Reasons of the Christian Religion. Bayle, Peter. Beattie, James : Dissertations, Moral and Critical. Beaumont, John: An Historical, Physiological, and Theological Treatise of Spirits. Bede : Ecclesiastical History. Bernard, St. Binns, Edward: Anatomy of Sleep. Blackwood’s Magazine. Boismont, Brierre de : Natural History of Hallucinations. Boswell, James: Life of Dr. John- son. Brodie, Sir Benjamin: Psycholo- gical Inquiries. Brougham, Lord : Discourse of Natural Theology. Broughton, Thomas: A Prospect of Futurity. Browne, Sir Thomas : Religio Medici: On Dreams. Bulfon, Count de: Natural History. Bull, Bishop : The Office of the Holy Angels towards the Faith- ful. Burnet, Bishop : Life and Death of John, Earl of Rochester. Burton, John Hill: Narratives from Criminal Trials in Scotland. Butler, Bishop : Analogy of Reli- gion. Butler, Samuel: Hudibras. Byron, Lord: The Dream. Cardan, Jerome: Somniorum Syne- siorum omnis generis Insomnia explicantes Libri IY. Carmichael, Andrew : Essay on Dreaming; Memoir of the Life and Philosophy of Spurzheim. Catherine de Medicis. Chambers’s Edinburgh Journal. Chaucer, Geoffrey: The Nonnes Preestes Tale. Christian Spectator. Chrysippus. Churchyarde, Thomas: Chippes. Cicero : De Divinatione; De Natura Deorum. Clerk, Lady, of Penicuick. Coleridge, Samuel Taylor: Kubla Khan, or a Vision in a Dream. Colquhoun, John 0.: Isis Revelata. Cowper, Bishop. Cromwell, Thomas : The Soul and the Future Life. Crowe, Mrs.: Night Side of Nature. Cudworth, Ralph : Treatise con- cerning Eternal and Immutable Morality. Cuspinianus, Joannes : De Csesari- bus et Imperatoribus Romano- rum. Cyprian. Cyrus the Elder. Darwin, Erasmus : Zoonomia; or the Laws of Organic Life. D’Aubigne, J. H. Merle : History of the Reformation in the Six- teenth Century. Democritus. Dendy, Walter C.: Phenomena of Dreams : Philosophy of Mystery. Dicaearchus. Diogenes Laertius: Lives of the Philosophers. Dryden, John. Dublin Penny Magazine. Dublin University Magazine. Dunglison, Robert: Human Phy- siology. Dunn, Robert: An Essay on Phy- siological Psychology. Durham, Arthur E.: Physiology of Sleep. Ennius. Epictetus. Epicurus. Euler, Leonhard : Letters to a Ger- man Princess on Subjects in Physics and Philosophy, Euripides : Hecuba. Eusebius : Ecclesiastical History, Faustus, Dr., Life and Death of. Ferrier, Professor : Institutes of Metaphysic. Formey, Jean Henri Samuel : Melanges Philosophiques. Fosgate, Blanchard: Sleep Psycho- logically considered, with refe- rence to Sensation and Memory. Fregoso, Battista: De Dictis et Facbis memorabilibus. Froissart, Sir John: Chronicles. Gabdorrhachaman : L’Onirocrite Mussulman. Galen. Gall, Franz Joseph: Sur les fonc* tions du Cerveau et sur celles de chacune de ses parties. Gentleman’s Magazine. Geoffrey of Monmouth: British History. Giraldus Cambrensis : Topography of Ireland; History of the Con- quest of Ireland. Gonzalo : The Divine Dreamer. Goodwin, Philip : Mystery of Dreams historically considered. Greaves, Rev. Mr.: On Dreams. Grindon, Leopold Hartley: Life, its Nature, Varieties, and Pheno- mena. Grotius, Hugo: Epistles. Guyon, Madame de la Mothe. Hall, Bishop : Shaking of the Olive- tree. Harpsfield, Nicholas : Life of Sir Thomas More. Hartley, David: Observations on Man. Haven, Professor: Mental Philo- sophy ; including the Intellect, Sensibilities, and Will. Helmont, Joannes Baptista van: Ortus Medicinaj; id est, Initia Physicee Inaudita. Henry of Huntingdon : History. Heraclitus. Herodotus : History. Herophilus. Herrick, Eobert: Ilesperides. Hesiod: Theogony. Hinton, James: Man and bis Dwell- ing-place. Hobbes, Thomas: Leviathan. Hoffmann, Frederick: De optima Philosophandi Eatione. Hogg, James : The Shepherd’s Calendar. Holinshed, Eaphael: Chronicles of England, Ireland, and Scotland. Holland, Sir Henry : Chapters on Mental Physiology ; Medical Notes and Eeflections. Homer : Iliad ; Odyssey. Hoveden, Eoger de : Annals. Ingulphus : History of the Abbey of Croyland. Jocelyn, Lord: Six Months with the Chinese Expedition. Johnson, Dr. Samuel. Jonson, Ben. Josephus: Antiquities of the Jews; Wars of the Jews. Jouffroy, Thomas Simon : Melanges Philosophiques. Journal of Psychological Medicine. Jung-Stilling, Johann Heinrich: Theorie der Geister-Kunde. Ken, Bishop : Hymns; Anodynes ; Hymnotheo, or the Penitent. Knape, Christ.: Moritz’s Experi- mental Psychology. Lactantius. Lane, Edward William : The Thou- sand and One Nights. Lavalette, Count de. Lavater, J. C. : Glimpses into Eternity. Locke, John : Essay on the Human Understanding. London Magazine. Lucian. Lucretius : De Eerum Natura. Luna, Juan de: Life of Lazarillo de Tonnes. Luther, Martin. Macario, ManrizioMartino Antonio: Du Sommeil, des Eeves, et du Somnambulisme dans l’etat de Sante et de Maladie. Macnish, Eobert: Philosophy of Sleep. Macrobius : Commentary on “ Som- nium Scipionis.” Magaret of Navarre. Martyr, Peter: Common-places. Matthew Paris: The Greater His- tory. Matthew of Westminster: Flowers of History. Maury, L. F. Alfred : Le Sommeil et les Eeves ; Utudes Psycholo- giques sur ces Phenomenes. Medical Critic and Psychological Journal. Mercure Galant. Millingen, J. D. : Curiosities of Medical Experience. Milton, John : Sonnet on his Deceased Wife. Mirror of Literature. Moffat,Eobert: Missionary Labours and Scenes in Southern Africa. Monro, Henry: Eemarks on In- sanity. Moreau, M.: On the Identity of Dreaming with Insanity. Muller, J.: Elements of Physiology. Newspapers, etc., various. Newton, Bishop : Dissertations. Newton, John: Olney Hymns. Notes and Queries. Ordericus Vitalis: Ecclesiastical History. Ovid: Metamorphoses. Pepys, Samuel: Diary and Corres- pondence. Philo Judaeus: On Dreams being sent by God. Philosophical Transactions. Pindar. Pinnock’s Guide to Knowledge. Plato. Pliny the Elder: Natural History. Pliny the Younger: Letters. xvx PRINCIPAL AUTHORITIES CITED IN THIS WORK. Plutarch: Lives ; Morals. Porphyry. Poseidonius. Quincey, Thomas de : Confessions of an English Opium Eater. Rabelais, Francis: Life of Gar- gantua and of Panta gruel. Raphael: Royal Book of Dreams. Reid, Thomas : Letter to Rev. William Gregory. Richter, Jean Paul F.: Dream upon the Universe. Schiller, J. C. F. : Piccolomini; Death of Wallenstein. Scots Magazine. Scott, Sir Walter: Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft. Shakespeare, William : Romeo and Juliet; Richard the Third. Sheppard, John: On Dreams in their Mental and Moral Aspects. Sifat-i-Sirozah. Sigourney, Mrs.: Pocahontas, and other Poems. Smellie, William: Philosophy of Natural History. Socrates. Sophocles: Electra. Southcott, Joanna: Letters and Communications. Sozomen: Ecclesiastical History. Spectator. Spenser, Edmund : The Faerie Queene. Spurzheim, Johann Caspar: Out- lines of the Physiognomical System of Drs. Gall and Spurz- heim. Squire, Archdeacon: Case of Henry Axford. Stewart, Dugald: Collected Works. Strabo. Suetonius : Lives of the Csesars. Suidas. Synesius. Swedenborg, Emanuel. Swift, Dean : On Dreams. Talbot, Hon. Mr. Tertullian. Testaments, Old and New. Townley, Miss. Universal Magazine. Upham, Thomas C. : Life and Religious Opinions of Madame de la Mothe Guyon. Yinsauf, Geoffrey de: Itinerary of Richard I. and others to the Holy Land. Walton, Izaak: Life of Sir Henry Wotton. Watts,Isaac; Philosophical Essays. William of Malmesbury. Wilson, Dr.: The Parsi Religion, as contained in the Zand-Avasta. Xenophon : Anabasis ; Cyropaedia. Young, Edward: Night-Thoughts on Life, Death, and Immortality. Zartusht-Behram : Zartusht-Na- mah, or Life of Zoroaster. Zeno. ON DREAMS. 1 ON DREAMS. CHAPTER I. PLACE OF DREAMS IN SYSTEMS OF DIVINATION. There is, perhaps, in human nature no instinct more charac- teristically human than that which shrinks from isolation. The old physical formula to the effect that nature abhors a vacuum, might, by the easiest of transitions, be capable of a civil adaptation. Every one, from Adam to Campbell’s Last Man, with Cowper’s Alexander Selkirk for a middle term,— Timon of Athens only excepted, and he questionably—rather than be alone in a depopulated world, would endure to live in a society to which he was bound only by the ties of a universal antipathy. Even on the amiable hypothesis that man is a beast of prey, it is evident that it is necessary for him to be with- in reach of his quarry: that he must be gregarious, if only in fulfilment of his tendencies to predacity. Such a supposition enables us to state the case in the strongest possible manner ; for if a social attraction even of antagonism be admitted, there is no difficulty in establishing an a fortiori argument whenever the attraction of cohesion is agitated,—whenever, that is, regard is had to man from the brighter and softer side of his character and disposition. But amongst the necessities of man’s nature, there is that of still another fellowship. He may he gregarious ; hut he is the object of longings which cannot be appeased by the sym- pathy, or indeed by the society, if that were possible, of the aggregate of the race. His social life may be satisfactory; his relations to his kindred and his fellow-citizens may be kindly and complete; but amidst social and family complete- ness and satisfaction, he is conscious, by reason of his proper will and personality, of a magnificent loneliness. There are one or two important senses in which every man is the only man in the universe. Each is cut off from his kind, while still in their midst, as ship is severed from ship in mid-ocean ; or as an insular star that, across the unphenomenal wastes of space, remotely twinkles to its fellows. Yet, as the orbs of heaven gravitate in their motions towards the central and dominant lord of their system, so does man gravitate, not only towards something of kin to himself or greater than himself, but towards something which is infinitely inclusive of himself and all his peers. There is, then, in man an attraction to the mysterious and the comprehensive which could not be satisfied even if, in the fruition of a sublime incontinence, he throbbed with every heart, swelled with every wave, or shared the tiny pulsations of every leaf. “ Man,” says Protagoras, “ is the measure of the universeand this boast is half a truth, for man is a little greater than anything or everything in the material world that he can imagine. He chafes at every hypothetical limita- tion. The universe in its entirety may be beyond him ; but he knows that he can penetrate beyond every conceivable part thereof. And for the rest, whilst in the sphere of exten- sion he is forced to introduce negations into his vocabulary, and to confess the Indefinite, the Boundless, the Infinite,—in the sphere of morals and ontology he can still find affirmative vocables, and call the Infinite by the determinate names of the Self-existent, the Creator, the Disposer, the Good. Nothing less than a felt if inexplicable relation to this Being, whom he can realize if not understand—apprehend if FILIAL LONGINGS. not comprehend—will satisfy the aspirations of his nature. The divine remoteness and insouciance of Epicurus and Lord Herbert of Cherbury can never be satisfactory to the general heart, which, out of a postulated God, will, as the Stoics recog- nized, by its own imperative logic, compel a Providence. Man will not deify law and statistics, but in a created universe demands to be placed en rapport with the Creator. If he has a father, he will not abdicate the privileges of being the recog- nized offspring of that father. He is no foundling, and declines to be nurtured on the lap of circumstance. “'The wise may, indeed,” says Dio Chrysostom in his twelfth Oration, —“ the wise may, indeed, adore the gods as being far from us ; but there exists in all men an eager longing to adore and worship the gods as nigh. For as children, tom from father and mother, feel a powerful and affectionate longing, often stretch out their hands after their absent parents, and often dream of them,—so the man who heartily loves the gods for their benevolence towards us and their relationship with us, desires to be continually near them, and to have intercourse with them; so that many barbarians, ignorant of the arts, have called the very mountains and trees gods, that they might recognize them as nearer to themselves.” We are aware that the particular office for which the Greek rhetorician used the pathetic assertion just quoted was one in extenuation or explanation of the popular tendency to stay the devout recog- nition of the gods through symbols and statues, at an idolatry which consisted in a worship that went no further than the divine representatives. But the truth is a general one, and to our purpose. The problem was to bring the gods nigh, within the ken and the habitude of the daily thought and experience of mankind ; to realize their rule and goveimance ; to observe the facts of their interference, and inductively to discover the laws by which they manifested their will and purposes. A solution of this problem had from the first been given to mankind; the intimacy in the beginning had been so close as. REVELATION AND ITS SUBSTITUTES. to be described in our Holy Writings as a face-to-face com- munion. Later, after the cessation of this most intimate com- munion, a revelation had been accorded, which, dawning in cloud and mist, went on to the clearness and lustre of noontide, —a revelation which, at its source narrow and shallow, flowed on, ever increasing in breadth and profundity as the mind of man was educated, opened up and opened out, to receive it. The greater part of the ancient world, however, impatient of the moral restraints and penalties which were the conditions of its enjoyment, cast themselves adrift at once from its duties and its privileges. Still the necessity remained of keeping up, on .some terms or other, the connection between heaven and earth. If the contemned celestial light were withdrawn, it must be approximately compensated by a Promethean theft of fire. If the ladder of angelic descent and ascent were folded up, tentative scaling-ladders, which the bitter experience of ages demonstrated to be too short by at least a hair’s breadth, were to be planted in the direction of the sky. Thus, throughout the Gentile world, in the place of Revelation, which was God’s method of exhibiting his plans from above, arose the art and practice of divination, which was man’s method of peering into them from below. But also with the people amongst whom, on account of a peculiar favour rather than a peculiar desert, the line of suc- cessive revelations was kept unbroken, there arose an im- patience for indications more circumstantially minute and practical than were consistent with the terms of a revela- tion which had principally to do with things of principal interest; and which, laying down general laws and insisting upon general moral sequences, left particular cases to be solved, in the light of these and with the guidance of the individual conscience, by a less or more painful process of ratiocination. Prom this process the sluggish or stupid Jew recoiled; and as the Gentile had set up Divination as a succedaneous revela- tion, so the Jew erected it as a subsidiary or supplementary •one. Both Jew and Gentile agreed in this that it was con- venient to have a hack Providence, which would work to order in imperial trappings, and not refuse to swink in any the most vulgar of hayband harness. If a coop of consecrated chickens, martyrs to the pip or to ‘ neuralgia, were off their feed, it was divinely intimated that two impatient fleets were to ride an inactive burden on the weighted tide ; or that the swords and spears of serried thou- sands were to rest upon the tented field inglorious and unstained. If a city were engulphed in the un distended maw of an earthquake, or the life of a district consigned to seething petrifaction by the hideous ruin and combustion of volcanic lava—if through the opened casements of Inferno strange fires flashed as lightning over half a cowering world ; or if clouds of night, mutually defiant, crashed and bellowed forth a thundering remonstrance, it was divinely insinuated that it would be prudent for some snivelling goatherd and whimper- ing shepherdess to forego the day that should give them the right of tending, without scandel, their savoury cattle in common. Divination is easily recognized, in such examples as these, as a reductio ad dbsurdum of the doctrine of a parti- cular providence. Mention is made in the Scriptures (Deuteronomy xviii. 10, 11, and elsewhere), of nine principal kinds of divination, against which the Jews—who had become tainted with the superstitions of Egypt, a country which served also as the school of the Western world in the abstruse and occult sciences—were especially to be upon their guard. (1.) The first of these was founded on the inspection of the planets, stars, and clouds. It is familiar to us as judicial or apo- telesmatic astrology ; and its professors were named by Moses meonen, from anan, a cloud. (2.) The practisers of the second are called by Moses menacheseh, a term for which the Vulgate and the generality of interpreters have given augur as an equivalent. (3.) The masters of the third are called mecas- chepli, a term of which the Septuagint and Vulgate equivalents bear that they were men given to evil practices. (4.) The fourth kind of divination was professed by the hhober, or enchanters. (5.) The fifth class of diviners were those who Interrogated the spirits called Python. (6.) The sixth were witches or magicians, and were called by Moses judeoni. (7.) The seventh were necromancers—persons, that is, who consulted the dead. (8.) The eighth were those who were accustomed to ask council of stocks and staves, a species of divination know as rhabdomancy, and bitterly denounced by the prophet ITosea. (9.) The ninth and last principal kind of divination mentioned in the Bible (Ezekiel xxi. 21) is hepatas- copy, or the inspection of the liver. Besides these, slighter or incidental allusion is made to divers and miscellaneous methods of evoking the spirit of the distant or the future, of inquiring into the unknown and the remote, whether of time or space,— a practice to which not the Jews alone, but all men in all ages have exhibited a clinamen. The particular kinds of instruments of divination have varied with the varying aspects and forces of nature, the con- figuration of the earth’s surface, and the character of its pro- ductions ; its altitude, flatness, or depression ; its heat or cold, barrenness or fertility; and also with the meteorological phenomena which gave effect and interest to its daily or noc- turnal heaven. Thus the Assyrians, as pointed out by Cicero, “ as a natural consequence of the champaign country in which they lived, and of the vast extent of their territories, which led them to observe the heavens which lay open to their view in every direction, began to take notice of the paths and motions of the stars ; and having taken these observations for some time, they handed down to their posterity information as to what was indicated by their various positions and revolutions. And among the Assyrians, the Chaldaeans, a tribe who had this name not from any art which they professed, but from the district which they inhabited, by a very long course of observation of the stars, are considered to have established a complete science, so that it became possible to predict what would happen to each individual, and with what destiny each separate person was born. The Egyptians, also, are believed to have acquired the knowledge of the same art by a continued practice of it, extending through countless ages. But the nations of the Cilicians and Pisidians, and the Pamphylians, who border on them, nations which we ourselves have had under our government, think that future events are pointed out by the flight and voices of birds as the surest of all indications. And when was there ever an instance of Greece sending any colony into ^Eolia, Ionia, Asia, Sicily, or Italy, without con- sulting the Pythian or Dodontean oracle, or that of Jupiter Hammon ? Or when did that nation ever undertake a war without first asking counsel of the gods ?”* Divination was discriminated by the ancients as (1) Natural, and (2) Artificial. It suits our purpose to take up, first, the second of these divisions, as, with a summary notice, it may be dismissed and forgotten; whilst the remainder of our pages must be narrative and illustrative of a mass of facts of a kind which the all but universal genius' of antiquity referred at least to the first division, and which were frequently shown to be susceptible of such elaborate and yuasi-scientific inter- pretations as sometimes—under the generalized name of onei- romancy—bore them well over into the marches of the second. The whole superstructure of divination as an art is based upon that species of popular fallacy which, more than three centuries ago, made the sanding-up of Sandwich Haven con- fidently appear to local senility as the result of the erection of Tentcrden steeple,—that popular fallacy which, eternally con- founding \h.e post hoc with the propter hoc, doggedly refuses to separate or distinguish between sequences and consequences, causes and antecedents. The science was a violent codifica- tion, a forcible linking together of facts coincident but inde- pendent and irrelevant. The circumstance of its being an air- castle did not, however, hinder its halls and closets, galleries and passages, from being planned with precision ; so that the prin- ciples of specific sciences of the genus divination were less or more minutely laid down and recognized. The method of arti- ficial divination, indeed, as being inductive and experimental, had some pretensions to correctness ; for its laws developed from the embryo of hypothesis and conjecture; and as they had been painfully elaborated by its founders, so they had to be patiently acquired by its students. It was rather the faculty of observation that was primarily vicious and defective. The falsehood lurked in the postulates of the science. Its diva- rication from truth was at the outset; and no after decorum of pace could suffice to give propriety to the direction. The instruments of artificial divination were as numerous as the productions of nature. Observations were made, inter alia, on the heavenly bodies, and on the various meteorological phenomena; on the cries and the flight of birds; on trees, plants, beans, flour, and vegetables generally; on rain and bodies of water; on goats, rats, and other quadrupeds ; on cocks, eggs, and cheese ; on numbers, dice, staves or wands, mirrors, stones, tablets, and knuckle-bones ; on paroxysmal affections, as sneezing and laughing, and on involuntary motions of the body ; on the body itself, and its parts, as the entrails of men and of other animals, the hair, the skull, the eyes, the forehead and physiognomy, the lines of the hand, the blood, and the liver ; on men and women, boys and virgins, on the name and on the nativity of the consulter; and on the clefts, cracks, and projections of the earth’s surface. Divination was further practised by means of libations of wine; the summoning of the dead, and the evoking of demons ; the description of circles ; the consultation of the poets, chiefly of Homer, Virgil, and the Sibylline verses ; and again, by means of fire, shadows, ashes on the hearth, and the fumes of incense. Of the innumerable branches of divination with which the Druids alone were acquainted, no fewer than thirty-three have been tabulated. In fact, there was scarcely anything visible, tangible, sensible, or thinkable, that might not be made sub- servient to the purposes of the monopolists of the knowledge of the rules of interpretation. And to this day, so strong are the affinities of human nature with stupidity and superstition, that the belief in the efficacy of many of these old-world modes of divination—not to mention that an inventive ingenuity has not been idle—is by no means universally exploded. Even when that shall happen, it will be difficult to calculate how many centuries must elapse before the tendency to mysterious consultations is eradicated.* Natural divination was conversant about “ presentiments of future events, not proceeding by reason or conjecture, nor on the observation and consideration of particular signs; but yielding to some excitement of mind, or to some unknown influence subject to no precise rules or restraint,—as is often * There is so much flavour and heartiness in the late Professor Ferrier’s denunciations of the modern developments and caricatures of divination, that they are worthy of transcription in a footnote. “ The supposed visibility of ghosts helps it (the materialistic conception of mind) on considerably ; and it is still further reinforced by some of the fashionable deliraments of the day, such as clairvoyance and (even a.d. 1854, credite posteri!) spirit-rapping. These, however, are not to be set down—at least so it is to be hoped—among the normal and catholic superstitions incident to humanity. They are much worse than the worst form of the doctrine of materiality. These aberrations betoken a perverse and prurient play of the abnormal fancy—groping for the very holy of holies in kennels running with the most senseless and God-aban- doned abominations. Our natural superstitions are bad enough; but thus to make a systematic business of fatuity, imposture, and profanity, and to imagine, all the while, that we are touching on the precincts of God’s spiritual kingdom, is unspeakably shocking. The horror and dis- grace of such proceedings were never even approached in the darkest days of heathendom and idolatry. Ye who make shattered nerves and depraved sensations the interpreters of truth, the keys which shall un- lock the gates of heaven, and open the secrets of futurity,—ye who in- augurate disease as the prophet of all wisdom, thus making sin, death, and the devil the lords paramount of creation,—have ye bethought your- selves of the backward and downward course which ye are running into the pit of the bestial and the abhorred ? Oh, ye miserable mystics! when will ye know that all God’s truths and all man’s blessings lie in the broad health, in the trodden ways, and in the laughing sunshine of the universe, and that all intellect, all genius, is merely the power of seeing wonders in common things!”—Institutes of Metavhusies, the case with men who dream, sometimes with those who deliver predictions in a frenzied manner, as Bacis of Boeotia, Epimenides the Cretan, and the Erythraean Sibyl. And under this head we ought to rank oracles,—not those which are drawn by lot, but those which are uttered under the influence of some divine instinct and inspiration.”* Epicurus, as was necessary to his consistency, denied the worth of either species of Divination. The Stoics, on the other hand, where inclined to look favourably on both kinds, believing that the being of a God and the manifestation of his will were inseparable in thought. The Peripatetics, rejecting the artificial as the suspicious handiwork of augurs and sys- tematic interpreters, recognized the validity of oracular and dream revelations. It is much to say in favour of these last philosophers that the position of Scripture is broadly and essentially the same as theirs. Artificial divination is, in the Bible, everywhere reprehended; whilst natural divination is, perhaps, mostly, not only held in honour, but announced as a frequent and valuable vehicle of divine revelation. The rejection and the recognition of the Peripatetics were severally ratified by Cratippus, who is praised in Cicero’s treatise as a man of remarkable sagacity, and who defended his belief in the trustworthiness of natural divination on such grounds as the fol- lowing :—“ That there is in the exterior world a sort of divine soul, whence the human soul is derived ; and that that portion of the human soul which is the fountain of sensation, motion, and appetite, is not separate from the action of the body ; but tbat portion which partakes of reason and intelligence is then most energetic when it is most completely abstracted from the body.”f This fairly, and with considerable prestige, opens up the way for a consideration of dreams, to the exclusion of those other departments of divination which are not equally above suspicion; and having thus ascertained their place in the economy of divination, we may pursue our investigations, free or not, as suits us, from any reference to that science. CHAPTER II. ON BIBLICAL DREAMS. It will help to give freedom and simplicity to our after method, if at the outset we discuss shortly and apart those dreams of which our information is furnished by the Scrip- tures. Of these there are three well-defined kinds:— (1.) Those which were characterized either (a) by a Divine manifestation; or (b) by an angelic visitation of such a nature as to be immediately and necessarily demonstrative of Divine authenticity. (2.) Those to which the sacred text explicitly refers as being characterized either (a) by angelic agency, which, professing or not to be Divine, was in fact diabolical; or (b) by the invention of some sordid trafficker in dreams, to whom truth and falsehood were alike indifferent, and who cared only to secure so much plausibility and verisimilitude as would suffice to keep together his credit and his clientele. (3.) Those which, barely narrated, are to be judged indif- ferently, and by precisely the same canons as eatfro-Biblical dreams,—which evidence whatever Divine or artfi'-Divine com- mission they may be charged with, only morally; and which postpone the recognition of their claims to significance till future events shall have approved their validity. The above formed, so to speak, the aristocracy or chivalry of dreams, that either blazoned a motto, claimed a crest, or wore a cognisance. But besides these there were the ol -noXkoi, the mob of dreams that fell beneath the dignity of classifica- tion, that flitted across the brain as traceless and meaningless as the motes across a sunbeam, and that from their utter vanity were pressed into the service of proverb, metaphor, and simile, to point the moral of lightness, worthlessness, and evanescence. Thus Zophar, the Naamathite, speaking of the wicked man, says, “ He shall fly away as a dream, and shall not be found; yea, he shall be chased away as a vision of the night ” (Job xx. 8). In a kindred train of thought, the Psalmist says of the same class of persons, “As a dream when one awaketh; so, 0 Lord, when Thou awakest, Thou shalt despise their image ” (Ps. lxxiii. 20). And the prophet Isaiah, after denouncing “ woe to Ariel, to Ariel, the city where David dwelt!” presently goes on to denounce woe more hopeless against her enemies. The curse of Ariel was to be the scat- tering of her people like small dust and like chaff; but “ the multitude of all the nations that fight against Ariel, even all that fight against her, and her munition, and that distress her, shall be as a dream of a night vision. It shall even be as when a hungry man dreameth, and, behold, he eateth; but he awaketh, and his soul is empty: or as when a thirsty man dreameth, and, behold, he drinketh; but he awaketh, and, behold, he is faint, and his soul hath appetite: so shall the multitude of all the nations be, that fight against Mount Zion” (Isa. xxix. 7, 8). Apropos of such passages, Dr. Lee judiciously observes: “When the sacred writers do not refer to Divine revelation, or to the means by which it was imparted, we observe how carefully they indicate their clear appreciation of the fact that ordinary dreams or visions are altogether valueless.” The distribution we have adopted is an ethical one; but it is evident that possible classifications are as numerous as the points of view from which the dreams of Scripture may be regarded. Moses Amyraldus, vulgariier Moyse Amyraut, who in 1659 published at Saumur a “ Discours sur les Songes divins, dont il est parle dans l’Escriture,” a few sentences from which wc may by and by find it convenient to quote, has his own peculiar theory and classification; and Philo Judaeus, to go back for more than a decade and a half of centuries, in his treatise “ On Dreams being sent from God,” where he confines his attention to such Biblical revelations as seemed to him to come under that category, discriminated them as follows:—“ The first kind of dream was that which proceeded from God, as the author of its motion, and, in some invisible manner, prompted us what was indistinct to us, but well known to Himself. The second kind was when our own intellect was set in motion simultaneously with the soul of the universe, and became filled with divine madness, by means of which it is allowed to prognosticate events which are about to happen; and for this reason the interpreter of the sacred will very plainly and clearly speaks of dreams, indicating by this expression the visions which appear according to the first species, as if God, by means of dreams, gave suggestions which were equivalent to distinct and precise oracles. Of the visions according to the second species Moses speaks neither very clearly nor very obscurely; an instance of which is afforded by the vision which was exhibited of the ladder reaching up to heaven—for this vision was an enigmatical one; nevertheless, the meaning was not hidden from those who were able to see with any great acuteness. “ The third species of dreams exists whenever, in sleep, the mind being set in motion by itself, and agitating itself, is filled with frenzy and inspiration, so as to predict future events by a certain prophetic power. But these visions which are afforded according to the third species of dreams, being less clear than the two former kinds, by reason of their having an enigmatical meaning deeply seated and fully coloured, require the science of an interpreter of dreams. At all events, all the dreams of this class which are recorded by the lawgiver, are interpreted by men who are skilled in the afore- said art. “ Whose dreams, then, am I here alluding to P Surely, every one must see to those of Joseph, and of Pharaoh, king of Egypt, and to those which the chief baker and the chief butler saw themselves.” (1.) The first class of Scripture dreams, according to our arrangement, varied as they were illustrated by a divine or by an angelic manifestation. Of the former, or theophanic variety, an instance occurs in the twentieth chapter of the Book of Genesis, where, after Abimelech, king of Gerar, had taken Sarah, the wife of Abraham, on that patriarch’s repre- sentation that she wras his sister, “ God came to Abimelech in a dream by night, and said to him, Behold, thou art but a dead man, for the woman which thou hast taken; for she is a man’s wife.” Here the dignus vindice nodus was that of pre- venting a just man from committing, in the integrity of his heart, a heinous but involuntary offence. In the same manner it is recorded (Gen. xxxi. 24) that “ God came to Laban the Syrian in a dream by night, and said unto him, Take heed that thou speak not to Jacob either good or bad.” This was an instance of the tutelary care of God over his servant Jacob against the mustered family and retainers of his father-in-law, who righteously figures in the contextual narrative as an outwitted shufiler. “ In Gibeon the Lord appeared to Solomon in a dream by night: and God said, Ask what I shall give thee ” (1 Kings - iii. 5). Upon which the young king, passing by the tempta- tion to petition for material advantages, pleaded the responsi- bilities of his royal position, and prayed, “ Give therefore thy servant an understanding heart to judge thy people, that I may discern between good and bad: for who is able to judge this thy so great people ? And the speech pleased the Lord, that Solomon had asked this thing ” (1 Kings iii. 9, 10). In these cases there seems to have been no hesitation or deliberation on the part of the dreamer to accept the matter of the dreams as coming directly from God as an actual inter- locutor. In the case of Solomon we observe that he accepts as already in his enjoyment the blessings—riches unprecedented and length of days—which God promises shall accompany that wisdom which he has, with most wise humility, demanded at His hands. The king waits for no confirmation, but, su- premely confident of the authenticity of the promises made to him in his dream, “ came to Jerusalem, and stood before the ark of the covenant of the Lord, and offered up burnt offerings, and offered peace offerings, and made a feast to all his servants ” (1 Kings, iii. 15). It is argued by Moses Amyraldus, that all divine communications in this kind carry with them their own authentication, as being self-discrimi- nating from everything else. “We may boldly affirm,” he says, “ both that those dreams had some marks by which they might be known to be Divine, and also that it was necessary that they should have such marks; although we do not certainly know wherein those marks consisted.” The dream and its divine origin and sanction seem to have been given together in consciousness, so that there was no place left for the intervention of any operation of the judgment; like as the wind and its direction are simultaneously dis- covered. The other variety of the divine dream is that which is effected mediately through the presence and instrumentality of celestial messengers; where the theophanic manifestation is substituted by an angelic apparition. “And the angel of God,” says Jacob, in explaining to his wives the necessity of their flight from Padan-aram, “ spake unto me in a dream, saying, Jacob; and I said, Here am I” (Gen. xxxi. 11). After this declaration the patriarch proceeds to narrate the command which had followed for his departure. When Joseph, espoused to Mary, was debating how he might avoid the scandal of publicly proclaiming the suspected frailty of his betrothed, and “was minded to put her away privily. . . . behold, the angel of the Lord appeared unto him in a dream, saying, Joseph, thou son of David, fear not to take unto thee Mary thy wife: for that which is conceived in her is of the Holy Ghost ” (Matt. i. 19, 20). 3 These dreams seem to have been their own credentials in as eminent a degree, practically, as those of which it is said “God appeared,” or “the Lord appeared;” and to have met with an acceptance as completely free from doubt or demur as they. Indeed, looking especially to the dream of Joseph, the transcendently important object of which was to defend the purity of the conception of Jesus, it may not be improper to infer that the only cause for differencing it from the others which, with a greater degree of verbal explicitness, are said to have been consecrated and even organized by a manifestation of the Deity, was an accidental difference of the phraseology employed in its narration. Joseph was a second time “warned of God in a dream,”—an expression by which the alternatives of Divine or angelic presence are left undecided, and which, in fact, does not necessarily include either; and still a third time a revelation from heaven was vouchsafed, when “the angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream, saying, Arise, and take the young child and his mother, and flee into Egypt, and be thou there until I bring thee word: for Herod will seek the young child to destroy him ” (Matt, ii. 12, 13). It will be remarked that neither God nor good angel ever informed a dream which was not to answer some moral, didactic, benevolent, or grand economical purpose. The aimless prurience that would pry into futurity, the imper- tinent curiosity that irrationally set itself up as an end to itself, never received any the slightest honour or encourage- ment, nor ever set in motion the meanest of the heavenly hierarchy. (2.) But as most good things, just in proportion to their value and dignity, give rise to counterfeits, and as the devil is unresting in his endeavours to subvert or distract the kingdom of God, it was natural that designing men, his agents, ambitious of personal aggrandisement, or greedy of material emolument, should set up as interpreters of the Divine will and purposes on the strength of their own inventions, tact, or foresight, or in reliance on the false pretensions of evil spirits, to a knowledge of futurity and a power over destiny. The tendency to such a profession had already been made apparent in fact, or seen as a future probability by the distance-searching eye of Moses, when he cautioned the people of Israel against those prophets who, so long after as the time of Jeremiah, exercised their profession as vendors of dreams, visions, and divinations. “ If there arise among you a prophet, or a dreamer of dreams, and giveth thee a sign or a wonder, and the sign or the wonder come to pass, whereof he spake unto thee, saying, Let us go after other gods, which thou hast not known, and let us serve them; thou shalt not hearken unto the words of that prophet, or that dreamer of dreams: for the Lord your God proveth you, to know whether ye love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul ” (Deut. xiii. 1—3). The words in italics call to mind the apostolic injunction: “ Beloved, believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whether they are of God ” (1 John iv. 1). An undiscriminating goodness, a goodness of necessity and without an alternative, is a comparatively insipid virtue ; and that is most real which, after essaying to disentangle the right from the wrong, elects to abide by the former. Thus, while we as men confess ourselves lower than our fellow-servants the angels, it is a proud thing, amidst our hazards, to think that we, although in a less magnificent service, are probably in a more picturesque position than they, and one which gives an opportunity of demonstrating, under fierce and chronic temptations, rectitude of character and conduct of a kind morally more grand than theirs. The second class of dreams are chiefly to be found stated abstractly, or by way of allusion and warning; and scarcely ever emerge above the horizon in the shape of particular instances. “ Thus saith the Lord of hosts, Hearken not unto the words of the prophets that prophesy unto you ; they make you vain: they speak a vision of their own heart, and not out of the mouth of the Lord. ... I have heard what the pro- phets said, that prophesy lies in my name, saying, I havo dreamed, I have dreamed. How long shall this he in the heart of the prophets that prophesy lies ? yea, they are prophets of tho deceit of their own heart, which think to cause my people to forget my name by their dreams, which they tell every man to his neighbour, as their fathers have forgotten my name for Baal. The prophet that hath a dream, let him tell a dream: and he that hath my word, let him speak my word faithfully. What is the chaff to the wheat P saith the Lord, Is not my word like as a fire ? saith the Lord ; and like a hammer that breaketh the rock in pieces ? Therefore, behold, I am against the prophets, saith the Lord, that steal my words every one from his neighbour. Behold, I am against the prophets, saith the Lord, that use their tongues, and say, He saith. Behold, I am against them that prophesy false dreams, saith the Lord, and do tell them, and cause my people to err by their lies, and by their lightness; yet I sent them not, nor commanded them; therefore they shall not profit this people at all, saith the Lord ” (Jer. xxiii. 16, 25—32). Many other passages of like purport might be cited from Jeremiah, who, however, does not stand alone in the grave sorrow of his admonitions to alienated Israel. The prophet Zechariah has the following: “For the idols have spoken vanity, and the diviners have seen a lie, and have told false dreams , they comfort in vain ” (Zech. x. 2). How if the dreams suggested by God or by good angels were obnoxious to the liability of being counterfeited by the devil and his confederates, it was necessary to have certain recognized principles by which their divine or their satanic suggestion could be determined. These principles, as laid down by Moses Amyraldus, were few and simple. This author, it may be parenthetically remarked, had a very de- cided 'penchant for considering the ordinary dreams of men as the effects of angelic operation, good or evil, on the mind of the dreamer; an opinion in which he is much favoured by Bishop Ken and others. Amyraldus, paraphrasing and group- ing together the tests given in the Bible, ruled that one proof of a dream being of divine authenticity, whether directly com- municated or by angelic ministration, was that it conveyed intimations of such things as it was competent for God only to know and to reveal. The dreams, again, of which good angels were the patrons, necessarily conduced to piety. “ The images imprinted by good angels upon the fancy never contained anything of idolatry or pagan superstition, whereas those which proceeded from evil ones were commonly full of it; for in these there was always some representation of false gods, or something which concerned their worship, or some other vision of that nature, which denoted the author of the dream to be willing to authorize idolatry or superstition, from which the inclina- tion of good angels was always very distinct.” The dreams caused by evil angels did always, or for the most part, induce to some evil actions, which those originating with good angels could never do. “ That which might render the discovering between these two more doubtful or more difficult is, that upon various occasions, angels of darkness might transform themselves into angels of light, and endea- vour to impose upon the credulity of the faithful ” by causing them to have dreams, seemingly good or indifferent, but subtilely and secretly having some evil tendency or capability of being used for evil purposes. (3.) Of the third class of dreams we have said that they are to be judged indifferently, being barely and indifferently narrated. It may be well at once to qualify this indifference as a verbal and formal one. The word is intended to express only that the sacred text does not announce for these dreams anything Divine about their external mechanism; and that their claims to Divine authenticity must rest upon their in- ternal evidence. Thus the dream of Jacob (Gen. xxviii. 10—15), remarkable as it is for the encouraging truth of its pregnant and magnificent symbolism, may, in default of an express declaration of its origin, be judged indifferently by, so to say, a secular canon, and one altogether different from that applicable to those dreams of which it is stated that “ the Lord” or “the angel of the Lord” appeared in them. It would be a long task fully and minutely to discuss the illus- trious vision of the fugitive and sleeping patriarch. It is nearly sufficient to insist upon the fact that it is the mind of the dreamer, and not God or his angels, that takes the initiative in the pageant. For aught that appears, the reality of the vision was a subjective rather than an objective one. God does not appear, but is seen; it is discovery rather than mani- festation. Under what influence or guidance soever it might be that the imagination of the dreamer, unfettered by will, was called out to act, there would seem to have been an effort, in some way God-originated, on the part of the lower to ascend to the higher, and not of the higher, in the first instance, to let itself down to the lower. The ladder is set up on earth and reaches to heaven; whereas the method of pure revelation demands a proceeding the converse of this—that the ladder should be suspended from above; for, although the safer method of man be the inductive, the grander method of the Infinite God is ever, if not necessarily, deductive. The dreams of Joseph, while yet at home with his family, though they were afterwards seen to have foreshadowed his future advancement, rested at the time of their occurrence with no other effect than that of inflaming and perpetuating the envy of his brethren and the uncertain speculations of his father (Gen. xxxvii.) Yet upon these dreams, as afterwards upon the dreams of the chief butler and the chief baker of the king of Egypt, and the dream of Pharaoh himself, depended the plans which God had elected to observe for the trial, the education, and the government generally, of his people Israel. Of the foregoing dreams, as of those by the interpretation of which Daniel distinguished himself over the wise men of Babylon, it will be observed that they were not sent capri- ciously or without a purpose; and that, if not to the dreamer, then to some other more worthy person, the solution of the PERTINENCE OF SCRIPTURE DREAMS. dream was given at, for practical purposes, the same time as the dream itself. Further, they hore this mark of divinity, that no rules of the quasi-science of interpretation could avail to exhibit or to detect their meaning; God was “ his own interpreter,” and Himself made plain their message and significance. CHAPTER IH. ON DREAMS AS BEING SENT BY GOD. “ Hear now my words : If there be a prophet among yon, I the Lord will make myself known unto him in a vision, and will speak unto him in a dream” (Num. xii. 6). “ Your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, your young men shall see visions” (Joel ii. 28). “ Dreams descend from Jove” (Iliad, book i. 63). “In the multitude of dreams and many words there are also divers canities ” (Eccles. v. 7). “ Songes sont mensonges” (French Proverb). It will be seen that tlie foregoing quotations range between tlie opposite poles of faitb and infidelity as to the significance of dreams, so far as that depends on their presumed origin. But none of the propositions, except the medium or indifferent one from Ecclesiastes, are universal ones, or intended to be so. Neither did any generation ever hold the divine origin of all dreams, to the exclusion of every other theory. In all times there have been men severally characterized by credulity, by unbelief, and by a philosophical scepticism which refused to commit itself. We have seen that inspired saints of the old Jewish dispensation knew how to recognize the worthlessness of the mere flitting brain-clouds, which Solomon understood to arise from the “multiplicity of business.” And Homer was aware of the necessity of distinguishing between the ovap or the oveipos, the messenger of Jove, and itself a subordinate divinity, and the mere meaningless ivvirviov which was inci- dental to any sleeping individual. In all ages some men have held to one of the two extremes, whilst others have oscillated I between. But if we sought to sever the opinion of one age from the impression of another, we should say that the earlier epochs of the world were characterized by a clinging to the divine origin of dreams generally; whilst modern times are most remarkable for seeking a refuge from the admission of divine agency in mental and physiological solutions of dream phenomena. The ancients in their practice in this respect have only afforded a particular exhibition of a spirit universally prevail- ing. Theocracy, a direct God-government in all things, was the theory of the youthful world, as it has ever been the theory of the youth of nations. Of this we have an example in the political maxim of the divine right of kings,—a maxim which is now, not altogether with advantage, started only for the purpose of being hunted down. The nearer men were to the first creation, in fact or in idea, the more ready were they to look upon each novel event or coincidence as miraculous. Miracle was their starting-point; and it required the observa- tion and experiment of ages to calm them down into a tamer recognition of general laws and a general providence. Our tendency to extravagance is the exact reverse of theirs. We are so familiar with laws, that we are apt to repose in them to the prejudice of the Lawgiver. Law, to the ancient world, looked like interposition ; nowadays, interposition runs risk of having abdication forced upon it to make room for the installation of law; whilst moderation petitions for the setting up of a double throne. We have already glanced at some instances where the Holy Scriptures affirm the direct intervention of God. It falls to us to speak of the dream-oracles which the heathen world acknowledged as God-given; and this, whether they come before us as professedly historical, or whether, emerging in fiction, they appeal to us as concrete expositions of a popular belief. And here we naturally turn first to Homer, and to those poets who decked their dramas with his drapery ; who—iEschylus especially and confessedly—set forth their banquets with re-dressed food that had heretofore fallen from his abundant tables.* It was the advice of Achilles, in the context of the Homeric motto which finds a place at the head of this chapter, that some true priest or prophet should be deputed on behalf of the Greeks, then plague-stricken before Troy, to ascertain by an invoked dream-revelation the reason of the malific anger of the far-darting Apollo. There were sacred rites proper to such a quest. The sacerdotal person appointed to the inquiry would, after the performance of certain cere- monies, lie down in some holy place, in anticipation of a dream from the gods which should resolve his difficulty. That this was a practice in ancient classical heathendom appears from the temples of Amphiaraus in Boeotia, and Podalirius in Apulia, where the inquirer, in order to obtain an answer, was obliged to sleep before the altar recumbent upon the skin of the animal he had previously offered in sacrifice. This would appear to have been a recognized method for inviting illumination, so late as the time of Macrobius; and, in fact, mutatis mutandis, we find something analogous in a remarkable prayer of Dr. Johnson, to the spirit and letter of which the accomplished Boswell, of course, lends his valuable sanction. “ In imitation,” says Dendy, “ of this spell for the divine inspiration of a dream, the modern Franciscans, after the ceremony of mass, throw themselves on mats already consecrated by the slumber of some holy visionary, and with all this foolery, they vaunt the divine inspiration of their dream.” In the fourth book of the “Iliad,” Homer takes advantage of the circumstances of the death of Rhesus to introduce a dream of exactly the same purport as the reality. The Thracian prince is sleeping serenely in his tent in the midst of his forces, with his white steeds tethered in the rear of his * “ iEschylus used to say that his tragedies were only slices cut from tha great banquet of Homeric dainties.”—Athenceus. chariots, when Diomecl and Ulysses penetrate amongst the slumbering host; after slaying many of whom, they arrive t where their chief lies prostrate. The monarch last they found; Tydides’ falchion fixed him to the ground. Just then a deathful dream Minerva sent; A warlike form appeared before his tent. Whose visionary steel his bosom tore : So dreamed the monarch, and awaked no more. The wit of man has never invented for any dream a speedier fulfilment. Minerva commissions a more compassionate dream at the conclusion of the fourth book of the “ Odyssey.” Penelope one night, whilst depressedly looking for the protracted return of her husband, oppressed with fears for Telemachus, and altogether too anxious to indulge in food, retires supper- less to her chamber, and whilst still revolving many things in her mind, in the midst of her perplexity yields to kindly sleep. Then the blue-eyed goddess is said by Homer to have fashioned an image resembling exactly “the lady Iphthima, the daughter of the high-souled Icarius; whom Eumelus, who inhabits a house in Pherae, had married. And she sent her to the house of divine Ulysses, if she could by any means make Penelope, mourning and grieving, cease from her wailing and tearful sorrow.” Entering the chamber, the incarnate dream opens a conversation with Penelope, whom, benevolently and successfully, she bids to be of better cheer. Penelope at length awakes, encouraged to strength and rejoicing of heart from her converse with the friendly dream. On another occasion Minerva went in person, having assumed the form and likeness of the daughter of Dymas, a famous navigator, to counsel the sleeping Hausicaa, the daughter of strong-hearted Alcinous, to make preparations for her marriage. And it is to be remarked that the waking damsel faithfully complied with the advice of the goddess. But even god-sent dreams were not always trustworthy. The second book of tbe “Iliad” opens with the appearance of a lying- dream, which Jupiter, in pursuance of the request of the “ silver-footed ” Thetis, the divine mother of Achilles, sent to Agamemnon in order to induce that “king of men” to lead the Grecian hosts to battle, that so they might become sensible of the loss they sustained by the defection of Achilles, still sulking in his tent. Now pleasing sleep had sealed each mortal eye. Stretched in the tents the Grecian leaders lie, Th’ immortals slumbered on their thrones above; All but the ever-wakeful eyes of Jove. To honour Thetis’ son he bends his care, And plunge the Greeks in all the woes of war: Then bids an empty phantom rise to sight, And thus commands the vision of the night. “ Fly hence, deluding dream ! and, light as air, To Agamemnon’s ample tent repair, Bid him in arms draw forth th’ embattled train, Lead all his Grecians to the dusty plain. Declare, ev’n now, 'tis given him to destroy The lofty towers of wide-extended Troy. For now no more the gods with fate contend, At Juno’s suit the heavenly factions end. Destruction hangs o’er yon devoted wall, And nodding Ilion waits th’ impending fall!” Swift as the word, the vain illusion fled, Descends, and hovers o’er Atrides’ head; Clothed in the figure of the Pylian sage, Kenowned for wisdom, and revered for age; Around his temples spreads his golden wing, And thus the flattering dream deceives the king. We need not pursue the narrative further; for it is not within our purpose to follow the dreams of fiction to their results. But the judicious reader will remember, or surmise, that it was successful in its mission. There is a startling analogy here to what the prophet Micaiah relates about the appearance before the Lord of a number of spirits, one of whom volunteers to go forth to be a lying spirit in the mouth of the sleelc prophets of Ahab, king of Israel. Micaiah having first symbolically announced the impending fall of L Ahab, and the discomfiture of his host, says, “ Hear thou, therefore, the word of the Lord: I saw the Lord sitting on his throne, and all the host of heaven standing by Him, on his right hand and on his left. And the Lord said, Who shall persuade Ahab, that he may go up and fall at Ramoth- Gilead ? And one said on this manner, and another said on that manner. And there came forth a spirit and stood before the Lord, and said, I will persuade him. And the Lord said unto him, Wherewith ? And he said, I will go forth, and I will be a lying spirit in the mouth of all his prophets. And He said, Thou shalt persuade him, and prevail also: go forth, and do so. How therefore, behold, the Lord hath put a lying spirit in the mouth of all these thy prophets, and the Lord hath spoken evil concerning thee ” (1 Kings xxii. 19—23). The poet Hesiod, in his “ Theogony,” carries the matter of the origin of dreams with even a higher hand than Homer. In fact, his account of dreams is not so much an account of their origin, as a statement of their genealogy as divine per- sonages of a humble grade. Abhorred Fate, and dark Necessity, And Death, were bom from Night; by none embraced, These gloomy Night brought, self-conceiving, forth ; And Sleep: and all the hovering host of Dreams. And Cicero, in his “ De Natura Deorum,” has a passage substantially to the same effect. “Thus,” he says, “reasons Carneades : If Saturn is a god, then must his father, Ccelus, be one too, and so must the parents of Ccelus, which are the Sky and Day, and also their brothers and sisters, which by ancient genealogists are thus named, Love, Deceit, Fear, Labour, Envy, Fate, Old Age, Death, Darkness, Misery, Lamentation, Favour, Fraud, Obstinacy, the Destinies, the Hesperides, and Dreams; all of which are the offspring of Erebus and Night.” In tlie “Agamemnon” of Hlscliylus, the Chorus, supposed to consist of old men of Argos, so interrogate Clytemnestra about the manner in which she became informed of the fall of Troy, as to show that they devoutly believed in the divinity of dream-revelation. The dramatist, however, with propriety makes the impious queen scoff at the notion of trusting the opinion of her soul when asleep. In the “ Choeplioroe,” Orestes is made to draw strength and resolution for the retributive murder of his mother, from the recital of her dream ; which seems to him a divine coun- tersign of the fatal warrant for her death delivered to him by the oracle of Loxias (Apollo). Sophocles, borrowing from AEschylus the idea of Clytem- nestra’s dream, makes it to be referred by Electra to the action of the unappeased furies of her murdered father, Agamemnon. The notion of a commission from the invisible world is carefully retained ; and confidence is given to the avenging party in proportion as the perplexity and dismay of the queen-assassin become intensified and distracting. And the general feeling of Sophocles with reference to dreams is of this tone and of this quality. There are passages in Euripides from which it may without difficulty be gleaned in what spirit he contemplated dream- agency. It is easy, for example, to understand that Hecuba, when she deprecated the “ black-winged dreams,” the off- spring of “ venerable earth,” and sought in pious rites to avert their ill omen, regarded them as incarnate intimations, for good or evil, from the divinities. Thus recognizing them, it is in keeping that she should long for divinely informed inter- pretations from such prophetic natures as Helenus and Cassandra. Pindar makes the goddess Pallas, the maiden of the dark shield, appear in a dream to the sleeping Bellerophon, bring- ing him a bridle with a frontlet of gold, and thus encouraging him to the adventure that has immortalized him: “ Dost thou sleep, royal son of kEolus ? Come, take this steed-taming PLATO AND OTHER PHILOSOPHERS. spell, and sacrificing' a white bull, lay it before thy Damaean sire.” Bellerophon, waking and acting upon the advice of a prophet whom he consulted, obeyed the dream, sacrificed a bull to Jove, built an altar to the Hippian Athene, and straight- way proceeded to the easy taming of the winged steed. Herodotus deals with historical dreams in such a way as to show that he regarded them with a reverence due to divinely originated phenomena. The stakes which men, throughout his history, hazard upon the trustworthiness of these nocturnal experiences, whether the event justify their credence or not, can be redeemed from the charge of madness only on the supposition that they were thoroughly possessed with the idea of divine intervention and direction. Thus we find the Ethiopian, Sabacon, voluntarily withdrawing from Egypt, after enjoying its sceptre for fifty years, from mere trust in the monition of dreams. Sethon, an Egyptian priest, with a mob of sutlers and artisans, successfully encountered the disciplined soldiers of Sennacherib, “ king of the Arabians and Assyrians,” whose arms, bows and shields, were oppor- tunely rendered useless by the attacks of field-mice, that on the eve of battle gnawed the strings, the thongs, and the quivers. Cambyses, on the strength of a vision, caused the precautionary assassination of Smerdis, his brother. Otanes, the Persian general, repeopled Samos, which he had just be- fore utterly deprived of its inhabitants. And a dream sufficed to win over the obstinate Artabanus to a coincidence in the plans of Xerxes, his nephew, for the invasion of Greece. Plato and other philosophers considered dreams to be emanations of the Divinity; the astute Aristotle allowed that they might be supematurally commissioned; and Chrysippus has this tribute in the same direction, which is all the more emphatic for coming in the shape of an assumption : “ The interpretation of dreams is the power of beholding and reveal- ing those things which the gods signify to men in dreams.” But we need not dwell here upon the opinions held by the distinguished chroniclers and thinkers of ancient heathendom; nor, indeed, need -we specially care to lengthen this part of our subject by the nominal citation of any individuals what- ever. In other divisions we shall have an opportunity of pro- ducing these witnesses to give their own evidence in person, and a further one of culling from their examples. The Christian Fathers, of whom shall be mentioned here only Cyprian and Augustine, have in great numbers recorded their testimony in favour of the proposition that God does often declare Himself and his will by means of dream-reve- lation. At the same time they recognize the fact that dreams might arise from the suggestion of the devil. Peter Martyr, in his “ Commonplaces,” particularizes an instance recorded by Augustine, of one possessed of the devil, who by a vision told the very hour that the priest should come to him, and by what places he would pass. And in support of this position the same learned author glances at the ancient oracles of Amphiaraus, Amphilochus, Trophonius, and iEsculapius, where he says that “ an evil spirit showed to them that were asleep, medicines and remedies to heal their sick folk, at which time also they gave'answer as touching other matters.” But at once to overleap the centuries that separate the Fathers of the Church from the Father of English Poetry, we may decide that Chaucer—witness, especially, the arguments pro and contra in the JVonnes Preestes Tale—on the whole, favours the idea of divine interposition in dream-phenomena. We have seen that among the heathen of old the Dii majores appeared either in person—most frequently, however, in the similitude of another—or by deputy of inferior divinities their subordinates and messengers ; just as we saw Scripture dreams to be authenticated as divine, whether they were characterized by a theophanic manifestation or by angelic intervention. The doctrine of such an angelic intervention as carried with it divine foreknowledge and authority, came to be regarded with peculiar favour by a series of men of distinc- tion in the Christian world. There is the germ of this doctrine in Spenser’s unsurpassable stanzas on the “ Ministra- MINISTRATION OF ANGELS. 03 lie gives the generic activity; there is no vio- position by men who have given it a specific there care in Heaven ? and is there love In Heavenly spirits to these creatures base That may compassion of their evils move P There is : else much more wretched were the case Of men than beasts : but oh ! the exceeding grace Of Highest God, that loves his creatures so ; And all his works with mercy doth embrace. That blessed angels He sends to and fro, To serve to wicked man—to serve his wicked foe! How oft do they their silver bowers leave To come to succour us that succour want! How oft do they with golden pinions cleave The flitting skies, like flying pursuivant, Against foul fiends to aid us militant! They for us fight, they watch and duly ward, And their bright squadrons round about us plant j And all for love, and nothing for reward : Oh, why should Heavenly God to men have such regard ? Now the doctrine of angelic ministration in dreams is simply a particular statement of the general proposition of angelic guardianship ; and the former will be held with a strength and an intensity just in proportion to the degree in which the latter is not so much an article of languid belief as a living reality—in proportion as it is the basis of communion, rather than a sentiment that floats about the holder and does not permeate his mind and heart, or affect his life. Bishop Ken so well loved and so strongly held the doctrine of the ministration of guardian angels as to have written an epic poem, “ Hymnotheo, or the Penitent,” the primary object of which seems to be the demonstration, or at least the illus- tration, of the fact of each individual having his guardian angel, just as each Christian country was figured to have its tutelary saint. He there commonly expects the exaltation and 3 tion of Angels.” lence done to his direction. And is relief of the human spirit, and the dispensing of divine grace, during the “ short vacation of sense ” which was the working- day of dreams. In the twenty-second of those forty-two Anodynes which the good bishop wrote to alleviate the chronic and often acute suffering of more than “ two lustres,” occurs the following couplet:— I, waking, called my dream to mind, Which to instruct me Heaven designed. The last verse of a “ Midnight Hymn ” is to this effect :— Lord, lest the tempter me surprise, Watch over Thine own sacrifice ; All loose, all idle thoughts cast out, And make my very dreams devout. Another “ Midnight Hymn ” concludes : May my ethereal Guardian kindly spread His wings, and from the tempter screen my head; Grant of celestial light some piercing beams, To bless my sleep, and sanctify my dreams! And once more Ken indicates the occurrence of angelic con- versations with the spirit of man during the sleep of the latter :— Oh, may my Guardian while I sleep. Close to my bed his vigils keep; His love angelical instil, Stop all the avenues of ill! May he celestial joys rehearse, And thought to thought with me converse ! Bishop Bull was of opinion that some dreams were the vehicles of supernatural or angelic advice and premonitions. Andrew Baxter, in his voluminous treatise on the “ Im- materiality of the Soul,” endeavours to prove that dreams are produced by the agency of some spiritual beings, who either amuse or employ themselves seriously in engaging mankind in all those imaginary transactions with which they are employed in dreaming. There is a grotesque side to this faith in the supernatural origin and mission of dreams. Margaret of Navarre, a queen and woman of letters, considered striking dreams as a part of the appendages of high rank. In the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, the French noblesse were accustomed to look upon God as the head of the aristocracy ; and it was gravely said by a lady of this persuasion, who had just been told by a friend of the death of an abandoned old member of their order, that the Divine Being “ would hesitate before He decided to damn a man of that quality.” In such a spirit a cer- tain French marquise entertained the notion that the Almighty particularly protects the great, and gives them secret fore- warnings of future events, whether good or bad. Another opinion of this great lady was parallel: it was to the effect that God hears prayers couched in elegant language, in pre- ference to those which are weighed down by heartiness or rusticity. Catherine de Medicis dreamed of the victory of Jamac the night before the battle was fought, she lying ill at the time of a fever at Metz ; and her daughter bears this testimony :—“ For myself, I declare that every signal accident of my life, happy or not, has been presaged to me by a dream, or otherwise.” Such are samples of the opinions of people distinguished by illustrious worldly position. The following is one of the latest, as it is one of the most emphatic, illustrations of the intensity with which a belief in dreams as vehicles of supernatural power and knowledge is still held by some of the humbler classes in France. The anecdote appeared in November, 1864, in “ Galignani’s Messenger,” and was circulated by many English newspapers under the title of— SENDING A LETTER TO HEAVEN. “ A lady residing in the Rue de Rivoli returned some time since from a visit she had made in the department of Finisterre, bringing with her a young orphan girl, poor, but very pretty, named Yvonne S , whom she engaged as her waiting-maid. Last month a short time after her return to Paris, the lady died. When the body had been prepared for the coffin, and was for a short time left alone, Yvonne was seen to go stealthily into the room, lift up the shroud, and then hastily leave. The first idea was that she had taken a ring which, at the express desire of the deceased, had been left on her finger. On exa- mination, however, the ring was discovered to be untouched, but a paper was seen attached with a pin to the shroud. On inspection, it was found to be a letter addressed by the young orphan to her mother, who died two years ago, and was as follows:—‘ My good Mother,—I have to tell you that M. B has made me an offer of marriage. As you are no longer here, I beg you to make known to me in a dream whether I ought to marry him, and to give me your consent. I avail myself, in order to write to you, of the opportunity of my mistress, who is going to heaven.’ The letter was addressed ‘ To my Mother it heaven.’ The person alluded to in the letter is one of the tradesmen of the deceased lady, who, having been struck with the good conduct of the young girl, has made her an offer of marriage.” We approach the conclusion of this part of our subject by asking the question whether God has ceased to reveal Himself and his will by dreams ; does He still occasionally so manifest Himself P Of course the question of power can be answered in only one way. We can understand the propriety of dream- revelation during the infancy and youth of the world. Then it was fitting that revelations should be multiform : for man- kind had to be taught by instance and example that there was no side of their nature which was not en rapport with the super- natural and the divine. This truth must be an article of faith so long as humanity lasts ; but latterly it has been degraded to a considerable extent from its dignity as a practical belief, and it is now very much of a theory to which assent must be given, while—so far as dream-revelation is concerned—it is kept in the background as an elementary one, fitted especially for juvenility and for processes of education. The question of power, we said, can he settled in only one way; for God is Lord of the universe of being—of material and ideal substances. It would be, therefore, to limit Him, to affirm that a revelation by dreams was antecedently impossible —priggish and impertinent to say that it was antecedently absurd. The unanimous voice, nemine contract icente, must be that He could so reveal Himself if He would; the general voice is, that it is possible He does ; the more restricted opinion is that He does; and there is, in addition, an inner circle of persons who profess to have personal evidence, not of the possi- bility, not of the probability, but of the actuality of such illuminations. Such persons—following the canon of Cyprian, who, observing the edification which resulted to divers members of the congregation from revelations in sleep and dreams, was accustomed to attach a great deal of credit to them—appeal to results as evidence of divine operation. And while it must be conceded against such an argument, that in the infinite and multitudinous occurrence of dreams, it would be a wonder if some did not “ come true,” and there is yet much to be said, and perhaps even much to be tabulated, about the probability of vmprobabilia ; yet there is no room for the scorner to sit down and mock at men who appeal to beneficial results in morals and religion as an evidence that dream-agency is not yet effete in the economy of God. CAUSES, USES, AND PHENOMENA OF DREAMS. And Phansie, I tell yon, has dreams that have wings, And dreams that have honey, and dreams that have stings, Dreams of the maker, and dreams of the teller, Dreams of the kitchen, and dreams of the cellar. Ben Jonson. We are now upon the plateau of ordinary life. It is, for the time, an indifferent matter whether exceptional dreams have anything or nothing of divine or angelic sanction; we have now to do with those dreams which are indigenous to the thinking systems of men asleep. What, then, is sleep P It is “ primarily and chiefly an affection of the nervous system, in which, through exhaustion, the senses become inactive, and, as it were, dead ; while at the same time, the nutritive systems and the functions essential to life, go on.” In consequence of this inactivity of the sensorium, there arise, (1) loss of consciousness, so far, at least, as regards all connection with, and relation to? external things ; (2) loss of voluntary power over the physical and muscular frame; and (3) loss of voluntary control over the operations of the mind; the mind still remaining active, however, and its operations going on, uncontrolled by the will. “ The proximate cause of sleep has ever been a disputed question. Depressed nervous energy, exhausted irritability, congestion in the cerebral sinuses, afflux of blood into the pia mater, its reflex towards the heart, deposition of fresh matter in the brain, cerebral collapse, deficiency of animal spirits, vapor quiclem benignus, these and many other hypotheses may be merely convertible terms, and they explain nothing. Perhaps this is the place to propound another question - What is a dream ?—what is the word, and what the thing P Etymologically the word has a scant history. In our language and its Teutonic relatives, it is a simple and radical one. One or two improbable attempts at classical derivation may be noticed. Skinner, with some ingenuity, would derive itr by metathesis, from the Latin dormire. Casaubon, with more poetry, and even less probability, from the Greek 8pa/j.a tov /3lov, dreams being, as plays are, a representation'of something which does not really happen. Moses Amyraldus and Junius have each enlarged upon this conceit. Another philologer would derive it from the Celtic word trem. Such formal similarities amongst vocables of various significations, and in languages more remotely of kin to one another, are to be regarded as the re- sult of accident rather than as being of any etymological value. Casaubon’s derivation, for instance, includes a proposition to the effect that it is likely that the drama had emerged into human experience before the dream ; which is inconceivable. It will be enough for us to exhibit a few forms from which the affinities of our word dream may be understood, and from which it may be concluded that a settlement of ethnological precedence carries with it, in this case, a decision also of philo- logical priority. Dream is an Anglo-Saxon noun, in Saxon, bpeam, and in both languages having a primary meaning of melody, joy or gladness. The Dutch form is droom, the Swedish drom, with a direct sub-assumption of idleness and vacuity; and the German traum. Dismissing the word, we may in one sentence epitomize all the current definitions of the thing. For all men are so well agreed upon this matter, that it is rather that their expressions vary, than that their ideas are dissimilar. We shall find enough contrariety of opinion by and by; but it will not be now and here. Every lexico- * “ Journal of Psychological Medicine,” article The Pathology rfSleep, vol. v. 1852. grapher, from the time of Suidas, has consented that an ordinary dream is the intellectual activity of a sleeping person which leaves its traces in the waking consciousness. Dreaming would seem to be an abnormal operation of the mind ; the result of a want of thoroughness—of that absolute unconsciousness which is the characteristic of ideal repose ; of a certain preponderance of particular faculties, a certain default of symmetry in antecedent mental activity; or, again, of physiological functions of the bodily organisms, hindered, disturbed or overdone. The causes of dreaming are thus shown to be as numerous as the several faculties of the mind, the feelings of the soul, the functions of the body, and the several accidents to which any of these are liable ; nay, infinitely more numerous, being as multitudinous as the combinations of which these are capable. Dreams are accustomed to take shape and character, as we have said, from a limitless variety of circumstances; yet, freakish as they appear, they are not altogether the children of accident and inconsequence. Even when the connection cannot readily be traced, or cannot be traced at all, there is reason to infer from our experience of other members of the family, that a connection does exist between the dream, and the then or former state of the body, or condition of the mind, or both, such as, if it were ascertained, would give intelligibility to the form and complexion of the dream. In short the two principal sources, or—seeing that final causes have an ugly habit of hiding themselves away out of sight—as we should rather say, the influences that modify our dreams, are (1) our present bodily sensations, and especially the internal state of the physical system; and (2) our previous waking thoughts, dispositions, and prevalent states of mind. Under the influence of the first, a hard bed or an uncomfortable position will cause a dream of fractured bones, or become suggestive of the rack or the wheel. The throat, say, is tightly compressed by a too affectionate button, and the dream is of Calcraft and public perpendicular suffocation. A hearty supper lies heavy on the conscience and the digestion, and the dream assumes the shape of nightmare ; fiends and furies squat cross-legged upon you, just below the diaphragm, like tailors in one of Alton Locke’s sweating shops ; or the Monument of Fish Street Hill, “ like a tall bully lifts its head and lies ” upon your much-enduring stomach. A mustard plaster suggests the idea of being flayed alive ; a slight scalp- wound and a bandaged head, call up touching associations of the tomahawk ; a bottle of hot water at the feet will make the dreamer believe that he is walking arm in arm with Satan, who uses him conjointly with his spear— To support uneasy steps Over tlie burning marie which Milton assigns him for a promenade. A sudden noise, if it do not positively awaken the sleeper to the extent of allowing him to understand the real cause, will, to the partially aroused sensorium, resemble the report of a gun, and at once his martial ardour rouses him to take the shilling under Wellington, and “to seek the bubble reputation at the cannon’s mouth,” at Badajoz or Waterloo ; or to slay with much-revolving muzzle, half a dozen Italian brigands. It is not by any means without precedent that tfie earliest symptoms of an unsuspected disease may be afforded by the kindly hints of dreams, which are modified by the greater susceptibility of the system to internal impressions. This providential phenomenon is the result of concentration and exclusion, just as we see the senses of hearing and touch eminently developed in the blind—a fact of which we take advantage when we close our eyes whilst listening to some heart-moving or heart-composing melody. The second principal prolific source of our dreams is to be found in the character, direction, and intensity of our immediately antecedent waking thoughts, or even in our habitual forms of mental activity, and in the prevalent disposition and tone of morals. The action of the mind does not terminate with the last waking moment. As a locomotive will travel long after its impelling power has ceased to put forth new energy; as a vessel will plough its way through the waters long after the furling of the sail, or the last revolution of the paddle or the screw ; so will the activity of the waking mind project itself into the intellectual operations of the sleeping person. But now, if the mind he a locomotive, it will very likely run off the rails ; if a vessel, it will very likely dis- charge its pilot and unship its rudder. Frequently the tragedy or the comedy of the day will resolve itself into the burlesque afterpiece of the night. The occurrences of business or pleasure or daily occupation will frequently indulge in a repetition in travestie. But, singularly enough, the mind will not ahvays go off the rails, or out of its course. The waking train of thought will occasionally be pursued in sleep with as much precision and with greater success. Even when the problem of the evening before has not been completely solved during the night, we find it still marvellously advanced towards solution by one or two important stages. In such cases it would seem that there has been no real abandonment of intellectual action. That has been busy about the dif- ficulty during the night; and in the morning it is solved easily, not alone because the faculties are fresh, but because they have been occupied upon it throughout the night, or portion of it. Thus we often find the brain so very fruitful just after awaking; there is the rushing result of a concen- trated experience and observation during sleep, ready to the hand of the waking man. Further, Sir Thomas Browne is by no means the only man who is free to confess that his sleeping- self transcended his waking self. The mathematician has solved the problem which before was difficult even to forlorn- ness and despair; the poet has indited the inimitable poem, and on waking been but the amanuensis of his dream; the painter has seen the model of a goddess floating on a cloud half-way to heaven, and the musician has rifled Paradise itself of an angelic melody. Thus Voltaire wrote a duplicate of the first canto of tlie “ Henriadethe “ Divina Commedia ” is said, to have been inspired by a dream ; Coleridge’s “ Kubla Khan ” was unquestionably composed during a dream; and Tartini’s “ Sonata du Diable ” is a plagiarism from a violin played by a dream-devil. In regarding the phenomena of dreams, it may perhaps be remarked in the first place, that generally we are not conscious of being asleep. We say generally, in contradistinction to those persons who make the assertion as if it were universally true, and admitted of no exception. The fact is, that men have been known to debate the question of waking or sleeping, which has now been decided in one way, and now in another. The case of a person who dreams of dreaming, who wanders or divaricates from a standard of propriety which his dream allows, may be quoted as evidence of the same nature. This consciousness is probably a deceitful one. That our dreams present the marks of incoherence and incongruity, has been referred by some to the fact of the loss or withdrawal of the control of the will over our sleeping thoughts. But a more profound and truthful view of the matter is probably taken when it is stated that we have no consciousness of incoherence or incongruity. In sleep we get out of the laws of time and space; and being in chaos we find nothing chaotic. The mind makes any combinations, but it is with elements that have been previously supplied. It cannot exercise itself upon what it has not received. The imagina- tion, the grotesque representative power, is that which is occupied, rather than the phantasy or fancy; although the latter is loosely and incorrectly spoken of as the great dream- agent. The faculties of the mind, and all the entities with which these exercise themselves in dreams, are just as much anteriorly in the mind as the counters are within the frame- work of a calculating machine. But here is the calculating machine run mad or disordered,—the shuffling of a deranged kaleidoscope. It is not fair to degrade the name of invention or of creation by applying such terms to the hap-bazard combinations which, on account of their wildness, popularly4 and even to some scientific thinkers, suggest the notion of fancy rather than imagination. If we are right, imagination, uncorrected by judgment and volition, asserts its claim to be considered even wilder than its more airy sister when under the restraint of vigilant and waking taste. To the dreamer there is nothing scenic or false in the action of his dreams. He does not assist at an unreal phan- tasmagoria; he does not witness the ghosts of the Polytechnic; nor. is his drama a shadow dance. His spectacles are not “airy nothings” compressed into “a local habitation;” his feasts are not the offering of shadowy viands to feigned guests; nor are his battles waged between serried ghosts that go forth to encounter armed phantoms in illusive war. In short, relatively to the dreamer, there is nothing fictitious about his personce; the reality of which, indeed, is rather intensified by his exclusion from the world of sense. How, then, are we to account for the greater vividness of dream impressions ? Are we to suppose that we are more closely en rapport with substance than when we are let and hindered by the conscious trammels and disabilities of the body ? Is there, indeed, a more emphatic connection established in dreams between our interior 44 self-hood ”—to quote a rather awkward expression of the followers of Swedenborg—and the very essence and substratum of other entities ? Such questions, in truth, are not absurd; and, indeed, it is on this very ground— apart, at least, from the ethics and religion of dreams—that the theory of their being often authoritative messengers from what is vulgarly called another world—as if there were any differ- ence of divine dynasty supposable either in time or space— has been sought to be established. A message from above would, cceteris paribus, carry its own voucher, just in propor- tion as the avenues and inlets of the senses were closed against grosser or more palpable impressions. The apparent reality of dreams—nay, the startling reality of dreams—has been an argument valid to many sober and ARGUMENT FOR IMMORTALITY. unenthusiastic minds that a divine or spiritual communication of one kind or other was the more possible, if not the more to be expected, when sleep had so lulled into inactivity the sensational gates and approaches of information, that the mind was free and undistracted for independent action or passion. But apart from considerations of the supernatural, it would seem to be the case that, without the senses, it is possible for the soul to be conscious of physical phenomena by an immediate and intuitive process. It is no violation of logic or common sense, in company with the great names, inter alia, of Addison and Bishop Butler, to strengthen from this consideration the argument for the immortality of the soul. And further, there is a line of speculation opened up here—which it might be worth the while of the psychologist to pursue, and which it is a wonder should not have been done before—that might lead to a point where some light should be thrown upon the vexed question of what Coleridge called the homogeneity or heterogeneity of mind and matter. In dreams we are afloat, intelligently and without amaze, in a sort of Platonic universe of ideals and supersensible types of sensible objects. “ The inhabitants of Mount Atlas, in Barbary, are both nameless and dreamless.” So says Camden in his “Remains,” meaning to make rather an ethnological than a philosophical assertion. Even in a philosophical connection, however, it has been stated that all men do not dream; or, to put it less ambiguously, there are some men who do not dream. But this has been considered not very probable, on account of the greater counter-probability that dreams, mental action and mental processes, did take place during sleep, which, never- theless, did not make so deep an impression as to haunt the waking consciousness. Gossamer cirri floated across the upper firmament of the sleeper’s mind, and evaporated amor- phously into the azure of the waking day— As from the wing no wound tho air sustains, The parted wave no farrow from the keel. Some persons have been known to attest their first dream as having happened to them well on in middle life. But the antithesis is that it was then that their dreams, hitherto held in perfect solution, first began to leave a residuum. The mirror first acquired the faculty of retaining the images that had been projected upon its surface. It is a maxim as old as Heraclitus, that “ in sleep, every man has a world of his own; when awake, all men have one in common.” And Lord Byron commences his remarkable poem called “The Dream” with this paraphrase of the ancient saying Our life is twofold: sleep hath its own world. Herrick also seems to have had Heraclitus in his eye when he wrote the quasi-epigrammatic couplet on Dreames in his “ Hesperides:”— Here we are all by day; by night w’are hurl’d By dreames each one into a sev’rall world. Sleep, like its brother, Death, is a great leveller; yet not so absolutely a leveller as unreflecting persons might suppose. For the dreams of a person are in great part determined in character by his waking pursuits, his thoughts, and feelings. In great part, but not altogether; for the laws of the associa- tion of ideas recognize many complications; likes do not suggest likes exclusively, but opposites opposites, and par- tially resembling. It is not probable that a member of the Royal Humane Society will, even in his dreams, perpetrate the enormity of laughing at the shipwrecked; nor that a patron of the Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals will come before an admiring world as the inventor of the last new thing in murder. Yet none of these things are impossible. A monarch hardly cares to sleep with his hands occupied respectively with orb and sceptre ; and no one will dispute that, whatever dignity it may confer when the wearer is in a vertical position, Uneasy lies tlie head that wears a crown. NOTES AND QUERIES. There would be little wonder if such a monarch were envious of the poorest of his subjects. An Emperor of Germany may dream of the greater felicity of the watchmaker; a King of France, of the superior attractions of the craft of the lock- smith. A philanthropic horror afflicts us as we put the question—Does his Holiness the Pope ever issue a sleeping bull, or direct the artillery of excommunication, or an encyclical against himself ? Or did ever a dignitary of sound Protestant principles, when, a propos of the putting forth of one other decanal “ olive branch,” he fondly longed for a vacancy on the right reverend bench, close his eyes to dream that his mitre was a tiara, and that his title was Pope Joan ? Does a bishop, just after having “ grasped the crosier,” lay to his dreaming soul and conscience the advice of Mr. Disraeli, that now he ought for very shame no longer to defer the study of elementary theology ? Is a three-volumed novel the result of Mr. Bellew’s pursuing the same train of thought in his sleep as he had a few hours before in his wide-awake pulpit; and is the fiction the piecing together of the disjecta membra of his discourse, by an elfish dream-artificer ? Does Mr. Spurgeon ever say to his slumbering soul, “I will pull down my Metropolitan Tabernacle, and build a greater”? We pause for a reply. Waking self-consciousness and ambition are apt to produce dreaming realities of surpassing grandeur. We look down upon ordinary empires; we sneer at the Emperor of China, who parades his cousinship to the moon, as at a man who is proud of his poor relations; and we regard the planetary system generally as a mere bagatelle. With more chastened love of distinction, we have dreamed in our “black country” curacy of the pleasure of ministering to the necessities of fashionable souls; or in some modest “religious house” in the Isle of Ely, “hard by a fenne,” have taken the peat reek that came through the opened window for the incense of St. Magus, or for the sweeter savour of adulation, for a sermon unequalled, and ever to be unequalled, in our waking moments. We have spoken at tlie bar like Cicero; in the Lords, like Pericles; like Demosthenes in the Commons; and to our democratic constituency like Cleon. We have etherealized a budget like Gladstone ; have debated like Bright and Disraeli; and trans- lated Homer in a Derby gallop. We have written epics like “ Paradise Lost” or the “Fall of Babylon;” we have waked to ecstasy the living lyre, like Fletcher or like Tennyson; we have produced dramas like Skakspeare or like Boucicault, which we have played like Kemble or like Widdicombe. Lying in bed, mute and inglorious, we have sung like Mario or like Patti; shown an amazed and admiring public a pas unknown to Terpsichore; or danced with eight other scholastic angels on the point of a mediaeval needle. We have found out a philosophical method that will supersede the Baconian, as Pegasus would outstrip a Suffolk “ punch;” we have at last discovered the latent fallacy that vitiates (Edipus’s solu- tion of the riddle of the Sphinx; with our mind’s eye we have discovered the stars of the future; or wakened ourselves with shouting eureka at the sublime invention of a shirt. Shooting at long range, we have beaten Armstrong and "Whitworth with a popgun charged with Holloway’s Pills; we have settled the question of homoeopathy to the satisfac- tion of the College of Physicians, and other experts in the art of medical ignorance; and triumphantly performed all the surgical operations in the various American armies with a philanthropic neutrality unparalleled in anything but a royal speech. There is in dreams a sort of safety-valve for disappoint- ment. The veteran, maimed and broken in constitution by the fortunes of war, is compensated by a sleeping identifica- tion with the happier merchant. The merchant, tossed by the east wind and at loggerheads with the ocean, dreams uneasily of the preferable shock of battle that in one supreme moment brings speedy death or joyful victory. The farmer, going down home in a state of depression from Mark Lane or his provincial corn-market, shares the ideal bliss of his brother, TIME AND SPACE. tlie attorney; whilst the latter takes refuge from the dry mould and must of Chancery Lane, amongst the dew-spangled tops of the husbandman’s turnips. The mind of the pauper becomes a kingdom; the deaf man hears music finer than the sonatas of Beethoven; the blind man sees double; and the lame man leaps as a hart or a meteor, or wings his flight From star to star, From world to luminous world, as far As the universe spreads its flaming wall. Distance is annihilated; our own planet is a sand-grain; and the entire universe an hour-glass. The equator becomes the girdle of the pole; icebergs build up their towers in the Red Sea; the diameter of a planetary orbit is a hop-skip-and- •jump; and the sun is brought near enough to be serviceable as a toaster of cheese. Time is no more. We give our right hand to Adam and our left to Campbell’s “ Last Mana cyclic year is but the interval between two fever-pulses. The dreamer stands on the verge of a precipice, and does not wink when he sees Death grinning at him from a thousand feet below. He is braver than Hector, fiercer than Achilles, stronger than Thor, more redoubtable than Jack the Giant- killer. He has more transmigrations than Pythagoras, more avataras than Krishna, more impersonations than Bottom or Garrick, more rope-tricks than Calcraft or the brothers Davenport. He is a greater general than Hannibal, Caesar, or Napoleon; a more accomplished fiddler, and a more colossal incendiary, than Nero; a more skilful slayer of flies than Domitian, of Hons than Jules Gerard, of gorillas than Du Chaillu. He is a lover more sad than Dante, more mad than Tasso, more long-winded than Petrarca, more successful than Rochester, Wilkes, or Mirabeau; or, again, more unfor- tunate than Pope or Gibbon. But a truce to conjecture. Let us rise to the didactic. There aro a few lessons for our guidance which may be beaten musically out of our consideration of dream-phenomena. 4 Dreams are valuable as throwing light upon our spiritual constitution. They show us that the mind has a certain power of involuntary action, and that it works generally in the direction in which the waking occupation has given the impetus. They prove its power of vivid realization, of exact and subtle projection and impersonation, and the lightning rapidity of its processes. They show that mental action is not dependent on physical organisms; and thus they help to establish an important analogical argument for the immortality of the soul. They indicate that without physical organisms the mind can realize itself as holding a certain indefinable relation to the material world; and thus they offer their con- tribution to a settlement of the questions of the materiality of the mind, the ideality of matter, and the unity of substance of mind and matter. Nor are they without their value in morals and religion. If “ our prevalent state and disposition of mind, our habits of thought and habits of feeling, determine and shape the com- plexion of our dreams,” it follows that those evil dreams are not innocent which are the result of a burlesque continuation of evil waking desire or speculation. The sordid and miserly cannot hoard even in sleep and be blameless; the cruel cannot be unmerciful without a crime ; the impure cannot be unchaste and be spotless. There is a modified sense in which it may be understood that between the waking world and the world of sleep there is a kind of one-sided extradition treaty, under which the criminals of the latter are to be relegated to the tribunals of the former. It might not be altogether indefen- sible to say that there is nearly as much spontaneity, and therefore nearly as much responsibility attaching to our dreams as to our articles of faith. It follows that they may be made useful for self-correction. If dream-action be morally diseased, there is much reason to suspect that waking action is not morally sound. Our success in our efforts after self- government may be estimated partly by our dream-correctness or divarication. Dreams, again, are of some service, as revealing the natural bent of a man intellectually and aesthetically as well as morally; for in them the natural action of the mind is not repressed by the will to a compulsory profession; and the mind naturally takes the opportunity of exercising itself about that kind of pursuit to which it has an irremovable affinity— for which it has an inherent inclination or adaptation. Further, to flutter about the ethics of dreams, we would suggest or repeat their value as instruments of introspection or self-examination. Many good and wise men from the time of Zeno have professedly so used them. Every solution of goodness in sleep has been pressed for the work of giving continuity to waking excellence. In morals, or let us say in rmmorals, the value of the maxim principiis obsta can scarcely be over-rated. What shall we think, then, of the worth of the dream-watchman who is often the first to give the alarm p The value of dreams for this purpose is to be discovered in the fact that in them seedtime and harvest occur together,— tendency and consummation. The waking man, if he be not a fool, knows that the breeze which wafts a feather-index of direction would in time, if suffered to continue, impel a vessel round the world. In somnio veritas; in dreams each man’s character is disintegrated, so that he may see the elements of which it is composed. It is for him to cure, to confirm, to modify, or to eradicate, in such a way that he may at length attain to symmetrical and blameless combinations. CHAPTER V. ONEIROCRITICA ; OR MODES OF DREAM-INTERPRETATION, ANCIENT AND MODERN. We have already had occasion to remark upon the curi- osity of mankind to ascertain the future, and to mention some of the methods and instruments of divination to which they resorted for that purpose. Oneirocriticism, or dream- interpretation, very early took high rank as an art, and was studied and professed as a science. If we could roll away the mists that enshroud its first origin, it is likely that we should find this to have taken place when man, first losing his recti- tude and purity, lost with them the infancy and the perfection of his trust in a Father. If we could bridge the deluge of Noah, we should probably discover that the sins of the ante- diluvian world were not those alone of violence and bodily impiety. The spiritual defection of the race of the giants was, it is more than conjecturally held, correspondent to the magnitude of their stature. Very soon after the Flood there sprang up heretical speculations in philosophy and theology— as, for instance, in India—so vast and, in principle, so mature, as to make it almost impossible to avoid the belief that they had been transmitted through one or other of the people of the Ark, from the submerged ancestry who had devoted ages to their elaboration. But this is not the place to prosecute a research into regions about which, though so little is known, so much is shadowed in dim and portentous outline. It must suffice us ANTIQUITY OF ONEIROCEITICISM. here that we cannot fix the first dawnings of dream interpre- tation ; we must be content to accept the fact that it has come down, even to our own time, as a relic of the wanton and prurient intellectual activity of immemorial ages. In the youth of the world, it suited the purpose of God to show his power of appropriation and sanctification of all nature and of all human activity. Thus it pleased Him early in the history of the second mundane generation to illustrate and to dignify the dream by manifestations therein either of Himself or his angelic ministers. Whether He sought at the same time to illustrate and to dignify any previously existing mode of interpretation is a point which we should investigate only to arrive at indecision. But that He did so would almost seem a fair inference from a comparison of the crawling slavish induction of after human interpreters with the grandeur of the God-like deduction which characterized the method He sug- gested to his chosen hierophants. Our purpose, at any rate, is answered if our few words have given us any claim to the assumption—which might be otherwise fortified and insisted on—of the general identity of the method of dream-interpre- tation pursued by an inspired Hebrew, and his contemporary illuminati of Chaldaea and Egypt. Thus, however these last came by them, there would be in the time of Joseph, and afterwards to the days of Daniel, the same oneirocritical canons amongst such of the chief nations of antiquity as had at once sufficient cultivation to attempt the analysis of a dream-symbol, and a sense of individual life, and poetic and aesthetic affinities strong enough to make them take an interest in its exposition. We thus guard our words, because we intend by them to exclude as well the barbarian of the north and the west, as the apathetic Pantheist or Nihilist of the further east. The Biblical method, then, is the legitimate representative of the grand style of dream-interpretation. The classification of Scripture dreams will, for our present purpose be less com- plex than the one we adopted in another connection; for they simply resolve themselves into dreams which do, and into dreams which do not, require or admit of explanation. Abimelech (Gen. xx.), Jacob and Laban respectively (Gen. xxx.), and Solomon (1 Kings iii.) did not require to take counsel of any professor or system of interpretation to make clearer the purport of their dreams. The question of vali- dity was the only one they had to settle ; and the creden- tials were so plainly carried on the very front of the dreams themselves, that there was no room for hesitation as to their trustworthiness. It was when the dream came in the guise of a prophetic symbol or allegory, that recourse was to be had to the skill of interpreters,—skill which they either had within themselves, or which was divinely vouchsafed alterna- tively to the dreamer or to some other person for the occasion. The principle of procedure was simple, however difficult might be its execution. Given or discovered the hero or chief personage, in whatever guise typified, the problem was, first to recognize the other figures,—who also had their respective forms of representation,—to remark the relations they stood in to each other, and then to transcribe their acts and words into the acted and spoken analogies of common life. Thus, if the fortunes of Joseph (Gen. xxxvii. 7) were identified with a sheaf of corn, and those of his brothers with other sheaves which paid it homage—the introduction of the human obei- sance is out of keeping; but all analogies must halt somewhere, —it was bitterly accepted by all as a declaration that he arro- gated to himself a future superiority over the members of his family (Gen. xxxvii. 9). In the case of his second dream, where he himself is not symbolized, but appears in his own person, the number and the character of the heavenly bodies sufficiently declared the individuals for whom they stood. In the more complicated dreams of Pharaoh’s chief butler and chief baker, and the still more difficult ones of Nebuchad- nezzar, we observe the same fitness clashing with the same unfitness. The violation of symmetry and of keeping would seem to declare that the framework of these dreams was per- DREAMS OF NEBUCHADNEZZAR. fectly natural, being suggested by the fortunes and tbe occupa- tions of tbe dreamers, although they were informed with a soul of divine meaning. Of the dreams of Nebuchadnezzar especially, it may be said that if events did not instruct us to recognize the prophetical import of the first, we should regard it as perfectly natural that he should dream of an image (Dan. iii.) at a time when his waking thoughts were busy about that projected statue of gold before which the Three Hebreiv Children refused to prostrate themselves. Of the second dream (Dan. iv.), a pathologist might with much show of reason, assert that it was an incipient mani- festation of the mental disease which soon after forced the king of Babylon to company with the beasts of the field, and the symptoms of which, according to sound nosological experience, first emerged into notice during sleep. In this dream, as in the former, we recognize the element of melan- choly, either constitutional or contracted, working together with that arrogance of the royal dreamer which made him look on his capital and say, “ Is not this great Babylon which I have built?” In examining this dream, we see that the interpreter has to decide first upon the significance of each unit thereof; and then to fit it into its proper place without being staggered at partial incongruity. The pieces for the mosaic are given him; he must elaborate the design. The mode of interpretation is precisely the same as that which Homer makes Ulysses to adopt, in reference to Pene- lope’s dream about her geese. We subjoin it from Cowper’s translation of the “ Odysseywe need scarcely remind the reader how faithfully Ulysses took care to verify the inter- pretation with which he sought to comfort the disquiet of his wife. But I have dreamed. Hear and expound my dream! My geese are twenty ; which within my walls I feed with sodden wheat;—they serve to amuse Sometimes my sorrow.—From the mountains came An eagle, huge, hook-beaked,—brake all their necks And slew them: scattered on the palaco floor They lay, and he soared swift into the skies. Dream only as it was, I wept aloud ; Till all my maidens, gathered by my voice, Arriving, found me weeping still, and still Complaining, that an eagle had at once Slain all my geese. But to the palace-roof Stooping again, he sat, and with a voice Of human sound, my tears forbidding, said “ Take courage, daughter of the glorious chief Icarius; no vain dream hast thou beheld. But, in thy sleep, a truth. The slaughtered geese Denote thy suitors ; and myself, who seem An eagle in thy sight, am yet indeed Thy husband, who have now, at last, returned. Death—horrid death—designing for them all.” He said; then, waking at the voice, I cast An anxious look around, and saw my geese Beside their tray, all feeding as before. Her then Ulysses answered, ever-wise— O Queen, interpretations cannot err Unless perversely, since Ulysses’ self So plainly spake the event. Since death impends O’er every suitor; he shall slay them all. Amphictyon, son of Dencalion and Pyrrha, who succeeded Cranans on the throne of Athens, which city he called by that name, and dedicated to Minerva, is said by Pliny to have been the first to practise the art of dream interpretation. This is a tolerable degree of antiquity to invest the art with ; and it tends to show that in the days of Pliny, it was about as hope- less to assign a date to the origin of dream-interpretation as it is now. It would seem that the art, of course in a very rudi- mentary form, was as universal and only a very few days more modern than the act of dreaming. But Ampliictyon does not wear his laurels without challenge. The honour of the introduction of oneirocriticism is given by Tatian and Clement of Alexandria, to the people of Telmessus in Caria ; of whom Herodotus, who was a native of the neighbouring city of Halicarnassus, reports that they were consulted by Croesus, when—Cyrus being already on his march against Sardis— that much be-moralized monarch saw the whole suburbs of his capital “ filled with serpents, and as soon as they appeared, the horses, forsaking their pastures, came and devoured them. When Croesus beheld this, he considered it to be, as it really was, a prodigy, and sent immediately to consult the inter- preters at Telmessus; but the messengers having arrived there, and heard from the Telmessians what the prodigy por- tended, were unable to repeat it to Croesus, for before they sailed back to Sardis, Croesus had been taken prisoner. The Telmessians had pronounced as follows :—‘ That Croesus must expect a foreign army to invade his country, which on its arrival would subdue the natives; because, they said, the serpent was a son of the earth, but the horse is an enemy and a stranger.’ This answer the Telmessians gave to Croesus when he had already been taken ; yet without knowing what had happened with respect to Sardis or Croesus himself.”* There is little doubt that if this prodigy had occurred as a dream to Croesus, instead of a portentous fact to Sardis, the explanation would have been just the same. Nomine mutato, therefore, it shows the style of work in vogue in the middle of the sixth century before Christ, amongst a people who, by some, were reputed to have been the first experts in dream- interpretation. If we wished to arrive at a knowledge of the rules accord- ing to which the significance of dreams was investigated, we should have to do it by a generalization from a crowd of examples similar to the preceding. Of principles laid down as such, of law as a code, we have little trace ; we must pick up what we want from a multiplicity of statutes and instances. In- deed, what rules still exist, exist in the form of facts or assumed facts, the results of a laborious and misdirected induction, and are not by any means unanimous as coming from the mouths of different authorities ; for both the Magi of Persia and the soothsayers of Greece were continually making blunders. And * Herodotns : Clio, 78. whether those of Rome were safer guides to the solution of a knotty point, we shall by and by call in the aid of Cicero to discover. Dreams of evil purport are represented by the Greek tra- gedians as containing a conditional threatening, rather than a changeless and fateful denunciation. There was, therefore, room to hope that by a timely repentance of the crime which had outraged the gods or awakened the Furies their wrath might be appeased, and the doom turned aside from the quailing offender. This door of hope from destruction or disaster naturally gave rise to some rubrical forms and services, of which pro- pitiation was the object. In another place (page 80) we had occasion to see how scornfully Queen Clytemnestra had treated the idea suggested to her interrogatively by the Chorus of Old Men of A’gos in the “ Agamemnon ” of Aeschylus, that possibly it was by means of dreams that she had attained her supernaturally speedy knowledge of the fall of Troy, and of the consequent return of her husband, whose place, in his absence, had been dishonour- ably supplied by her favourite, AEgistlius. But then the Queen was sceptical, because she was innocent; at any rate the Furies had not yet had occasion to fasten upon her soul on account of a murderous intention consummated by a murderous deed. In the “ Choephoree,” the guilty Clytemnestra, whose hands are by this time actually stained with the blood of her husband, is seen hoping by a vicarious and hollow ceremonial to appease the Furies that have assaulted and plagued her soul in the shape of avenging dreams. In order to avert the evil presignified by these nocturnal tormentors, she sends to her husband’s tomb a deputation of captive Trojan women, who under the name of “ Choephorao,” or “ libation bearers,” are at once the chorus and the titulars of the drama. Their pro- ceedings at the tomb of Agamemnon, to which they have been commissioned, in “ sable vestments ” and gloomy pro- cession to repair, are sufficiently described in the following extracts from Professor Blackie’s translation of iEschylus. It will be observed that they have no great heart in their work; and but little hope, perhaps because but little wish, that any good will come of it to their detested mistress. Scene.—The Tomb of Agamemnon. Chorus dressed in sable vestments, bearing vessels with libations. Strophe I. Missioned from these halls I come In the sable pomp of woe, Here to wail and pour libations With the bosom-beating blow. And my cheeks, that herald sorrow, With the fresh-cut nail-ploughed furrow, Griefs vocation show. See ! my rent and ragged stole Speaks the conflict of my soul; My vexed heart on grief is feeding, Night and day withouten rest; Riven with the ruthless morning, Hangs the linen vest, adorning Woefully my breast. Antistrophe I. Breathing wrath through nightly slumbers. By a dream-encompassed lair, Prophet of the house of Pelops, Terror stands with bristling hair. Through the dark night fitful yelling, He within our inmost dwelling Did the sleeper scare. Heavily, heavily terror falls On the woman-governed halls! And, instinct with high assurance, Speak the wise diviners all: “ The dead, the earth-hid dead, are fretful, And for vengeance unforgetfnl, From their graves they call.” Strophe II. This graceless grace to do, toward What ills the dream portendeth, This pomp—0 mother earth !—and mo The godless woman sendeth. Thankless office ! Can I dare, Naming thee to mock the air ? Blood that stains with purple track The ground, what price can purchase back ? O the hearth beset with mourning ! 0 the proud halls overturning ! Darkness, blithe sight’s detestation, Sunless sorrow spread, Bound the house of desolation Whence the lord is fled. In the “ Electra ” of Sophocles, Clytemnestra is repre- sented, with less piety and more simplicity, as trying to avert the mischief portended in a kindred dream, by relating it in the face of the rising sun, whose bright beneficence was sup- posed to be enlisted against his opposite, Night, and all her brood of horrors. Such are the precautions of a queen-monster; we find in the “ Hecuba ” of Euripides the bitter wailing prayer of a queen-martyr,—the bewildered appeal to the gods of a mother whose last surviving daughter was threatened in a dream. But the gods were inexorable; the anguish of Hecuba availed as little to save the life of Polyxena, as the selfish remorse of Clytemnestra did to preserve her own. Prevention is better than cure. Over and above the rites that were judged necessary to propitiate the gods for defence against the consequences of evil dreams, there were practices known which were supposed to anticipate and to prevent their occurrence. We do not now, of course, allude to particulars of diet and other considerations about which it behoved pru- dence to be conversant in this matter, for these have their proper position in medical and other legitimate science ; but to those charms and talismans which were held to be efficacious warders of tlie gate of tlie sleeping soul against the ingress of evil dreams. Aniseed is said by Pliny not only to impart a youthful look to the features, but to have the power, if “ attached to the pillow, so as to be smelt by a person when asleep, of preventing all disagreeable dreams.”* The seed of pycnocomen, or “ thick hair,” on the other hand,—a plant generally, but not always, identified with the Leonurm Marrubiastrum of Linnaeus,— “ taken in doses of one drachm in wine, is pro- vocative of troubled or unquiet dreams.”f “ As to the left shoulder of the chameleon, I should be quite ashamed to say to what monstrous purposes Democritus devotes it; how that dreams may be produced by the agency thereof, and trans- ferred to any person we may think proper; how that these dreams may be dispelled by the employment of the right foot of the said animal. ”:£ Aristotle, and after him Pliny, remarked upon the more frequent occurrence of dreams in the spring and in the autumn; and it was, perhaps, the acting on this hint, with some others, that gave us that entertaining “ Symposiac Question ” of Plutarch, in which it is largely debated, “ Why do we give least attention and least credit to dreams late in the autumn ?” Dr. Beattie seems to have caught the spirit of the great Boeotian philosopher as shown in this discussion, when he undertook to account for the insignificance of morning dreams. It it pretty generally agreed—to resume for a moment our quotations from Pliny—“ that dreams immediately after we have taken wine and food, or when we have just fallen asleep again after waking, have no meaning or value whatever.” In the last two or three sentences we have been wander- ing a little, but we have not been anticipating. Philosophers and compilers, like Pliny and Plutarch, have in these cases simply handed down wide-spread opinions that had been in vogue ages before they were impelled to perpetuate them. We do not go back, therefore, when we record a little bit of gossip * Pliny, “ Nat. Hist.,” xx. c. 73. + lb., xxvi. c. 37. £ lb., xxviii. c. 29. which throws light upon the social status and the possible emoluments of an oneirocritic at the “too superstitious” Athens. In his life of Aristides, Plutarch quotes from the account of Socrates, by Demetrius, an anecdote to the effect that Lysimachus, grandson to Aristides, was so utterly im- poverished as to have plied the trade of a dream-interpreter, using for that purpose some kind of tables, in a stand near the temple of Bacchus. The wretchedness of the income accruing to Lysimachus from this precarious profession, may be inferred from the fact that he was thankful for a decree, procured by Demetrius, which provided for himself, his mother and his aunt, the luxurious pension of three oboli daily. In the regime, extending over centuries, of desultory and capricious exposition, the blindness and littleness of which came, amongst a great number of enlightened men, to be a scoff and a byeword, and which may well account for the squalid indigence of Lysimachus, we find little or rather nothing to detain us. With the defection of men of cultivation from amongst the ranks of the faithful, naturally the art of dream-interpretation degenerated into meaner methods and more impudent quibbles on the part of its professors. Cicero tells one or two pertinent stories, by the transcription of which the juggling, ambiguous mode of the oneirocritic may be pleasantly exposed. They are followed by a quotation from Artemidorus, in whom the same duplicity of dreams and their interpreters that disgusted Cicero, has found an apologist. Whether the logical conclusion from the Protean features of the dream be that it is by its changefulness, or even in spite of its changefulness, that its guiding value is demonstrated, may be safely left to the better judgment of the beatified shade of Artemidorus himself. “Do not the conjectures of the interpreters of dreams rather indicate the subtlety of their own talents than any natural sympathy and correspondence in the nature of things ? “ A runner, who intended to run in the Olympic games, dreamed during the night that he was being driven in a chariot AUDI ALTERAM PARTEM. drawn by four horses. In the morning he applied to an inter- preter. He replied to him: ‘You will win; that is what is intimated by the strength and swiftness of your horses.’ He then applied to Antiphon, who said to him ; ‘ By your dream it appears you must lose the race, for do you not see that four reached the goal before you ?’ “ There is another story respecting an athlete; and the books of Chrysippus and Antipater are full of such stories. However, I will return to the runner. He then went to a soothsayer, and informed him that he had just dreamed that he was changed into an eagle. ‘ You have won your race,’ said the seer, ‘ for the eagle is the swiftest of all birds.’ He also went to Antiphon, who said to him, £ You will certainly be conquered: for the eagle chases and drives other birds 'which fly before it, and consequently is always behind the rest.’ “ A certain matron, who was very anxious to have children, doubted whether she was pregnant or not, dreamed one night that her womb was sealed up ; she, therefore, asked a sooth- sayer whether her dream signified her pregnancy ? He said, ‘ Ho; for the sealing implied that there could be no concep- tion.’ But another whom she consulted said, £ that her dream plainly proved her pregnancy, for vessels that have nothing in them are never sealed at all.’ How delusive, then, is this con- jectural art of these interpreters ! Or do these stories that I have recited, and a host of similar ones which the Stoics have collected, prove anything else but the subtlety of men, who from certain imaginary analogies of things, arrive at all sorts of opposite conclusions ?”* It is thus that Artemidorus recommends the man who is about to venture to sea, to ship a weathercock in the place of a compass. The figure of the last sentence is rather an anachronism, but Artemidorus is scarcely in a condition to complain. “ A man may dream both good and bad dreams in one and the same night. Nay more, in the selfsame dream he may see # Cicero, “ Be Divinatione.” both good and bad things, which the interpreter must separate in judgment. And it is no marvel, since the life and affairs of one particular man is such; that is to say, mingled ordinarily with good and evil. Neither must we be always content with one only issue of our dream, because it hath not always the like effect; wherein Antipater, an interpreter of dreams, often deceives himself. For when any one dreams that he embraced iron, it signifieth that he should be imprisoned, and live among iron. The good Antipater, to another that bath the like dream, will interpret that at a particular combat, in a close field, he shall be condemned, or he shall keep a fencing- school, and live as it were among or by iron, to wit, by the exercise and the art of fencing, where one doth nothing but handle daggers and swords of iron, to whom notwithstanding this fell not out, but he had a member cut off. “ Wherefore we must not always rest at one only point or effect that happened (for that were to deal with beasts, or with fiddlers that can play only one tune), but we must be in- genious to devise every day divers things ; and they must in all points be divers, but somewhat alike : for our spirits and nature are fertile, and recreate and sport themselves in variety.” With the mention of Artemidorus we are reminded that now the subject of dream-interpretation has gathered a litera- ture about it; it is to him that we owe “ the reduction of the art of interpreting dreams to a regular science.” Artemidorus is fondly celebrated in the vulgar and imperfect translation of his most famous treatise, as the rhetorician who made the attempt to call the attention of Cossar to the plot against him, by presenting him with the particulars, as he proceeded on the fatal Ides of March to be sacrificed at the senate house. But this statement is an anachronism and an absurdity. Artemidorus,—self-styled Daldianus, out of a filial respect to the country of his mother,—was a native of Ephesus, and flourished in the second century, under the Emperor Antoninus Pius. His life was passed in the collection of reports of dreams by travelling, correspondence, and the purchase of MSS.; and the result of his labours is a work in five hooks, under the title of “ Oneirocritica.” He was the more assiduous in his study and search after the interpretation of dreams on account of certain advice or commands which he fancied he had received from Apollo. His “ Oneirocritica ” was first printed in Greek at Venice, in the year 1518, and was in 1603 learnedly edited by Rigaltius, and published at Paris in Greek and Latin. Artemidorus is the great lawgiver, and his “ Oneirocritica ” is the statute-book of the dream-world. The science culminated with him; and has since undergone little more at the hands of his successors than a few additions and modifications of detail, to adjust it to contemporaneous social, political, and scientific development. We have yet to learn that any legislation has taken place which settles the worth of the locomotive and the telegraph in the economy of dreams. A bid might be made in this direction for a depart- mental immortality by some Raphael or Orion of the day ; but we fear that the line of grand professors terminated last cen- tury with the late ingenious Mr. Duncan Campbell. We do nor confine ourselves, therefore, to Artemidorus in the Dic- tionary of Interpret ations which will be found at the end of this work, and which should be studied in accordance with the method enunciated in the almost immediately subjoined quo- tation. His is the great Dream-bible; but he has his commen- tators, and we take the liberty of occasional incorporation. The sceptical Bayle has remarked, that there is not one dream explained in any particular manner by Artemidorus which will not admit of a very different explication, that shall have as great show of reasonableness and probability as that furnished by him. Which is conceivable. Here is an abstract of the method which we proposed above to the serious consideration of the reader :— “ In giving judgment on dreams, we are to take notice that dreams are proportioned according to the condition of the party dreaming. Thus, those of persons of eminency, be they 5 G6 CANON OF ARTEMIDORUS. good or bad, will be great,—that is, if good, they signify great benefit, but if bad, great misery. If tbe party that dreams be of a mean condition, tbe dreams, with tbeir events, will be mean also ; if poor, tbeir dreams will be very inconsiderable. For tbe rules of dreaming are not general, and therefore cannot satisfy all persons at once, but often, according to times and persons, admit of various interpretations. Also, in dreams, we must note that tbe parts of tbe body have these significations, to wit, that the bead signifies tbe father; tbe right band tbe mother, tbe son, tbe brother ; tbe left band tbe wife, tbe friend tbe daughter and tbe sisters. Moreover, all those things which are done by us and to us, and towards us only, we must think that they appertain to us particularly. And, on tbe contrary, that all such things as are not done by us, nor towards us, nor in us, 'Vr ° ' 77 shall happen to others ; and yet, notwithstanding, if they be our friends, and tbe dreams signify good, tbe joy shall come to us; and if contrary, then tbe contrary; but if they be our enemies, we ought to think and judge accordingly.’' Two minutes spent in turning over tbe pages of tbe Dic- tionary of Interpretations—of which we shall give a foretaste, by incorporating a kindred but shorter one with our impend- ing notice of Astrampsychus—will faithfully exhibit the value of the foregoing clavis. The definition of a dream, as given by Artemidorus, has the slight fault of containing a petitio principii. “ A dream is a motion or fiction of the soul in a diverse form signifying either good or evil to come." But he distinguished between ivvnviov and oveipo9, insomnium and somnium; the first, as being fleeting and inconsequent, does not concern him, and it is to the latter that philosophical analysis is to be directed. Dreams, again, are differenced as speculative,—those which offer actual scenic representations,—and allegorical, those which prophesy, or give an indication of future events in symbol. Macrobius, the country of whose nativity is unknown, but who was probably a Greek, flourished towards the close of the fourth century. His religion his even more doubtful than his nationality. Besides “ Saturnalia ”■—so called as being records of conversazioni held at his house at Rome on the feasts of Saturn—and one or two minor treatises, he wrote a Commen- tary on the “ Somnium Scipionis ” of Cicero, in which he enumerates five principal classes of dreams :— (1.) "Ompos, somnium, dream. A figurative vision to be interpreted. (2.) "Opajna, visio, a sort of waking ecstasy,— a vision to be afterwards exactly fulfilled. (3.) JiprjfxaTio-fxos, oraculum, a Divine dream procured by sleeping on some particular consecrated spot.* (4.) ’Enhtvlov, insomnium, a mere dream or phantasy, hav- ing only a stomachic or other physiological significance. (5.) <&dvTacrfxa, visum, an apparition (nightmare); an un- real image presented to the mind by an object. The two last classes are perfectly innocent of any preten- sions to unfold futurity. Of the others the second and third are directly intelligible; or, at most, as in the case of the oracular dream, it may be advisable to seek the counsel of some person of superior sanctity or wisdom,—priest, parent, or even divine personage. It remains, therefore, that, as with Artemidorus, the somnium is the only form of dream that will repay, or that is open to, scientific interpretation. Macrobius, whose “ quin- quarticular distribution” of dreams is closely analogous to that adopted by St. Augustine, in the “ works of darkness ” enumerated in his “Liber Exhortationis,” subdivides the som- nium into— (1.) Proprium, when the dreamer himself is active or passive. (2.) Alienum, when another person appears to be so. (3.) Commune, when himself and another are jointly so. (4.) Publicum, when the transaction affects the public welfare. (5.) Generale, when the whole universe is the subject. * Keference has been made to this practice at p. 26. Astrampsychus is tlie name of a poetical dream-interpreter, of whom little is known, except that he wrote a work on the “ Treatment of Asses,” and a Century of Greek Iambics, to which he gave the name of “ Oneirocriticon.” It is probable that this author, who is remarkable chiefly for his having piped in fateful measure to the airy chorus of the Dream, flourished about the fourth century. His is an individuality that attenuates into a corporation of shadows; we strive to clutch him, and he vanishes up a venerable cloud-brooded vista of divining ancestors and brethren, reaching to Zartusht, or Zoroaster. “After Zoroaster,” says Diogenes Laertius, “ there was a regular succession of Magi, under the names of Ostanes and Astrampsychos, and Gobryas and Pazatas, till the destruction of the Persian Empire by Alexander.” Suidas, the lexicographer, helps us a little further into the twilight, when he defines “the Magi as the philosophers and philotheists amongst the Persians; the first of whom was Zoroaster, and after him, in succession, the Ostanai and the Astrampsychoi,” and when he accords our present Astrampsychus only so much individuality as the authorship of the works mentioned above carries with it. Each verse of the “ Oneirocriticon ” explains the significa- tion of a hypothetical dream. As it is likely that not more than ninety-nine persons out of every hundred have seen this poem, we endeavour to think that it is of manageable compass, and offer it in its entirety. We shall be happy to receive a metrical version for our next edition. THE ONEIROCRITICON OF ASTRAMPSYCHUS. To talk in dreams is a sign of tlieir truth. To move slowly denotes unfortunate journeys. It is good to fly, for it is the sign of an honourable deed. Laughter in sleep presages difficult circumstances. To weep in sleep U a sign of the utmost joy. To eat with enemies indicates a reconciliation. A CENTURY OF ORACLES. C9 To be dead in dreams announces freedom from anxiety. An offensive odour signifies annoyance. If any one offer incense to you, it portends affliction. If you seem to be an old man, you will attain to honour. To run in dreams shows the stability of your circumstances. To wash the hands denotes the release from anxieties. To clean the feet denotes the release from anxieties. To clean the body denotes the release from anxieties. To cut the hair signifies losses in business. To lose the hair heralds great danger. To see white meats is exceedingly advantageous. To see black meats forbodes evil to one’s children. To embrace your mother is to have a lucky dream. To embrace one’s best beloved is very fortunate. All embraces bring about protracted labours. To kiss or to love excites the long-continued opposition of one’s enemies. To have broad feet is a sign of misfortune. The amputation of the feet is a bar to a contemplated journey. The burning of the body indicates a very evil reputation. Gladness of mind shows that you will live abroad. For a blind man to see is the best omen possible. To wear a white robe is an excellent omen. To wear a black one is a mournful spectacle. To wear a purple robe threatens a long disease. To wear a red one promises an honourable action. To wear the pall of kings is the solution of one’s expectations. The tearing of a garment is relief from the burden of anxieties. A severed girdle speedily cuts short a journey. To behold the stars forbodes much good to men. Thunder-peals in dreams are the words of messengers (ayye\uv). To see lights indicates guidance in affairs. The sight of snow figures the hostilities of enemies. The sight of the dead indicates the ruin of affairs. The sight of withered trees declares the uselessness of labours. Pearls denote a torrent of tears. Milk confounds the politics of enemies. Milk is the sign of peaceful circumstances. Clay or mud symbolizes the sordid avarice of the disposition. A pellucid fountain dispels the distresses of the mind. Wine poured from the vessels soothes the distresses of the mind Musty wine announces many difficulties. To mix different wines is to invite serious quarrels. Water gushing up from below is a sign of enemies. To drain a cup of clear water is a lucky token. The pouring out of rivers dissipates the joy of enemies. To stand in the assemblies brings with it a crime. Sitting naked signifies loss of property. Sitting on a dunghill signifies disastrous circumstances. Sitting upon a stone, you may conceive great expectations. Sitting on a wall indicates coming prosperity. To embark on a lake is a sign of evil. To walk over live coals signifies loss from one’s enemies. To walk over potsherds signifies loss of one’s enemies. . To creep up a mountain signifies the difficulty of business. To tread upon serpents is to blunt the sharp attacks of foes. If you sail over mud, look out for mental disquiet. The falling from a precipice is an evil omen. The eating of sweets portends disagreeable circumstances. To swallow bunches of grapes indicates a deluge of rain. To feed on lettuces is a sign of disease of the body. To drink muddy water foretells disease of the body. If you are governing children, expect a coming danger. To hold a bull is to be disappointed of one’s hopes. If any one holds goods, let him fear the attacks of his enemies. A broken staff portends an unhappy death. To catch falcons indicates the fulfilment of your utmost desires. To hold keys signifies the settlement of affairs. To hold a twig foreshadows a prosecution. To seize a sword is the sign of a contest. To handle threads is a presage of troublesome circumstances. To hold a sparrow, struggling to escape, forebodes mischief. To grasp a pillar is to expect the Divine favour. To shiver a sword signifies the crushing of one’s foes. The escape of a hawk from the hand is disastrous to those in powi To hold gold is a warning to leave one’s projects undone. To hold eggs, or to eat eggs, symbolizes vexation. To behold oxen in dreams is of evil tendency. To see black mares is a thoroughly bad sign. The sight of white horses is a vision of angels. To see lions announces the contentions of one’s enemies. The sight of doves is the introduction of injury. To see a colt running denotes something mysterious. The barking of a dog portends the detriment of one’s enemies A gaping wolf signifies nonsensical discourse. PARSEE NOTIONS. The sight of a mouse bespeaks propitious circumstances. Dead oxen signify times of famine. The sight of wasps marks injuries to one’s foes. The sight of a hare portends an unlucky journey. If you see oil, you will escape every misfortune. To see the ocean calm is favourable. The noise of the sea stands for the throng of business. To swim in the sea forebodes bitter sorrows. To dream in the daytime of swimming in the sea is good. The eating of figs signifies nonsensical discourse. Before we return from the Eastern localities to which the philosophical or “ philotheistic ” genealogy of Astrampsychus has for a moment transported us, let us see in what light the more modern representatives of the great Persian race look upon dreams. Not that we are going to offer any systematic account of the methods of interpretation which either are or have been current among the Parsees of Western India; without that, we shall be able to get a valuable inferential testimony to the fact that much significance was by them attached to dreams. The dreams of which the following table makes mention seem almost exclusively to consist of precisely those classes of which, according to Macrobius, the interpre- tation might either be disregarded or left to the sequence of events. It may have been observed or inferred that Artemi- dorus and others derived a great advantage from the indeter- minateness in point of time which they claimed for the dream. With the dreams of the “ Sifat-i-Sirozah ” everything is re- versed. There is no question of systematic interpretation; but the whole moves on a pivot of time. The particular day of the month—that is, the time—is the only and sufficient criterion of the dreams which occur on that day, and the solution is almost without exception fixed to take place within a certain limited period. The “ Sifat-i-Sirozah ” treats, says Dr. Wilson, of Bombay, “ of the qualities of the thirty days of the month as auspicious or inauspicious. Though its intimations are absurd in the highest degree, it exercises great I influence over the whole body of Zoroastrians. It is so much regarded by them that there is scarcely a family without a copy, and there are few individuals who have not its precepts written on the tablets of their hearts. On this account, as well as because of the brief information which it gives respecting the Amshaspands and Izads, to whom the days of the months are sacred, it is not unworthy of the attention of Europeans. It exists in the Persian language, but there are several Gujarati versions which are generally used.” “ 1. The first day of the month is that of the good Hormazd. Dreaming is attended with good; and the dream ought not to be revealed to any person till its result be known. The signification of a dream will be manifest, and not occult. What has now been stated accords with experience, through the Divine grace. We have not Divine authority for our statements. “2. The second day is that of Bahman, the angel wrho presides over the increase of mankind, and protects horses and goats. Events dreamed of will occur in four days, but the hopes which may be cherished will be disappointed. “ 3. The third day is that of Ardebehisht, the angel who is the guardian of fire. The vision of dreams will not be realized. “4. The fourth day is that of Sharivar, the angel who presides over hills and mountains, and over mines, gold and silver. This is a good day. The visions of dreams will be speedily realized. “ 5. The fifth day of the month is that of Sipandarmad, the protector of animated beings. The visions of dreams will have a speedy realization. “6. The sixth day of the month is that of Khurdad, the angel who presides over water and vegetation. The visions of dreams will be realized before the close of the day. “7. The seventh day of the month is that of the Amshas- pand (archangel) Amardad, who presides over trees and grass. The good or bad result of a dream will be known within twenty days. “ 8. The eighth day is denominated from Depddar Izad. It is a lucky day. The visions of dreams will be realized within ten days. “ 9. The ninth day of the month is denominated from A'dar, the angel who presides over fire. The visions of dreams will be realized within a fortnight. “ 10. The tenth day of the month is denominated from A'wan Izad, who presides over water. The visions of dreams will be realized within ten days. “11. The eleventh day is that of Ivhurshid, the angel who presides over the sun. “ 12. The twelfth day of the month is that of the angel Maha, who takes care of cattle. This is an excellent day. The visions of dreams will be immediately realized. “ 13. The thirteenth day of the month is that of Tir, the angel wrho presides over clouds and rain. This day is inau- spicious. Dreams will be realized within forty days. “ 14. The fourteenth day is that of Gosh, the angel who presides over animals. The visions of dreams will be realized within twenty days. “ 15. The fifteenth day of the month is called Depmeher, the Izad who presides over all the languages of the world. These languages are seventy-two in number, as known to the glorious God, and to ourselves. The visions of dreams will be realized the same day. “ 16. The sixteenth day of the month is that of Meher Izad (Mithra), the angel who resides with the sun, and pre- sides over the blossoming of trees. It is a lucky day. The visions of dreams will be realized before the close of the day. “17. The seventeenth day is that of Serosh, the angel who presides over learning. This is an inauspicious day. All the visions of dreams will prove false. “18. The eighteenth day of the month is that of Rashne, the angel who presides over truth and righteousness. It is an auspicious day. The visions of dreams will he fulfilled within sixteen days. “19. The nineteenth day is that of Favardin, the angel who presides over Paradise and over the souls of men. This day is very auspicious. The visions of dreams will be realized within eight days. “ 20. The twentieth day is that of Behram, the angel who presides over travellers. It is a good day. The visions of dreams will he realized within ten days. “21. The twenty-first day is that of Ram, the angel who presides over destiny. This is a good day. The visions of dreams will prove delusive. “ 22. The twenty-second day of the month is that of Guvad, the angel who presides over the winds. It is a good day. The vision of dreams will he realized. “ 23. The twenty-third day of the month is that of Dep- din, who is God himself. This is as inauspicious day. What- ever may be dreamt of, ought to be kept secret. “ 24. The twenty-fourth day of the month is that of Din, the angel who presides over the Mazdayasnan religion. It is an auspicious day. The visions of dreams will he realized before the close of the day. “ 25. The twenty-fifth day of the month is that of Ashasang, the angel who presides over religious mendicants. It is an inauspicious day. The visions of dreams will he had, and their issue unpleasant. “ 26. The twenty-sixth day is that of Aslitad, the angel who presides over the seeds of the earth. This is a good day. The visions of dreams will he realized within ten days. “ 27. The twenty-seventh day is that of A'sman, the angel who presides over heaven. It is an excellent day. The visions of dreams will he realized within ten days. “ 28. The twenty-eighth day of the month is that oi Zamiad, the angel who presides over fruit-bearing trees. This is an indifferent day. The visions of dreams will soon he realized. “ 29. The twenty-ninth day of the month is that of Maha- raspand, the angel who presides over Paradise. It is a good day. “ 30. The thirtieth day is that of Aniran, the angel who presides over marriage among mankind. It is a good day. The visions of dreams will soon he realized.” We have extracted from this calendar—a translation of which occurs in the appendix to Dr. Wilson’s “ Parsi Religion as contained in the Zand Avasta,” published at Bombay in 1843—only such parts of the oracles as are conversant about dreams. If the reader wishes to have an idea of the ap- pearance which the “ Sifat-i-Sirozah ” makes in extenso, the following characteristics of the sixth day of the month may serve him for a sample:— “The sixth day of the month is that of Khurdad, the angel who presides over water and vegetation. It is a fortu- nate day, and auspicious for sowing seeds and planting trees, for drinking wine and opening veins, for setting out on a long journey and marrying. But no new hope should be enter- tained. The day is suitable for shaving, for scraping nails, and for going to the bath. The child born this day will prove of bad character and qualities. Those who fall sick will soon be restored. The visions of dreams will be realized before the close of a day. Whatever may be lost or mislaid will never be recovered. Rumours will never be contradicted, but will prove true.” The dream has had great attractions for the Oriental mind, wherever that mind has not been benumbed or crushed by the fierce overpowering forces of a tropical nature out of its very power of asserting its individuality. We do not ask the Buddhist for his system of dream-interpretation; for it would be profoundly illogical for him to have one. But among the sons of the sword and of Islam, oneirocritics have, with religious sanction, taken a firm root, and have widely spread. 70 GABDORRHACHAMAN. Gabdorrhacliaman, tlae son of Nasar, supposed by Pierre Yattier—who in 1664 published a French translation of his work on dreams under the title of “ L’Onirocrite Mussulman ” —to have flourished in the second century of the Hegira, is the great prophet of Arabic oneirocriticism. We have not sought to make his explanations dovetail into those of Artemidorus, and others of the Western school, from whom we have compiled and selected in our “ Dictionary of Interpretationsand the best plan to adopt in reference to him is to present at once the most sahent features and principles of his book. There is no overwhelming claim to immortahty in an abstract, at least, such a claim is rarely conceded; and we therefore gratefully take advantage of a very admirable epitome of “L’Onirocrite Mussulman” which is already extant in the “ Encyclopgedia Metropolitans ” Dreams, we are told in the outset, form one of the forty- six parts of prophecy, and that man who undertakes their interpretation should understand the Book of God, and re- member the words of his Apostle, whose name be perpetually blessed ! He should also comprehend Arabic proverbs and the etymologies of words; the distinction of men, of their habits, and of their conditions; he should be skilled in the principles of interpretation, and possess a clean spirit, chaste morals, and the Word of Truth. Various examples are then given of the necessity for each of the above attainments. Explanations are often to be drawn, in the first place, from the Koran; as, for instance, if an egg be seen in a dream, who can doubt that the dream concerns women, when he remembers the text, “Women are like an egg hidden in a nest” P Secondly, we must often decide from the words of the Apostle; e. g., Mo- hammed having once called a shrewmouse a little adulteress, it follows that all dreams about shrewmice relate to faithless wives. Thirdly, proverbs and words in dreams realize them- selves to the very letter, or its contrary. Fourthly, dreams vary in an essential maimer, according to the distinction in men’s moral habits; thus, if a man of probity dream that he has his hands tied, no more is meant than to signify his aversion from ill; but if he be a wicked man to whom such a dream occurs, it betokens the multitude of his crimes, and his final damnation. So, too, there is a variation according to the difference of time: to be mounted on an elephant by night portends some occurrence of great show but little profit, whereas a ride on the same animal by day is the sure fore- runner of the repudiation of a wife. In their estimate of the most veritable dreams the Arabs agree with the Greeks and Romans, and place them, like the vnrap of Homer, just before dawn. To these they add such as occur during a noontide nap. Moreover, dreams are always most likely to prove true which happen during the season of ripe fruit. The first duty of a Mussulman oneirocritic may be thought sufficiently obvious. It is that he have a right understanding of all that is told him by the person who makes report of the dream; for if the whole dream be confused, and cannot be reduced to principles, it must be considered of that kind which are called inexplicable. A resolution, to which he must strictly adhere, involves in it something of a pious fraud: if any dream be reported to him of which the true interpretation tends to the commission of ill, he must put a good face on the matter, and give an answer less true, indeed, but more profit- able. He must carefully remember that trees, beasts of prey, and birds, denote men generally; but in each of these he must have regard to the species ; thus, a palm-tree marks an Arab, but a walnut-tree a native of Gagemia; the former, a useful man endowed with many good qualities; the latter, a cheat and a quarrelsome person, for the plain reasons that nuts make a noise when they are shaken, and that no one can get at their kernels without having first cracked the outer shell. A bird denotes a great traveller; but a peacock, a vulture, or an eagle, implies a king of Gagemia, with his rich attire, his inexhaustible treasures, and his superb retinue. The wise man who dreams of a crow or a magpie will beware lest he encounter some impious and irreligious hypocrite. "We cannot pretend to enter npon all the various dreams to which Gabdorrhacliaman has appended resolutions. Hapless is the priest who, in his dream, makes a call to prayer, without obtaining a congregation,—he will inevitably prove a thief; yet more hapless the candidate for oratorical distinction, who dreams that he has made a speech, unless he he fully qualified for his task,—he will assuredly be crucified. Of the planets, Saturn represents the Chief Justice; Mars, the Commander- in-Chief ; Jupiter, the Lord Treasurer, or Lord Chamberlain, or, occasionally, some other distinguished personage; Venus, the Queen; and Mercury, the Home Secretary. Whoever dreams that he devours the stars, will live free of expense at some great man’s table. To roast meat is a sign that the dreamer is abusive and a backbiter; to eat roasted meat is a sure forerunner of little profit and much care; to boil a kettle with meat in it is a proof that gain will be derived from some householder, who is represented by the kettle; but, alas for him whose kettle is without meat! he will affront a house- holder, and suffer for his pains. Especial note should be taken of the sort of house which presents itself in our dreams; one plastered and unknown, is the tomb , one unknown, but not plastered, is a wife. If any man dream that he is unroofing his own house, he will become poor, if that of another, he will become rich at that other’s expense. Fruits differ widely in their prognostics. Apples betoken professional advantage in proportion to the quantity eaten. Oranges in great numbers foretell riches, and one or two signify virtuous children; neither is their yellow colour, though generally ill-omened, to be feared as unpropitious: but pears, apricots, saffron, quinces, and melons, notify distress and sickness. White and red grapes are eminently fortunate; they are, indeed, the juice of the good things of this world. Not so the black kind, especially when out of season,—disease will follow them. Sometimes, from the number of stones which they contain may be estimated the number of basti- nadoes which he who eats them will receive,—sometimes the LOSS OF TEETH. number of pimples which will blush upon his skin. In a word, no good can arise from any black grape, because when Noah—to whom God grant peace!—cursed his son in his wrath, the grapes which he held in his hand turned to a dark colour. To dream that we have our heads beneath our shoulders without their being severed at the neck, is a sign of dismissal by a superior, and of consequent poverty ; change of hair from black to white betokens approaching honours ; increase of the length of the beard, denotes care, discontent, and misfortune, proportioned to the elongation. To be shaved is ill-omened ; to be anointed, provided the oil be fragrant, the contrary. The sprouting of whiskers to one who usually shaves them is a sign of debt. As we eat our own brains or another man’s, we shall live respectively at his or our own cost. He who dreams that his tongue has grown to an immoderate length, will vanquish his opponent in argument, if he be engaged in any controversy; if otherwise, he will utter much folly and ribaldry ; but under all circumstances, and on every occasion, few dreams can be more fortunate than that in which a man sees the tongue of his wife amputated at the root. Each tooth points to a different relation ; the two in front denote children, brothers, and sisters ; the next two, uncles, aunts, and cousins, and so on to the more remote. The reader of Herodotus (vi. 107) will remember the evil augury which Hippias drew from the loss of his last tooth on the sands of Marathon ; but the Khalif Almansor took a sure mode of obtaining a happy prognostic, when he dreamed that his com- plete set fell out from his jaws. The first interpreter whom he consulted informed him that all his relations would die. The Commander of the Faithful was angry, and dismissed the melancholy seer with abundance of hard words. “ God has given you an evil mouth, and put into it evil words. Quit my presence, and take the curse of God for your company.” The second oneirocritic who was summoned did not require further warning; he was one, we are told, experienced in addressing1 the great; and he modified the nnpleasant answer so as to assure the Khalif that he should outlive all his connections. Almansor smiled graciously at the announcement, and ordered the agreeable prophet 10,000 drachms of gold. The son of Sirin was informed one morning by a man already affianced, that he had dreamed his betrothed was changed into a little Ethiopian dwarf. “ Hasten to complete your nuptials,” was the advice which he received ; “ the black- ness of the bride signifies great riches; the smallness of her stature brevity of days.” The lover obeyed, and in a few days buried his newly married wife, and inherited her great wealth. The colour of horses is important; black, white, and bay are fortunate; chestnut is better than any other colour; but the happiest of all is the steed with four white feet, and a star in his forehead. A black mare signifies a rich wife ; a dappled grey, one of extraordinary beauty; a greenish-bay (?), a devotee; a dark bay, a skilful musician; a bright chestnut, one wealthy and pious. Asses are yet more lucky than horses, and the rules in regard to their colours are alike. The more signs of blows and bruises which an ass exhibits, the better it is for the dreamer. To buy an ass and to pay for it in ready money, prognosticates success. To kill an ass in order to eat its flesh, foretells treasure-trove : but to drink an ass’s milk is a sign of heavy sickness. Resurrection-men should be careful to whom they relate their dreams. “ What answer,” said a stranger to the son oi Sirin, “ shall I convey to a man who has dreamed that he broke some eggs, and took out the white, and left the yolk in the shells ?” “ Tell him to come and consult me in person,” replied the oneirocritic. It was in vain that the same message was often repeated ; the son of Sirin refused all answer, till the messenger avowed that himself was the dreamer, and con- firmed the statement by an oath. “ Seize that man and bear him before the Cadi, for he disinters and robs the dead,” was the declaration which immediately overwhelmed him with terror and astonishment. On awaking after a bad dream, it is prudent to spit on the left side, and to ask Divine protection from Satan. This pre- cept is thought to have been derived from the Prophet (to whom God grant peace and mercy !), and it is a sufficient antidote against the most evil dreams. Another precept traced to the Prophet, with which we shall conclude our notice of Gabdorrhachaman, is that “ a dream belongs to the first interpreter.” Mohammed, it seems, on two separate occasions, explained a dream which a woman related to him in the absence of her husband, namely, that the main beam of their house was broken, as a sign that her husband would return in safety, and she would bear a son. On a third application, with a similar dream, the Prophet was not at home: and Gaira replied in his stead, that the woman’s husband would die, and that she would bear a daughter. On Mohammed’s return, the dreamer complained of the evil change in the interpretation, and was silenced by the above dictum. The event was according to the prediction; and Gabdorrhachaman easily discovers a reason for the anomaly. There was some difference, he says, either in the times or else in the woman. Here our obligation to the “ Encyclopaedia Metropolitana ” determines. We may take our leave of the sage Gabdorr- hachaman with the last short paragraph of his pious and interesting treatise. It is given in the French of Professor Vattier and of the seventeenth century. “ Ce Livre est acheve avec l’aide de Dieu Tout-Puissant et la faveur de son secours. Dieu fasse paix et misericorde a nostre Seigneur Mahomet et a ceux de sa Famille et a ceux de son Party.”* But Mahometanism did not have it all its own way in the matter of dream interpretation, even in countries where it flourished in greatest strength and glory. An age or two * Its fall title runs as follows:—“L’Onirocrite Mussulman, ou la doctrine et interpretation des Songes selon les Arabes, par Gabdorr- hachaman, fils de Nasar; de la traduction de M. Pierre Vattier, docteur en medecine, lecteur et professeur du Roy en langue arabique, sur le manuscrit arabe.” 6 before the Prophet of Islam was born or thought of, Synesius, a native of Cyrene, and a Father and bishop of the Christian Church, in which his name has yet a qualified savour as the author of some rather mystical and metaphysical “ hymns,” wrote a small work conversant about dreams, on which he bestowed the title of “ De Insomniis.” Synesius, it may be remarked, had been in early life a pupil of the renowned lady Platonist professor, Hypatia, who for some time headed her party at Alexandria. The “ De Insomniis ” of Synesius was annotated by Gregoras, a Greek ecclesiastical historian of the early part of the fourteenth century. The “ Oneirocritica ” of Achmet, a physician, who from internal evidence is thought to have been a Christian, was a Greek treatise which went at considerable length into the details of the oriental system of dream interpretation. It was probably antecedent to the work of Gabdorrhachaman5 but after the abstract of the latter’s production already given, it is unnecessary to say more of that of Achmet. Hearer home, and in more modern times, the Italian physician Jerome Cardan, himself an inveterate dreamer, and a mystic and enthusiast from the cradle, put forth a treatise, called “ Somniorum Synesiorum omnis generis insomnia explicantes, Libri IV.” He fortifies his reasonings, for which he is largely indebted to Artemidorus, by numerous dreams, of some of which he was himself the subject. One or two of these will be found in the proper connection; we leave him with an an revoir till he makes his reappearance in the department of dream-examples. A few years after the death of Cardan, which took place at Rome in 1576, Giuniaio Maio, a gentleman and scholar of Naples, took up the study of oneirocritics, and had a pretty large following of disciples in his doctrine, of whom some attained to considerable eminence. Rabelais, who belonged to the same century as the men of whom we have last written, with his usual flippant profundity, has given us a glance at the systems of divination which had obtained in the world up to his own time. Among these systems, he has not failed to include oneirocriticism. The reader may like to see the whole subject treated with the dash- ing buffoonery of the reverend philosopher of Meudon. His short resume oscillates, usefully for our purpose, between the qualified credulity of the learned, and the snperstition of the vulgar, and so gives us glimpses of each. It is to be premised that Panurge wishes inordinately to marry. But he is staggered by the dread of mishaps which might touch his honour, as much as he is attracted by his hope of advantage. With him “ I dare not,” constantly waits upon “I would.” In order to set the mind of Panurge at rest upon the momentous question, Pantagruel recommends him to have recourse to one or other of the recognized methods of ascer- taining the future. At last it is settled that the issue of Panurge’s fate is to be staked upon a dream. “ Now, seeing we cannot agree together in the manner of expounding or interpreting the sense of the Virgilian lots, let us bend our course another way, and try a new sort of divination.” “ Of what kind ?” asked Panurge. “ Of a good, ancient, and authentic fashion,” answered Pantagruel; “ it is by dreams. For in dreaming, such circum- stances and conditions being thereto adhibited, as are clearly enough described by Hippocrates, in Lib. Ilept twv evwmW, by Plato, Plotinus, Iamblicus, Synesius, Aristotle, Xenophon, Galen, Plutarch, Artemidorus, Daldianus, Herophilus, Q. Calaber, Theocritus, Pliny, Athenaeus, and others, the sou doth oftentimes foresee what is to come. How true this is? you may conceive by a very vulgar and familiar example; as when you see that at such a time as suckling babes, well nourished, fed, and fostered with good milk, sleep soundly and profoundly, the nurses in the meantime get leave to sport themselves, and are licentiated to recreate their fancies at what range to them shall seem most fitting and expedient, their I 84 NECESSITY OF AN INTERPRETER. presence, sedulity, and attendance on the cradle being during all that space held unnecessary. Even just so, when our body is at rest, that the concoction is everywhere accomplished, and that, till it awake it lacks for nothing, our soul delighteth to disport itself, and is well pleased in that frolic to take a review of its native country, which is the heavens, where it receiveth a most notable participation of its first beginning, with an imbuement from its divine source, and in contemplation of that infinite and intellectual sphere, whereof the centre is every- where, and the circumference in no place of the universal world (to wit, God, according to the doctrine of Hermes Trismegistus), to whom no new thing happeneth, whom nothing that is past escapeth, and unto whom all things are alike present, it remarketh not only what is preterit and gone in the inferior course and agitation of sublunary matters, but withal, taketh notice of what is to come; then bringing a relation of those future events unto the body by the outward senses and exterior organs, it is divulged abroad unto the hearing of others. Whereupon the owner of that soul deserveth to be termed a vaticinator or prophet. Nevertheless, the truth is, that the soul is seldom able to report those things in such sincerity as it hath seen them, by reason of the imperfection and frailty of the corporeal senses, which obstruct the effec- tuating of that office ; even as the moon doth not communicate to this earth of ours that light which she receiveth from the sun with so much splendour, heat, vigour, purity, and liveliness as it was given her. “ Hence it is requisite for the better reading, explaining, and unfolding of these somniatory vaticinations, and predic- tions of that nature, that a dexterous, learned, skilful, wise, industrious, expert, rational, and peremptory expounder or interpreter be pitched upon, such an one as by the Greeks is called Oneirocrit or Oneiropolist. For this cause Heraclitus was wont to say, that nothing is by dreams revealed to us, that nothing is by dreams concealed from us, and that only we thereby have a mystical signification and secret evidence of TEMPERANCE AS A PREPARATION. tilings to come, either for onr own prosperous or unlucky fortune, or for the favourable or disastrous success of another. The sacred Scriptures testify no less, and profane histories assure us of it, in both which are exposed to our view a thousand several kinds of strange adventures, which have befallen pat according to the nature of the dream, and that as well to the party dreamer as to others. The Atlantic people, and those that inhabit the island of Thasos, one of the Cyclades, are of this grand commodity deprived; for in their countries none yet ever dreamed. Of this sort were Cleon of Daulia, Thrasymedes, and in our days the learned Frenchman Villano- vanus, neither of all which knew what dreaming was. “ Fail not, therefore, to-morrow, when the jolly and fair Aurora with her rosy fingers clraweth aside the curtains of the night, to drive away the sable shades of darkness, to bend your spirits wholly to the task of sleeping sound, and thereto apply yourself. In the meanwhile you must denude your mind of every human passion or affection, such as are love and hatred, fear and hope ; for as of old the great vaticinator and most famous and renowned prophet, Proteus, was not able in his disguise or transformation into fire, water, a tiger, a dragon, and other such uncouth shapes and visors, to presage anything that was to come, till he was restored to his own first natural and kindly form, just so doth man ; for at his reception of the art of divination, and faculty of prognosticating future things, that part within him which is the most divine (to wit, the Nods, or Mens), must be calm, peaceable, untroubled, quiet, still, hushed, and not imbusied or distracted with foreign, soul- disturbing perturbations.” “ I am content,” quoth Panurge. “ But I pray you, sir, must I this evening, ere I go to bed, eat much or little ? I do not ask this without cause. For if I sup not wrell, large, round5 and amply, my sleeping is not worth a forked turnip. All the night long, I then but doze and rave, and in my slumbering fits talk idle nonsense, my thoughts being in a dull brown study, and as deep in the dumps, as is my belly hollow.” “ Not to sup,” answered Pantagruel, “ were best for you, considering- the state of your complexion and healthy constitu- tion of your body. A certain very ancient prophet, named Amphiaraus, wished such as had a mind by dreams to be imbued with any oracles, for four-and-twenty hours to taste no victuals, and to abstain from wine three days together. Yet, shall not you be put to such a sharp, hard, rigorous, and ex- treme sparing diet. I am truly right apt to believe, that a man whose stomach is replete with various cheer, and in a manner surfeited with drinking, is hardly able to conceive aright of spiritual things; yet am I not of the opinion of those who, after long and pertinacious fastings, think by such means to enter more profoundly into the speculation of celestial mysteries. You may very well remember how my father Gar- gantua (whom here, for honour’s sake, I name) hath often told us, that the writings of abstinent, abstemious, and long-fasting hermits were every whit as saltless, dry, jejune, and insipid as were their bodies when they did compose them. It is a most difficult thing for the spirits to be in a good plight, serene and lively when there is nothing in the body but a kind of voidness and inanity; seeing the philosophers with the physicians jointly affirm, that the spirits, which are styled animal, spring from and have their constant practice in and through the arterial blood, refined and purified to the life within the admirable net, which, wonderfully framed, lieth under the ventricles and tunnels of the brain. He gave us also the example of the philosopher, who, when he thought most seriously to have withdrawn himself unto a solitary privacy, far from the rustling clutterments of the tumultuous and con- fused world, the better to improve his theory, to contrive, comment, and ratiocinate, was, notwithstanding his uttermost endeavours to free himself from all untoward noises, surrounded and environed about so with the barking of curs, bawling of mastiffs, bleating of sheep, prating of parrots, tattling of jack- daws, grunting of swine, girning of boars, yelping of foxes, mewing of cats, cheeping of mice, squeaking of weasels, croak- INCONVENIENCES OF HUNGER. ing of frogs, crowing of cocks, cackling of liens, calling of par- tridges, chanting of swans, chattering of jays, peeping of chickens, singing of larks, creaking of geese, chirping of swallows, clucking of moor-fowls, cncking of cuckoos, bumbling of bees, rammage of hawks, chirming of linnets, croaking of ravens, screeching of owls, whicking of pigs, gushing of hogs, curring of pigeons, grumbling of cusliet-doves, howling of panthers, curkling of quails, chirping of sparrows, crackling of crows, nuzzing of camels, whining of whelps, buzzing of dro- medaries, mumbling of rabbits, cricking of ferrets, humming of wasps, mioling of tigers, bruzzing of bears, sussing of kit- lings, clamouring of scarfes, whimpering of fulmarts, booing of buffaloes, warbling of nightingales, quavering of meavises, drintling of turkeys, coniating of storks, frantling of peacocks, clattering of magpies, murmuring of stock-doves, crouting of cormorants, cigling of locusts, charming of beagles, guarring of puppies, snarling of messens, rantling of rats, guerieting of apes, snuttering of monkeys, pioling of pelicans,, quacking of ducks, yelling of wolves, roaring of lions, neighing of horses, barring of elephants, hissing of serpents, and wailing of turtles, —that ho was much more troubled than if he had been in the middle of the crowd at the fair of Fontenay or Niort. Just so it is with those who are tormented with the grievous pangs of hunger. The stomach begins to gnaw and bark, as it were, the eyes to look dim, and the veins, by greedily sucking some refection to themselves from the proper substance of all the members of a fleshy consistence, violently pull down and draw back that vagrant roaming spirit, careless and neglecting of his nurse and natural host, which is the body; as when a hawk upon the fist -willing to take her flight by a soaring aloft in the open, spacious air, is on a sudden drawn back by a leash tied to her feet. “ To this purpose also did he allege unto ns the authority of Homer, the father of all philosophy, who said, that the Grecians did not put an end to their mournful mood for the death of Patroclus, the most intimate friend of Achilles, till hunger in a rage declared herself, and their bellies protested to furnish no more tears unto their grief. For from bodies emptied and macerated by long fasting, there could not be such supply of moisture and brackish drops, as might be proper on that occasion. “ Mediocrity at all times is commendable ; nor in this case are you to abandon it. You may take a little supper, but thereat you must not eat of a hare, nor of any other flesh. You are likewise to abstain from beans, from the preak, by some called the polyp, as also from coleworts, cabbage, and all other such-like windy victuals, which may endanger the troub- ling of your brains, and the dimming or casting a kind of mist over your animal spirits. For as a looking-glass cannot exhibit the semblance or representation of the object set before it, and exposed to have its image to the life expressed, if that the polished sleekedness thereof be darkened by gross breath- ings, dampish vapours, and foggy, thick, infectious exhalations, —even so the fancy cannot well receive the impression of the likeness of those things which divination doth afford by dreams, if any way the body be annoyed, or troubled with the furnish steam of meat, which it had taken in a while before ; because, betwixt these two there still, hath been a mutual sympathy and fellow-feeling of an indissolubly-knit affection. You shall eat good Eusebian and bergamot pears, one apple of the short-shank pippin kind, a parcel of the little plums of Tours, and some few cherries of the growth of my orchard. Nor shall you need to fear, that thereupon will ensue doubt- ful dreams, fallacious, uncertain, and not to be trusted to, as by some Peripatetic philosophers hath been related; for that, say they, men do more copiously, in the season of harvest, feed on fruitages, than at any other time. The same is mysti- cally taught us by the ancient prophets and poets, who allege that all vain and deceitful dreams lie hid and in covert, under the leaves which are spread on the ground ; by reason that the leaves fall from the trees in the autumnal quarter. For the natural fervour, which abounding in ripe, fresh, recent fruits, cometh by tbe quickness of its ebullition to be with care evaporated into the animal parts of the dreaming person,— the experiment is obvious in most,—is a pretty while before it be expired, dissolved, and evanished. As for your drink, you are to have it of the fair pure water of my fountain.” “ The condition,” quoth Panurge, “ is very hard. Never- theless, cost what price it will, or whatsoever come of it, I heartily condescend thereto ; protesting that I shall, to-morrow, break my fast betimes, after my somniatory exercitations. Furthermore, I recommend myself to Homer’s two gates, to Morpheus, to Icelon, to Phantasus, and unto Phobetor. If they, in this my great need, succour me, and grant me that assistance which is fitting, I will, in honour of them all, erect a jolly, genteel altar, composed of the softest down. If I were uow in Laconia, in the temple of Juno, betwixt GEtile and Thalamis, she suddenly would disentangle my perplexity, resolve me of my doubts, and cheer me up with fair and j o via1 dreams in a deep sleep.” Then did he thus say to Pantagruel, “ Sir, were it nof expedient for my purpose to put a branch or two of curiouo laurel betwixt the quilt and bolster of my bed, under the pillow on which my head must lean ?” “ There is no need at all of that,” quoth Pantagruel, “ for, besides that it is a thing very superstitious, the cheat thereof hath been, at large, discovered unto us in the writings ol Serapion, Ascalonites, Antiphon, Philochorus, Artemon, and Fulgentius Planciades. I could say as much to you of the left shoulder of a crocodile, as also of a chameleon,—without prejudice be it spoken to the credit which is due to the opinion of old Democritus ; and likewise of the stone of the Bactrians, called Eumetrides, and of the Hammonian horn ; for so by the ^Ethiopians is termed a certain precious stone, coloured like gold, and in the fashion, shape, form, and proportion of a ram’s horn, as the horn of Jupiter Hammon is reported to have been; they over and above assuredly affirming, that the dreams of those who carry it about them are no less veri- table and infallible tlian the truth of the divine oracles. Nor is this much unlike to what Homer and Virgil wrote of these two gates of sleep, to which you have been pleased to recom- mend the management of what you have in hand. The one is ivory, which letteth in confused, doubtful, and uncertain dreams ; for through ivory, how small and slender soever it be, we can see nothing, the density, opacity, and close com- pactedness of its material parts hindering the penetration of the visual rays, and the reception of the species of such things as are visible. The other is of horn, at which an entry is made into sure and certain dreams, even as through horn, by reason of the diaphanous splendour and bright transparency thereof, the species of all objects of the sight distinctly pass, and so without confusion appear that they are clearly seen.” 44 Your meaning is, and you would thereby infer,” quoth Friar John, “ that the dreams of all horned cuckolds, of which number, Panurge, by the help of God and his future wife, is without controversy to be one, are always true and infallible.”* Panurge has a dream, but, as was to be surmised, it is such a one as admits, according to oneirocritical principles, of two or three equally reasonable interpretations. Raphael, not the archangel of that name, but the 44 astro- loger of the nineteenth century,” published in 1830, 44 The Royal Book of Dreams,” “from an ancient and curious manu- script, which was buried in the earth for several centuries, containing one thousand and twenty-four oracles or answers to dreams ; by a curious yet perfectly facile and easy method, void of all abstruse or difficult calculations whereby any person of ordinary capacity may discover these secrets of fate, which the universal fiat of all nations, in every age and clime, has acknowledged to be portended by dreams and nocturnal visions.” The fatal objection to the reception of the nar- rative of the findin"' of the volume in a broken-down Somerset- O shire court-house, in the summer of 182_, is that of the modesty of the preceding title-page. Truth would have * Rabelais, “ Life of Gargantua and of Pantagruel.” been bolder, more pushing,—possibly, in a whisper we may say it, even more impudent. “ When the dreamer,” says the “ Royal Book,” “ would know the interpretation of his vision, which troubles his thoughts, disquiets his soul, let him in the first place mark down, with any convenient instrument, as pen, pencil, or any- thing capable of making the marks distinct, Ten Lines of Ciphers, as shown hereafter, without counting them, so that the number may be (as far as the diviner knows) left to chance, albeit chance herein has but little to do ; but the number of his ciphers must not be arithmetically counted or known at the time the diviner is making them, but set down, as it were, at random, no matter how roughly they are made ; for therein lies the little secret of this book—that the occult principle of the soul shall so guide or counsel the dreamer (or diviner) and control his hand, that he shall mark down those signs alone which will convey a true answer in the matter of his cogitations. All men have knowledge what wonderful power these ciphers have alloted them, in increasing and diminishing certain numbers in the art decimal and the art arithmetic; and be assured they have equal power when used as vehicles of pre- saging in dreams and visions,—from whence this art has been, by those of old, termed the art of Sephromancy. Pursue, therefore, in full faith and credence, these aforesaid rules, and the foreknowledge of the dream shall be made known to.thee.” The ciphers in each line are afterwards to be counted, and indicated according to the oddness or evenness of their number, a single cipher ( o) standing for the result when the number is odd, and two (o o ) when the number is even. Here follows an example of the whole process :— Line 1oooooooooooooo 2 oooooooooo 3 ©oooooooooo©© 4 ©©oo©©©©©©© 5 ©©o©ooo Sign 1. in all 14 ciphers, even © o 10 13 11 7 Which five lines of ciphers make one sign. >> » even © © odd o odd o odd © Line 6 o o o o o o in all 6 ciphers. even Sign 2. o o 7 oooooooo „ 8 even © o 8 ooooooooooo „ 11 odd © 9 ooooooooooo „ 11 odd o 10 o o o o o o © o o o o o o „ 13 odd o And the second five lines of ciphers make the second sign. The two signs are now to be drawn up together side by side, as may be illustrated by transcribing the page of “ The Royal Book of Dreams ” at which occurs the solution of the two signs of whose manufacture we have given a rough analysis. It is, in fact, the first dream-solution of the page and of the volume. It will be seen from this specimen-page that the book has an astrological as well as an oneirocritical com- plexion ; but with this we have nothing to do. THE FIRST ROLL OF ORACLES. Hieroglyphical Emblems. « * * # * # * * * * Signs. ARIES. 1. o o °o° o o 2. o o o o o o o The interpretation of thy dream is this, that thy fate is about to undergo a powerful change, and friends, as well as a better fortune, await thee. 0 0000 0 0 0000 0 A full, merry, and right joyful dream; it tells of banquets and feasting. 000 00 000 000 00 000 A dream of disappointments. 8 8 8 8 o 0000 0 0000 Thy dream presages a saturnine enemy. 00000 00000 o o o o o o o o o o A dream of voyages, waters, and flitting from place to place. Signs. 1. 2. 8 8 8 8 o o This vision has little or no meaning. o°S °o° o o 8 8 A sign of anger, angry words, and contention. Be careful to eschew strife. 00 00 0 00 00 00 00 0 00 00 This is a dream connected with a multitude of business and great deeds. Lest the reader should be deceived by the affectionate and didactic appearance of the penultimate explanation, it may be as well to say that “ The Royal Book of Dreams ” was not published by the Religious Tract Society, but by Mr. Effing- ham Wilson. The principle of ascertaining the signification of a dream by means of ciphers, had been explained—although its appli- cation was not identical with that we have just seen—in a book published at Troyes in 1654, and entitled “ Le Palais des Curieux, oh l’algebre et le sort donnent la decision des questions les plus douteuses, et ou les songes et les visions nocturnes sont expliquez selon la doctrine des anciens.” Troyes, and its worthy publisher, M. Nicolas Oudot, “ Rue Nostre-Dame, au Chappon d’or couronne,” seem to have been pretty famous in their day for dream literature. We do not pretend to exhaust their glories in this kind; we will only take the liberty to mention that M. Oudot published, in 1669 an “ Explication des Songes, avec le moyen pour con- noistre la bonne ou mauvaise fortune d’un chacun. A Troyes.” We extract from the folk-lore that has floated down from pre-Reformation centuries, on'e or two specimens of a very sentimental and piquant character. The first—ungallant precedence—concerns the gentlemen ; the second—a philo- sopher always reserves the best things till last—is of delicate concern for the ladies. A new edition has evidently been made necessary since the adaptation of clasps to elastic bandages. O • “Upon a St. Agnes’s night, the 21st of January, take a row of pins and pull out every one, one after another, saying a Paternoster, or Our Pather, sticking a pin on your sleeve, and you will dream of her you shall marry.” Ben Jonson, in one of his masques, makes an allusion to this practice. And on sweet St. Agnes’ night Please you with the promised sight, Some of husbands, some of lovers, Which an empty dream discovers. There is another prescription, which is as follows :—“ You must lie in another county, and knit the left garter about the right-legged stocking (let the other garter and stocking alone,) and as you rehearse these following verses, at every comma knit a knot:— This knot I knit To know the thing I know not yet. That I may see, The man that shall my husband be, How he goes, and what he wears, And what he does all days and years. “ Accordingly,” writes an indignant moralist of the eighteenth century, probably in the pay of Mr. Duncan Campbell,—“ accordingly in your dream you will see him ; if a musician, with a lute or other instrument; if a scholar, with a book, etc. Now I appeal to you, ladies—what a ridiculous pre- scription is this P But yet so slight a thing as it is, it may be of great importance if it be brought about, because then it must be construed to be done by preternatural means, and then these words are nothing less than an application to the devil. “ Mr. Aubrey, of the Royal Society, says a gentlewoman that he knew confessed, in his hearing, that she used this method, and dreamt of her husband, whom she had never seen. About two or three years after, as she was one Sunday at church, up pops a young Oxonian in the pulpit. She cries out presently to her sister, ‘ This is the very face of the man I saw in my dream.’ Sir William Somes’s lady did the like.” Oneirocriticism is at present in the sere and yellow leaf of its fortunes. It sprang up to meet us like a god ; it retires from us with the hang-dog expression of a rebuked costermonger. Once it was the revelation of the divine, taking its part with the revolutions of the planets in the government of sublunary affairs ; it is now an instrument by which a chap-book pedlar may best ascertain what is the smallest number of lies which Cinderella will insist on in return for her penny, without con- sidering herself cheated. Hart IL OPINIONS ON DREAMS. 7 c OPINIONS ON DREAMS. ♦ CHAPTER I. ORIGIN OF DREAMS—SUMMARY OF OPINIONS. jjURKING here and there in the corners of histories and other works not ostensibly concerned about dreams, or else running through treatises which are too crude to make them interest- ing or valuable except as monuments of transitional opinion, are to be found records of the various dream-theories held by ancient poets, philosophers, and other persons of distinction. Even a summary of all these theories would he too voluminous for our limits. Quotations from the more important and representative authors will be found in their due order in the following pages. But besides those writers whose ipsissima verba are offered to the reader, there are others whose just claims to notice may be satisfied by condensed statements of their opinions. These epitomes, it has seemed advisable, at once, and apart from the others to whom a more extended treatment has been allotted, to group together. It will happen that one or two names will occur again as authenti- cating peculiar and special views; and when this is the case the general rule will be observed, of allowing the extracts to appear in the words of their several authors. Democritus, and after him Epicurus and Lucretius, ac- counted for dreams by supposing that the simulacra or images of corporeal beings, constantly floating in the atmosphere, attack the soul during the hours of repose, and thus produce those indescribable series of associated or disconnected ideas characteristic of dreams. Plato considered dreams as emanations from the Divinity. Aristotle was of opinion that every object of outward sense makes upon the human soul, or upon some part of the human frame, a certain impression, which remains for some time after the object that made it is gone; and which being afterwards recognized by the mind in sleep, gives rise to those visions that then present themselves. Zeno, whose opinions, as given by Plutarch, are elsewhere more fully presented, held that the study of our dreams was essential to self-knowledge. Dicaearchus, the son of Phidias, and a disciple of Aristotle, recognized the value of dreams as being symbolically pro- phetic. Poseidonius, the Stoic, taught that men are divinely warned by dreams in three different ways:—(1) by those dreams in which the mind, from its own likeness to the Deity, looks forward into futurity; (2) by those in which the mind is affected by the countless immortal spirits that abound in the air, and which are all stamped with certain signs of truth; and (3) by those dreams in which the gods themselves commune with mortals. Ennius boasts that he never consulted augurs, soothsayers, astrologers, diviners, and interpreters of dreams; but despised them all as vain pretenders to more than human skill. Strabo held that the human understanding is, in some natural and instinctive manner, more sensitive in dreams than at other times, and is therefore solicited the rather by the appetite and desire of knowledge. Herophilus maintained that dreams divinely inspired came by necessity; and that natural dreams arose from the soul forming an image and representation of what is good and advantageous to it. Mixed dreams happened by chance, being the result of an accidental accession of pleasant images. Epictetus advised that dreams should never be related,— on the ground that, although they might be pleasant enough to the dreamer to tell, the persons listening would not take pleasure in hearing them. Plutarch attached much importance to dreams in the regulation of his life and conduct, and governed his judgment and his philosophy according to the sage instructions which were conveyed to him whilst his body* was at rest. Porphyry, to account for the phenomena of dreams, refers them to the agency of a good and bad demon,—the bad in- flicting the misfortunes we endure, and the good foreshadow- ing the evils to come, to the end that they may be avoided. This was also the doctrine of the author of the “ Shepherd of Hermas ”—a work said to have been written to dream- dictation—who is supposed by Brucker to have been a Jewish Christian of Alexandria. Lucian, in his “ City of Dreams,” introduces his readers to dreams that are all deceivers. When a mortal enters the gates, a circle of domestic dreams in a moment unfold to him a budget of intelligence, which proves to be a tissue of lies. Galen was accustomed to attach much value to the medical intelligence of dreams. He declares that a man dreamed that his left thigh was transformed into a marble stone, and within a short while after, he utterly lost the use of that member by a dead palsy. A wrestler dreamed that he was in a vessel filled with blood, and so deep therein that the crown of his head was scarcely visible. Galen inferred that the man was in need of a liberal blood-letting, and by this means the pleurisy under which he laboured was cured. Instances of this kind were of constant occurrence in the practice of this distinguished physician ; and Hippocrates well understood the value of dreams as symptoms. Dion Cassius attributes it to a dream that he set about writing his History. Tertullian thinks that many dreams may be attributed to the agency of demons, some of which are true and agreeable, although they are mostly vain, inefficient, and turbulent, full of mocking and impurity; for it is but natural that images should resemble the substances which they shadow out. Dreams also proceed from God, as one portion of prophecy. Some arise from that intensity with which the mind yields itself to particular objects; although dreaming is by no means a voluntary operation. There is another class springing from neither divine nor demoniacal influence, not reflecting mental images, out of the pale of reasoning, of interpreting, and even of narration itself, and which must be referred to Ecstasies, the condition into which God threw Adam during the forma- tion of Eve. Lactantius expresses his conviction of divine agency in dreams, and says that the undoubted testimony of history fre- quently presents us with remarkable verifications of dreams, and part of the economy of prophecy depends on them. Those which are true are sent from God, in order that we may learn impending good or evil by their revelation. Cyprian affirms that he was instructed in a dream to mix wine with water in the Eucharist. St. Basil discreetly recommends those upon whom dreams make undue impression to rest content with Scripture, and not to allow the phantasms of sleep to counterbalance the doctrines of salvation. St. Bernard of Clairvaux says that the devils often disturb men at night by dreams, and not unfrequently attacking them with open force, whip them bodily. Both fasting and reple- tion will occasion dreams, nay, the mind of itself alone will furnish them; but many arise from diabolical illusions. We must not, therefore, too easily give credit to dreams, notwith- standing some are true, lest Satan, transforming himself to an angel of light, should deceive the unwary. Moreover, the verification itself is now and then contrived by the fraud of devils, in order to increase their power of misleading the over-confident. Thomas Aquinas argues that it is not unlawful to apply to God for instruction* and that God sometimes gives instruction, by dreams; that holy men, such as Joseph and Daniel, have been skilled in this art; that it is irrational to deny anything which is affirmed by general experience; that general expe- rience affirms that dreams give indications of future events, and therefore that since they belong to divination, it is lawful to interpret them. Nothing seems wanting for the application of this advice, unless it be a criterion by which the origin may be discovered. The conviction of Josephus, the Jewish historian and warrior, of the credibility of dreams as being sent from God, is so thorough, and his opinions on that subject so practically expressed, that they resolve themselves out of the abstract into the actual and narrative form. He took dreams into his counsel, marked out the course of his life in conformity with their directions, and did not hesitate to stake his most critical interests upon their validity. When Jotapata, of which Josephus was in command, had, through the treachery of a deserter, fallen before the arms of Vespasian, the latter general wished Josephus to come out of a certain den in which he had concealed himself for some days. Two messengers, tribunes, had essayed in vain to persuade him from his refuge; and at length when a third tribune, Nicanor, a former friend of his, had been deputed to offer him terms of safety and honour, “ Josephus began to hesitate about his proposal. Hereupon, the soldiery were so angry that they ran hastily to set fire to the den; but the tribune would not permit them so to do, as being very desirous to take the man alive. And now, as Nicanor lay hard at Josephus to comply, and he understood how the multitude of the enemy threatened him, he called to mind the dreams which he had dreamed in the night-time, whereby God had signified to him beforehand both the future calamities of the Jews, and the events that concerned the Roman emperors. Now, Josephus was able to give shrewd conjectures about the interpretation of such dreams as have been ambiguously delivered by God. Moreover, he was not unacquainted with dhe prophecies con- tained in the sacred books, as being a priest himself, and of the posterity of priests: and just then was he in an ecstasy, and setting before him the tremendous images of the dreams he had lately had, he put up a secret prayer to God, and said: “ Since it pleaseth Thee, who hast created the Jewish nation, to depress the same, and since all their good fortune is gone over to the Romans, and since Thou hast made choice of this soul of mine to foretell what is to come to pass hereafter, I willingly give them my hands, and am content to live. And I protest openly that I do not go over to the Romans as a deserter of the Jews, but as a minister from Thee.’ ”* SURVEY OF DREAMS. PHILIP GOODWIN. “ Consider dreams as divided— “ Into Evil, from Satan, “ And Good, from God. “ I. For evil dreams wherein the devil hath his industrious dealing for men’s monstrous defiling and deluding. “ Such have been, and “ Such may be. “1. By such diabolical delusions have several in days past been seduced, and drawn upon such actions as have proved their destruction. Historians report of that great Persian prince Xerxes, how by a delusive dream he was instigated to go into Greece with his numerous army, consisting of above 1,000,000 valiant men, where by a few Greeks he had a fearful foil. “ 2. Such dreams may endure in our days. ‘ Let not any * Josephus, “ Wars of the Jews.” think (says Luther) the clevil is now dead, nor yet asleep: as He that keepeth Israel, so he that hateth Israel never slum- bereth or sleepeth. And while he hates, he is readiest to hurt, and may occasion many harms by evil dreams.’ “ ‘ Yea (says Luther), we are day and night beset with millions of devils; when we walk abroad, sit at our board, lie on our bed, legions of devils are round about, ready to fling whole hell into our hearts.’ “ Now to know and believe our liableness to such deluding and polluting dreams, as soon as others in preceding times, may much promote— “ Our needful knowledge, and “ Our useful practice. “1. Our knowledge may be hereby furthered, both con- cerning sin and Satan, our foes, and the friends and fathers of filthy dreams. “ 2. A necessary knowledge of sin may be hv this very means— “ More general, and “ More special. “ 1. Sin, in general, men may hereby discern, as concerning themselves, its certain excellency, close adherency, continual activity, etc. What is said of man’s soul, the same may be said of man’s sin; age does not enfeeble it, nor sleep surprise it, but ’tis always vigorous and vigilant, even in the night- time it puts forth in evil dreams. So that by this we may learn the condition of man’s sin, and man’s sinful condition. Did but a sinful man observe himself, as he is in the time of sleep, and he might soon see his soul, through sin, to be as the troubled sea, whose waves cast up mire and dirt (Isa. lvii. 20). “ 2. Sin in special, that which some call pecccitvm in deliciis, a man’s delightful and beloved sin, a man’s most prevalent and predominant sin, to which he is most prone, may hereby appear. “ Concerning this are three things considerable. “ 1. That there is such a sin. “ 2. That this sin may be known, and “ 3. That its knowledge may be by this means. “1. That such a principal and prince-like sin certainly is, that sways the sceptre in man’s soul, and sits chief in the heart; that says to every other sin, as Pharaoh to Joseph, In the throne will I be greater than thou. “ 2. This chief-ruling sin in man may be known. ’Tis true, this sin may most subtilely seek to conceal itself, and, as is reported of the Persian kings, to be seldom seen in the day; during the day it may suspend its visible acts, and not come into any open view. “ 3. In the night-time, and in the midst of man’s sleep, may this sin arise and run out in his dreams. That’s a man’s well-beloved, which lieth all night betwixt his breasts; that’s a man’s Delilah-lust, which leaneth upon his lap in his sleep. “Again, much of Satan, in his subtle designs, may hereby come to be discovered. Ignorance of the Devil’s artifice is not fit for Christians. We are not ignorant of his devices, says the apostle, vorj/j.ara, his thought-works, or the workings he hath in men’s thoughts whether they be asleep or awake,— Satan’s subtle injections into the minds of men, as Tertullian renders the apostle’s word. ’Tis in the plural, signifying Satan hath several of this sort. How divers the Devil’s devices are, Austin excellently opens, having had experimental knowledge of many. And that good man doth much bemoan what mischief he suffered from Satan in sinful dreams. “ By such knowledge of evil dreams, things practical are promoted, “ For repenting of what is past, and “ For preventing of what may follow. “ First, of such evils past, men, through this knowledge, are provoked to repent, to humble themselves for these night sins, with which very few are affected, and upon which scarce any reflect, unless with delight. Indeed, the recordation of dreams has sadly distressed some of God’s saints. What amazements of mind, what terrible troubles of conscience, have come upon some men by this means, there be that can bear witness in the world. Some in their sleep have had a supposed burden, dreaming such a load lay upon them as, though they strove, they could not stir. And such there are, who, after sleep, and when awake, have sorely felt a real burden, being pressed down with sorrow in the remembrance of their sinful dreams. “ Dream-sins the most are ignorant of, and so insensible under, and sorrowless after. Though it is certain men’s sinful lusts have no allowance from God’s law in time of sleep. Perhaps some think of the law of God, what Serbidius Scasvola said of the civil law—it was not at all written to restrain sleepers, but wakers. But both sleeping and waking, man hath his bounds set, which to transgress is sin, even in a foolish thought (Prov. xxiv. 9). Of all which a right knowledge much helps repentance. “ Secondly, against such future evils hereby man is moved to arm himself by the use of Scripture and prayer. Luther, finding many fanatic spirits (as he calls them) who, boasting of their dreams, sought to seduce him, £ This made me (said he) earnestly pray to God, that He would give me the true understanding of his holy Word, that I might never be drawn away by such dangerous deviations in dreams.’ “ And did but men, indeed, know the dangerous errors and evils of evil dreams, with holy fear and care would they draw out the day, and lie down at night, lodging themselves in Christ, that Satan may not find them out. ‘ Necessary it is,’ says Luther, ‘ that whether we rise up or lie down, we should pray and ruminate upon the Word of God, that our enemy may never find us empty or unprepared.’ ‘ And (says another author) he that would secure himself from such deceiving dreams as are dcemonum ludibria, must be daily subduing his sinful and sensitive part, purging out present pollutions, and elevating his mind above creature vanities, striving beyond his own strength to settle his soul in the sight of God, acquainting his soul with the goodwill of God, that therein he may go right towards God, when his body lies asleep in his bed.’ “ Now, a considerable means to incite men to daily dili- gence in these good duties, is to instruct them in the evil of dreams; for who will so soon use the medicine, as he that best knows the malady ? “ II. Good dreams, whereof God is the author, ought to be known; For “1. Such have been, and “ 2. Such may yet be. “ 1. Dreams divine have formerly been in the minds of men. Calvin, in his commentaries upon Daniel, though he grants that divers dreams have been so fallacious and frivolous, as did evidence much of the devil, yet some dreams have been so ponderous and serious, as might signify something of God; and he gives some instances out of ancient authors, as the dream of Caesar’s wife, admonishing her about her husband’s death, and the dream of Augustus his physician, who there- upon commanded the Emperor in his bed to be carried out of his tent, and so escaped the cruel enemies’ hand. In such dreams, we may imagine some moving hand of Almighty God. But plain proofs we have from Holy Scripture of God’s undoubted hand in divers dreams. (Gen. xx. 3 ; Gen. xl. 5; Gen. xli. 7; Judges vii. 13; 1 Kings iii. 5; Dan. vii. 1; etc.) “ 2. Dreams divine may yet remain. From God may come (yea, shall come) good dreams in these latter times. “ And it shall come to pass in the last days, I will pour out my Spirit —and your sons shall dream dreams” (Acts ii. 17). That excellent expositor Parseus, in his commentaries upon Genesis, affirms in one place:—Dreams are not only to be taken in a metaphysical sense, for those famous patefactions under Gospel administrations; but also for dreams, properly so taken, wherein God, under the kingdom of Christ, may make known his merciful mind unto the sons of men, etc. Filii vestri somnia somniabunt,—Your sons shall dream dreams. “Memorable is that of Bishop Cowper,* who, in the passages of his life, reports a dream he had from God, guiding him to the place of his public ministry most remarkably; ‘ and that the ever-loving Lord, who sleepeth not, may thus in these later times, warn the souls of his servants, when their bodies be asleep, none, I trust,’ says he, ‘will deny the same.’ “ ’Tis credibly told of a native Turk in London, latelyf baptized into the Christian faith, how by a dream he was thereunto much drawn. As Austin had his Tolle Lege, so he is said to have had his Surge Recipe, whence without the receipt of the baptismal sacrament, he could not be satisfied. Others may by such dreams be incited. So that to seek a due understanding of divine dreams is an undoubted duty in Gospel days. This will further— “ Profitable knowledge, and “ Suitable practice. “ Requisite knowledge may much be promoted by that communion a good man may thus have, both with God and himself, during the darkest seasons of the night. ‘ My reins instruct me in the night seasons,’ says David (Ps. xvi. 7). Even in the seasons of the night the most retired motions of David’s mind, the most hidden thought of his heart, did read him, as one calls it, a curtain lecture, by which he learned much of himself towards God, and much of God towards himself; his faith, his love, and such like graces, were so comfortably discovered that he blessed God for it:—‘ I will bless the Lord that hath given me counsel, my reins also instruct me in the night season.’ In the time of the night, when good men are awake, yea, and when asleep also, by these secret ways, they may certainly discern much con- cerning— “ The God of grace, and “ The grace of God. “ 1. Much of God may by this means be manifest, as not * Of Galloway. t Goodwin’s Treatise was published in the year 1657. only the certainty of his being, that He is; but the tran- scendency of his being, what and how great He is in his power, prudence, providence, vigilance, omniscience, goodness, etc., are even from those admirable actings evident. Aristotle, that great philosopher, that he might lift up human nature, and dash down all notions of Deity, denied any dreams to be divine; yet to some dreams he would grant divination, which may soon seem a contradiction. A free concession to and due cognition of the divine dreams may draw out much of the manifold knowledge of God. “ 2. Much of God’s sanctifying grace in men may through this be known, that near access and close converse, that ready resource and refreshing intercourse, which certainly sometimes is between a glorious God and a gracious soul, in time of sleep, does testify much in man of the grace of God. This discovers God’s grace in its true impress, progress, effi- ciency, proficiency. Plutarch sets down this as a manifest sign of man’s stature in virtue, that his dreams are not of filthy but of honest things; so that as to necessary know- ledge, there is good use of a due understanding of divine dreams. “As to the effectual furtherance of pious practice, the same is also of singular use. This puts on to divers good duties as relating to dreams divine. “ For procuring and increasing them, and “ For improving and pursuing them. “To procure and increase good dreams: a knowing Christian herein becomes diligent hereupon, and takes pains in prayer, preparing all day for God’s visits in the night. * Hear, 0 Lord, and attend to my prayer. Thou hast visited me in the night, Thou hast proved my heart, and shall find nothing.’ ‘That is,’ says Mollerus, ‘nothing perfidious, fal- lacious, but as at other seasons, and in other cases, so in this; my soul hath sincerely complied with God, and readily met Him in the visits of the night. And for this purpose the prophet was full of prayer during the day.’ Luther reports GOOD DREAMS TO BE PRAYED FOR. that he, on the other side, often prayed to God, that God would not speak anything to him in dreams, and that he covenanted with God, that in dreams God would not send him any of his mind. “But thus might this good man do, upon a double occasion, “ To oppose the ways of men, and “ To advance the Word of God. “1. To oppose the practice of men, who in his days pre- tended divers things from God in dreams, full of fallacies and falsities, wherein many were deluders, and many deluded; with which he was much affected, and oft sore assaulted. “ 2. To advance the prescripts of God in his written Word. ‘I am content,’ says Luther, ‘that I have the Holy Scripture, which teaches me so abundantly and evidently that herein I acquiesce. And to God’s settled Word,’ says He, ‘while I adhere I am certain not to be deceived,’ etc. But if they be indeed dreams from God, they suit unto his Word, and will not deceive us. And therefore, for such dreams we ought to pray, and to prepare good matter for them, to implore the Spirit poured out; to ponder Scripture; to hide God’s words in our hearts ; to store up the precepts and precious promises thereof in our remembering minds; and with the Word to make meet animadversions upon God’s marvellous works, to hearken to God, and to walk with God while we are awake, that He may the more meet us in our sleep. And why might not the minds of men move and be moved in holy and heavenly, as well as in idle and foolish dreams, were diligence used and duties discharged ? I doubt not but divers of God’s dear saints in these secret workings of their sanctified souls, have many sweet celestial sights, when the eyes of their bodies be close shut upon their sleeping beds, and see not. “ To improve and pursue such dreams is a duty. As soon as we are up, to begin good deeds in the day, that may ac- complish the good God gave in the night. ’Tis said of Jonah his gourd, that God made to spring in the night, that when the morning arose, a worm smote the gourd, and it withered. ‘ When we have a sweet dream, and come out of a good sleep in the night, there is,’ says an author, ‘one among the evil spirits that outruns the rest, and in the morning as soon as we awake, endeavours to dash good thoughts, to divert and to defile, to prevent all pious practices and prosecutions.’ But much care is required in this case. We ought not only to preserve, hut to improve good dreams, by a practical pulling forward of ourselves in holy duties all the days of our lives. “ Now a right knowledge of these dreams may much incite to such pious practices, and profit God’s people, both asleep and awake. Excuse me then, gentle reader; for the attaining these ends, I have intended this treatise, and trust it may thereto be a good means, through God’s mercy. Amen, Amen.”—The Mystery of Breams historically considered. REASON AND FAITH. JOHN SHEPPARD. “ Neither the potency nor childishness of superstition, nor the trickery and covetousness which foster it, can show the principle of religion to be groundless or hurtful, or indeed less than immensely valuable. A thousand juggleries or illusions cannot prove that there have been no real miracles; and thus millions of futile dreams, with thousands of fictitious ones, cannot disprove that there have been dreams indicative of divine prescience, and kindly ordained by God’s providence. Rather, as the strength of superstition shows it to be a graft on that real sentiment of religion which is implanted and rooted in our nature, so the prevalent impression of mankind about dreams, while in great part erroneous, affords some presumption that dreams have been at times divinely sent and fulfilled. . . . “ Examples give great weight to the general rule that it is generally most unsafe and unwarrantable to act on random suggestions. When dreams are so extraordinary, and so linked with events ensuing, as to be distinguished from the throng of those which are ‘ vanities,’ and to claim, therefore, a measure of serious regard,—it is mainly in the light of correlative enforcements to the greatdoc trine of God’s ruling providence and the dictates of his Word. Like miracles and prophecies, such dreams are not primarily meant to induce outward acts, hut that one inward act or sentiment—that livelier persuasion of the divine government—which gives increased force to all the monitions of conscience and of Scripture. “ And it was argued above to be not less credible that the Great Disposer of all minds should occasionally employ these, than any other impressive means, as a powerful appeal in public, a touching interview in private, the sudden loss of beloved friends, our personal escapes or theirs from imminent peril,—in order to reach the attention, or unseal the heart, to his own words and acts of grace.”—On Dreams in their Mental and Moral Aspects. ANGELIC ACTIVITY. BISHOP BULL. “ Although the ministry of angels be now for the most part invisible, yet to the observant it is not altogether indis- cernible. “ We may trace the footsteps of this secret providence over us in many instances, of which I shall note a few. I am no doter on dreams, yet I verily believe that some dreams are monitory, above the power of fancy, and impressed on us by some superior influence. For of such dreams we have plain and undeniable instances in history, both sacred and profane, and in our own acre and observation. Nor shall I so value the O laughter of sceptics, and the scoffs of the Epicureans, as to be ashamed to profess that I myself have had some convincing 8 experiments of such impressions. Now it is no enthusiasm, but the best account that can be given of them, to ascribe these things to the ministry of those invisible instruments of God’s providence, that guide and govern our affairs and con- cerns, viz., the angels of God.”—Sermon on the Office of the holy Angels towards the Faithful. PHYLONAR, THE ANGEL OF DREAMS. BISHOP KEN. Bishop Ken had a fixed belief in the constant guardian- ship and ministration of angels by day and night. An im- portant part of their office he held to be the suggestion of good dreams, and the expulsion or prevention of sleeping thoughts of diabolical origination. In his poem “ On St. Michael,” the Bishop says, addressing that angel:— You in the Furnace cool’d the Saints, You kept fierce Lions in Restraints; You Peter freed when chain’d, You Paul in storm sustain’d You God’s high Will in Dreams detect, You pious Souls to faithfal Guides direct. And in another, entitled “ Angels,” one of a group of poems on “ God’s Attributes or Perfections,” he says of the good angels that— They promis’d Blessings to Thy Saints foreshow, They warn them of impending future woe ; With councils wise they sinking Hopes retrieve, Afflicted souls from them Supports receive ; Prophetic and instructive Dreams they paint, Keep souls from Ills unseen, by sweet Restraint. But in his almost utterly unread epic, called “ Hymnotheo ; or, the Penitent,” the good bishop describes and names an angel whose special presidency was over dreams. It is part of the plan of “ Hymnotheo ” to sing the spiritual history of man- kind ; and to make the following extract intelligible, we are to understand that Adam and Eve, having retired to uneasy and sinful sleep, after their fall, are to be advertised in dreams of the future and long-drawn sorrows of their race. The dream-angel is specially illuminated ; and then commissioned to set before the startled mental vision of the sinful pair the dismal panorama of the evils impending over their wretched posterity. The passage, it may be remarked, has many analogies in Holy Scripture, as well as in profane fiction:— Wise God was pleased the Angel to select, Appointed Dreams instructive to project! In heaven by name of Phlyonar well known, Commanded to approach the awful Throne, Ideas of the future World to view, There from God’s presence lively schemes he drew; Of every age, of all the grievous woe, That laps’d Mankind for Sin should undergo; Him to the sleeping pair, God sent to frame, Dreams which should raise pale Dread, Remorse, and Shame. Within ten pulses down the Angel flies, And views them with abominating eyes ; Then from the Forms his intellect enfolds, He num’rous Phantoms into Landskips moulds ; Which through their nerves he to their brains convey’d Where sin in its true Colours was display’d; For both he painted the afflicting scheme Of lapsed mankind, who from their loins should stream. TWO CLASSES OF VISITANTS. “ Insignificant as dreams in general are, there are doubtless two classes of agents that have access to our minds when sleep has impaired our own agency. In the first place, holy angels are ministering spirits sent forth to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation, and as God in his wisdom has, in the present age, hidden their benevolent operations from our view, we cannot conceive of their having any influence with mortals, but by invisible access to the mind. “ In the dispensations of Providence, therefore, angelic agency may induce a Laban to act the part of a friend instead of acting otherwise, and such agency may affect the slumber- ing as well as the wakeful. But the interposition of Providence is one thing, and divine revelation is another. There can be no reasonable doubt that angelic agency still forms a link in many a mysterious chain of Providence; but angelic agency has already formed the last link of divine revelation, and through the medium of that agency the Divine Spirit has said> ‘ If any man shall add unto these things, God shall add unto him the plagues that are written in this book ’ (Rev. xxii. 18). If, therefore, we embark on the trackless ocean of dreams and phantoms of the imagination, we may wander far from the truth, and never see land again. Nor is any temptation to such departure to be listened to for a single moment. ‘ Though we,’ says the Apostle, ‘ or an angel from heaven, preach any other gospel unto you than that which we have preached unto you, let him be accursed ” (Gal. i. 8). The misguided, therefore, are not to be followed. ‘ To the law, and to the testimony; if they speak not according to this word, it is because there is no light in them ’ (Isa. viii. 20). “ In the second place, from the declarations of Scripture concerning temptation, and from the invisibility of the tempter, we are led to the conclusion that evil angels also effect their purposes by having access to the human mind, and if they can find their way to our imagination when the other mental powers are in lively exercise, there can be no doubt respecting their access to an excited imagination when reason and con- sciousness are not on the alert. Under such circumstances, therefore, Satan’s captives are never safe; so he who is the tempted one day, may facilitate the discovery the next. For in the absence of other means, a thought suggested by the great Accuser may lead to a certain line of conduct, which otherwise would not have been pursued; and this line of con- duct may bring to light some hidden work of darkness. Thus it may be inferred, from the operations of both classes of spiritual agents, that if human means fail, there is no lack of agency to verify God’s declaration to the sinner, 1 Be sure your sin will find you out ’ (Numb, xxxii. 23). While the guilty, however, have so much reason to tremble, the faithful follower of Christ has nothing to fear. ‘ He shall not be afraid of evil tidings : his heart is fixed, trusting in the Lord ’ (Ps. cxii. 7).” —Baptist Magazine, vol. i. 1828. PRAYER FOR SPIRITUAL INTIMATIONS. DR. JOHNSON AND BOSWELL. “ The following very solemn and affecting prayer was found after Dr. Johnson’s decease, by his servant, Mr. Francis Barber, who delivered it to my worthy friend the Rev. Mr. Strahan, Vicar of Islington, who at my earnest request, has obligingly favoured me with a copy of it, which he and I compared with the original. I present it to the world as an undoubted proof of a circumstance in the character of my illustrious friend, which, though some—whose hard minds I never shall envy—may attack us superstitious, will, I am sure, endear him more to numbers of good men. I have an addi- tional, and that a personal motive, for presenting it, because it sanctions what I myself have always maintained, and am fond to indulge. “ ‘ April 26, 1752, being after twelve at night of the 25th. “10 Lord ! Governor of Heaven and Earth, in whose hands are embodied and departed spirits, if Thou hast ordained the souls of the dead to minister to the living, and appointed my departed wife to have care of me, grant that I may enjoy the good effects of her attention and ministration, whether exercised by appearance, impulses, dreams, or in any other manner agreeable to thy government. Forgive my presump- tion, enlighten my ignorance, and however meaner agents are employed, grant me the blessed influences of thy Holy Spirit, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.’ “ What actually followed upon this most interesting piece of devotion by Johnson, we are not informed ; hut I, whom it has pleased God to afflict in a similar manner, to that which occasioned it, have certain experience of benignant communica- tion by dreams.”—Boswell's Life of Johnson. THE DREAM AN OBSOLESCENT MEDIUM. REV. ALFRED BARRY, 31.A. “ The general conclusion (from a consideration of Biblical dreams) therefore, is, first, that the Scripture claims the dream, as it does every other action of the human mind, as a medium through which God may speak to man either directly, that is, as we call it, providentially, or indirectly, in virtue of a general influence upon all his thoughts ; and secondly, that it lays far greater stress on that divine influence by which the understanding also is affected, and leads us to believe that as such influence extends more and more, revelation by dreams, unless in very particular circumstances, might be expected to pass away.”—Dr. TV. Smith's Dictionary of the Bible. PROPHETIC DREAMS NOT NECESSARILY SUPERNATURAL. PROFESSOR JOSEPH HAVEN. “ Shall we believe that dreams are sometimes prophetic ? We have no reason to doubt that they may be so. Are they, in that case, supernatural events ? Ho doubt the future may be supernaturally communicated in dreams. No doubt it has been, and that not in a few cases, as every believer in the sacred Scriptures must admit. But this is not a necessary supposition. A dream may be prophetic, yet not supernatural. Some law, not fully known to us, may exist, by virtue of which FOUR POSSIBLE SOLUTIONS. the nervous system, when in a highly excited state, becomes susceptible of impressions not ordinarily received, and is put in communication, in some way to us mysterious, with scenes, places, and events, far distant, so as to become strangely cog- nisant of the coming future. Can any one show that this is impossible ? Is it more improbable than that the cases recorded are mere chance coincidences ? Is it not quite as likely to be so, as that the event should correspond, in so many cases and striking a manner, with the previous dream, and yet there be no cause whatever for the correspondence ? Is it not as reasonable, even, as to suppose direct divine interposition to reveal the future, the possibility of which interposition I by no means deny, but the reason for which does not become apparent ? Is it not possible that there may be some natural law, or agent of the sort now intimated, some as yet unex- plained, but partially known condition of the physical system, when in a peculiarly sensitive state, of which the modus operandi is not yet understood, but the existence of which is competently indicated by instances ? That this is the true explanation, I by no means affirm ; I make the suggestion merely to indicate what, it seems to me, may be a possible solution of the problem. “ Evidently there are only these four possible solutions of the facts of dreams :— “1. To deny the facts themselves, i. <?., that any such dreams occurred, or at least, that they were verified in actual result. “ 2. To call them accidental coincidences. “ 3. To admit a supernatural agency. “ 4. To expliin them in the way suggested. “Ourchciei lies, as it seems to me, between the second and the last of these suppositions.’’—Mental Philosophy: in- cluding the Intellect, Sensibilities, and Will. DIGNITY OF THE MIND IN SLEEP. DR. FREDERICK HOFFMANN. “ Daily experience teaches us, that, during sleep, the body is at rest, and the mind is not distracted by external objects; hence, therefore, the latter can more readily and more success- fully execute its operations. In dreaming, it not unfrequently happens that many things become to us clear and exposed, which were previously concealed, things long forgotten occur to the memory, and powers which Nature often seemed to hove denied to us, are developed during sleep, when the mind is re-instated in its rights. Thus it has frequently happened to myself, who possess no natural genius for poetry, to have composed and recited very elegant Latin verses, in proper order and series, of which I could still remember some when awake. And who is so ignorant of sacred literature as not to know that God has revealed the most important matters in dreams, for no other reason than that the mind, during sleep, is more attentive, and more capable of apprehending those things which are revealed?”—JDe Optima Philosophandi Nat tone. THE ADVOCATE IN DOUBT. PLINY THE YOUNGER. “Your letter [Pliny’s correspondent is here Suetonius Tranquillus] informs me that you are extremely terrified with a dream, as apprehending that it threatens some ill-success to you in the cause you have undertaken to defend ; and there- fore desire that I would get it adjourned for a few days, or at least to the next. This is a favour, you are sensible, not very easily obtained, but I will use all my interest for that purpose— For dreams descend from Jove.# In the meanwhile, it is very material for you to recollect whether your dreams generally represent things as they after- wards fall out, or quite the reverse. But if I may judge of yours by one that happened to myself, you have nothing to fear; for it portends that you will acquit yourself with great success. I had promised to he council for Julius Pastor, when I fancied in my sleep that my mother-in-law came to me, and throwing herself at my feet, earnestly entreated me not to be concerned in the cause. I was at that time a very young man ; the case was to be argued in the four centumviral courts ; my adversaries were some of the most considerable men in Rome, and particular favourites of Caesar; any of which circum- stances were sufficient, after such an inauspicious dream, to have discouraged me. Notwithstanding this, I engaged in the cause, reflecting within myself— Without a sign, his sword the brave man draws, And asks no omen but his country’s cause.* For I looked upon the promise I had given to be as sacred to me as my country, or, if that were possible, more so. The event happened as I wished ; and it was that very cause which first procured me the favourable attention of the public, and threw open to me the gates of fame. Consider, then, whether your dream, like that which I have related, may not portend success ; or, after all, perhaps, you will think it more safe to pursue this cautious maxim: ‘Never do a thing of which you are in doubt. ’ If so, write me word. In the interval I will con- sider of some expedient, and endeavour that your cause shall be heard any day you like best. In this respect you are in a better situation than I was. The court of the centumviri, where I was to plead, admits of no adjournment; whereas, in that where your cause is to be heard, though it is not easy to procure one, still, however, it is possible. Farewell.”—Letters. CHAPTER II. ON DREAMS AS ARGUMENTS FOR IMMORTALITY. DEATH AND SLEEP. XENOPHON. Cyrus the Elder, when at the point of death, is represented by Xenophon as speaking to the following effect:— “ Nor do I feel convinced that the soul will be devoid of sense when it is separated from the senseless body; but it is probable that, when the mind is separated unmixed and pure? it is then, also, most intelligent. When the frame of man is dissolved, every part of him is seen returning to that which is of the same nature with itself, except the soul, which alone is seen neither present nor departing. Reflect, too, that no- thing more closely resembles the death of man than sleep ; but it is in sleep that the soul of man appears most divine, and it is then that it foresees something of the future; for then, as it seems, it is most at liberty.”—Cyropcedia. SLEEPING RATIOCINATION. RICHARD BAXTER. “ It has been objected that the soul is in our sleep either inactive (as when we do not so much as dream), or acteth irregularly and irrationally, according to the fortuitous motion of the spirits; ergo, it is no incorporeal, immortal sub- stance. “ To this I answer (1) that I suppose the soul is never totally inactive. I never awaked since I had the use of memory ? but I found myself coming out of a dream. And I suppose they that think they dream not, think so because they forget their dreams. (2.) Many a time my reason hath acted for a time as regularly, and much more forcibly, than it doth when I am awake, which showeth what it can do, though it be not ordinary. “ (3.) This objection is no better than another which I have before answered; where I told you, that it argueth not that I am a horse, or no wiser than my horse, because I ride but according to his pace when he halteth or is tired. Nor doth it prove that, when I alight, I cannot go on foot. He is hard of understanding that believeth that all the glorious parts of the world above us have no nobler intellectual natures than man. Suppose there be angels, and suppose one of them should be united to a body, as our souls are, we cannot imagine but that he would actuate it, and operate in it according to its nature; as I write amiss when my pen is bad. The same I say of persons lethargick, apoplectick, delirant, etc.”—The Reasons of the Christian Religion. IMMEDIATE MENTAL PERCEPTION. BISHOP BUTLER. “ That the mind is not necessarily dependent upon the external senses for its activity, and that we have no reason to think our organs of sense percipients, is confirmed by instances of persons losing some of them, the living beings themselves, their former occupiers, remaining unimpaired. It is confirmed also by the experience of dreams ; by which we find we are at present possessed of a latent and, what would otherwise be, an unimagined, unknown power of perceiving sensible objects in as strong and lively a manner without our external organs of sense as with them.”—Analogy of Religion to the Constitution and Course of Nature. VAIN DREAMS OF SERVICE. EDWARD YOUNG, LL.D. ’Tis past conjecture : all things rise in proof. While o’er my limbs sleep’s soft dominion spread, What thou gh my soul fantastic measures trod O’er fairy fields, or mourned along the gloom Of pathless woods, or down the craggy steep Hurled headlong, swam with pain the mantled pool. Or scaled the cliff, or danced on hollow winds With antic shapes, wild natives of the brain P Her ceaseless flight, though devious, speaks her nat Of subtler essence than the trodden clod. Active, aerial, towering, unconfined, Unfettered, with her gross companions fall. E’en silent night proclaims my soul immortal. E’en silent night proclaims eternal day. For human weal, Heaven husbands all events ; Dull sleep instructs, nor sport vain dreams in vain. Night Thoughts on Life, Death, and Immortality. MIND AND BODY DISTINCT SUBSTANCES. BISHOP NEWTON. “ It is very evident that the soul is in great measure inde- pendent of the body, even while sbe is within the body, since the deepest sleep that possessetli the one cannot affect the other; and while the avenues of the body are closed, the soul is still indued with sense and perception, and the impressions are often stronger and the images more lively when we are asleep than when awake. They must necessarily be two distinct and different substances, whose natures and properties are so very different that while the one shall sink under the burden and fatigue of the day, the other shall be fresh and active as the flames; while the one shall be dead to the world, the other shall be ranging in thought through the universe. Why, then, should the death of the one be any more the death of the other than the sleep of the one is the sleep of the other ? Since the soul can think and act in this manner without the body, even while united to it, why should she not be able to think in a more enlarged and more exalted manner, when separated from the body, or united to a spiritual body that shall no longer hinder her operations ? Since the soul hath her dis- tinct joys and sorrows, pleasures and pains, while the body is senseless and asleep, why should she not be capable of the same when the body shall be no more ?”—Dissertations. SLEEP ILLUSTRATING DEATH. LEONHARD EULER. “ Sleep furnishes something like an example (prefigura- tion) of the state of the soul after death, as the union of soul and body is then in a great measure interrupted, yet the soul ceases not from activity, being employed in the production of dreams. These are usually disturbed by the remaining in- fluence which the senses exercise ; and we know by experience that the more this influence is suspended, which is the case in profound sleep, the more regular and connected are our dreams. “ Thus, after death we shall find ourselves in a more perfect state of dreaming, which nothing shall be able to decompose. It will consist of representations and reasonings perfectly well sustained.”—Letters to a German Princess on divers Sub- jects in Physics and Philosophy. THE SOUL’S MATERIAL VEHICLE. REV. THOMAS BROUGHTON. “ The soul, we know by experience, retains ideas during sleep; for of what else do dreams consist ? And we know that the bodily senses are that time as it were locked up, and the tie or connection between soul and body considerably loosened or relaxed. Why then may not the soul retain its ideas when the connection is quite dissolved and the body lies asleep in death ? We shall the more readily believe this, if we admit the hypothesis of the soul’s material vehicle, com- posed of most exquisitely fine particles of matter ; for if the soul receive now its ideas by means of impressions made on this vehicle or clothing which is inseparable from it and departs with it from the body, we can the more easily conceive how ideas accompany it into the world of spirits.”—A Prospect of Futurity in Four Dissertations. ARGUMENT FROM PROBABILITY. EREDERICK C. BAKEWELL. “ So far are the phenomena of sleep from affording proofs of the identity of matter and mind that we conceive they may be advanced as evidence in support of the opinion that the mind is distinct from, and may exist independently of, corporeal organization. “ In the first place, the suspension of the mental faculties, whilst the corporeal functions are in full activity, may surely be considered rather as indicative of a difference between, than as a proof of the identity of, those faculties and functions ; for were they mutually dependent we must suppose that the operations of the one could not be suspended without putting a stop to the actions of the other. Again, were the brain it- self the sentient principle we should conceive that the effect of corporeal exhaustion would be only to weaken the force of sensation and not to extinguish it; and that as the brain and nerves became invigorated by the renewal of their wasted substance the mental faculties would gradually resume their wonted activity. We find, however, that the restoration of the exhausted powers of the brain is imperceptible until con- sciousness is revived at the moment of waking, and then the power of perception resumes, in an instant, its operations, and not till then do we feel our mental faculties to have partici- pated with our bodily organs in the refreshing influence of sleep. . . . “ To be able to see without the eye, to hear without the ear, and to feel without touching the objects of sensation, would, we may venture to assert, have been utterly impossible, if we had not experience of the facts from the effects of imagination and of dreams. These facts, we contend, afford direct proof in support of the position before advanced, that the percipient principle is independent of the organs of sense ; and they lead ns to infer, also, that the material organization of the brain, by which the impressions of external objects are originally con- veyed to the mind, must be distinct from the power that receives and retains those impressions; for it would be im- possible otherwise to account for the activity of the perceptive power during the time that the brain ceases to hold any direct communication with the material world. The same reasoning will apply, with even greater force, to the intellectual faculties, which are exercised upon those ideal perceptions ; and as the action of memory, of perception, of thought, and of judgment, necessarily supposes consciousness of those mental operations, it follows, as a necessary consequence, that the power of con- sciousness must also be independent of the organized matter of the brain. . . . “ It is well known, for instance, that in certain states of the brain and nerves, images of objects not present are perceived by the mind with a distinctness equal to reality. Now, when a person in the full exercise of his faculties perceives a figure which has no tangible existence, such an illusion requires for its production not only an impression to be made on the mind sufficiently strong to excite the idea of the apparition, but also of sufficient power to efface the impressions conveyed to the retina by the rays of light issuing from the objects that the apparition seems to conceal from sight. For suppose the figure appear to be standing near a wall; then as every ray of light from the wall that previously produced an impression on the retina, continues to act with a force equal to that imparted before the figure was seen, those rays which proceed from the points apparently covered by the apparition must, in some manner, be prevented from producing their accus- tomed impressions on the mind. Were this not the case, as there is really no object between the eye and the wall, the per- fect vision of every point sending forth rays of light would preclude the possibility of the perception of any illusion. It must be evident, therefore, that in all spectral illusions visible in conjunction with real objects, the mind must possess the power of seeing not only images which have no tangible exis- tence, but of seeing them also in opposition to the direct im- pressions of the perceptive organs. . . . “ Could Ave, indeed, establish the fact of the mind operating entirely apart from matter, we should be able at once to dispose of the whole question; but our very limited faculties will not permit us to penetrate into the subtile properties of abstract ethereal essences. Though the phenomena of dreams and of spectral illusions do not represent the perceptive faculties to be capable of acting when separated altogether from the corporeal machine, yet we conceive that the proofs which they exhibit of the agency of the perceptive powers, not only Avithout the aid of the organs of sensation, but in direct opposition to the impressions Avhich these organs convey to the brain, are sufficient to establish the abstract independence of the mind.”—Natural Evidence of a Future Life, derived from the Properties and Actions of Animate and Inanimate Matter. THE LIVING AND THE DEAD. SIR WALTER SCOTT. “ Enthusiastic feelings of an impressive and solemn nature occur both in private and public life, which seems to add ocular testimony to an intercourse betwixt the earth and the world beyond it. For example, the son who has been lately deprived of his father, feels a sudden crisis approach in which he is anxious to have recourse to his sagacious advice; or a bereaved husband earnestly desires to behold again the form of wThich the grave has deprived him for ever; or, to use a darker, yet very common instance, the wTretched man who has dipped his hand in his fellow-creature’s blood, is haunted by the apprehension that the phantom of the slain stands by the bedside of his murderer. In all of these cases, who shall doubt that imagination, favoured by circumstances, has power to summon up to the organ of sight spectres which only exist in the mind of those by whom their apparition seems to be witnessed ? “If we add, that such a vision may take place in the course of those lively dreams, in which the patient, except in respect to the single subject of one strong impression, is or seems sensible of the real particulars of the scene around him, a state of slumber which often occurs,—if he is so far conscious, for example, as to know that he is lying on his own bed, and surrounded by his own familiar furniture, at the time when the supposed apparition is manifested,—it becomes almost in vain to argue with the visionary against the reality of his dream, since the spectre, though itself purely fanciful, is inserted amidst so many circumstances which he feels to be true beyond all doubt or question. That which is undeniably real, becomes in a manner a warrant for the reality of the ap- pearance to which doubt would otherwise have been attached; and if any event, such as the death of the person dreamed of, chances to take place, so as to correspond with the nature and u tlie time of the apparition, the coincidence—though one which must be frequent, since our dreams usually refer to the accom- plishment of that which haunts our minds when awake, and often presage the most probable events—seems perfect, and the chain of circumstances touching the evidence may not un- reasonably be considered as complete. Such a concatenation, we repeat, must frequently take place, when it is considered of what stuff dreams are made,—how naturally they turn upon those who occupy our mind when awake; and when a soldier is exposed to death in battle, when a sailor is incurring the dangers of the sea, when a beloved wife or relative is attacked by disease, how readily our sleeping imagination rushes to the very point of alarm, which when waking it had shuddered to anticipate. The number of instances in which such lively dreams have been quoted, and both asserted and re- ceived as spiritual communications, is very great at all periods; in ignorant times, when the natural cause of dreaming is misapprehended, and confused with an idea of mysticism, it is much greater. Yet, perhaps, considering the many thousands of dreams which must, night after night, pass through the imaginations of individuals, the number of coincidences be- tween the vision and real event are fewer and less remarkable than a fair calculation of chances would warrant us to expect. But in countries where such presaging dreams are subjects of attention, the number of those which seem to be coupled with the corresponding event, is large enough to spread a very general belief of a positive communication betwixt the living and the dead.”—Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft. ATHANATOS. MRS. SIGOURNEY. If thou wilt seek the fellowship of dreams, And fearless yield thee to their loving sway, And make them friends, they’ll swiftly bear thee up From star to star, and let thee hear the rush Of angel-wings, upon God’s errands speeding; And while they make some silver cloud thy car, Will whispering tell thee that the unslumbering soul Wears immortality upon its crest, And by its very power to soar with them, Proves that it cannot die. Pocahontas, and other Poems: Dreams. SEPARATE EXISTENCE POSSIBLE. LORD BROUGHAM. “ The mind’s independence of matter and capacity of existence without it, appear to be strongly illustrated by whatever shows the entire dissimilarity of its constitution. The inconceivable rapidity of its operations is, perhaps, the most striking feature of the diversity; and there is no doubt that this rapidity increases in proportion as the interference of the senses—that is, the influence of the body—is withdrawn. A multitude of facts, chiefly drawn from and connected with the phenomena of dreams, throw a strong light upon this subject, and seem to demonstrate the possible disconnection of mind and matter.” After several striking illustrations of the independence and rapidity of mental processes in sleep, his lordship proceeds:— “Nothing can be conceived better calculated than these facts to demonstrate the extreme agility of the mental powers, their total diversity from any material substances or actions; nothing better adapted to satisfy us that the nature of the mind is consistent with its existence apart from the body.”— A Discourse of Natural Theology. ON DREAMING. JOHN NEWTON. When slumber seals our weary eyes, The busy fancy wakeful keeps ; The scenes which then before us rise Prove something in us never sleeps. As in another world we seem, A new creation of our own; All appears real, though a dream, And all familiar, though unknown. Sometimes the mind beholds again The past day’s business in review; Resumes the pleasure or the pain, And sometimes all we meet is new. What schemes we form ! what pains we take We fight, we run, we fly, we fall j But all is ended when we wake, We scarcely then a trace recall. But though our dreams are often wild, Like clouds before the driving storm; Yet some important may be styled, Sent to admonish or inform. What mighty agents have access, What friends from heaven, or foes from hell. Our minds to comfort, or distress, When we are sleeping, who can tell ? One thing at least, and ’tis enough, We learn from this surprising fact; Our dreams afford sufficient proof, The soul without the flesh can act. This life, which mortals so esteem, That many choose it for their all, They will confess ’twas but a dream, When wakened by death’s awful call. Olney Hymns. CHAPTER III. ON DREAMS AS PROPHETIC, PREMONITORY, ETC. WHY THE SOUL MAY BE PROPHETIC IN SLEEP. GONZALO. “I AM of opinion with Volaterans, that many times a person going to his rest, not cloyed with bad affections nor super- fluity of food, hut being vertuously minded and healthfully disposed, his soule in sleeping may foresee things to come; for the soule, which of itselfe is divine and celestiall, being not offended with any evill cogitations, or over-bad meats, is at free liberty, and best performeth her actions when the body sleepeth, not being busied with any other matters.”—The Divine Dreamer; or a short treatise discovering the true effect and power of Dreames; confirmed by the most learned and best approved authors. 1641. Dedicated “to the vertuous Carinda, by her servant Gonzalo.” ON DREAMS. REV. MR. GREAVES. “ Dreams are from Jove,” thus sung the bard of old. The modern sage,* if not more wise, more bold. To matter modified annexing thought, From earth, from clay, their origin has brought. * Dr. P. (probably Dr. Priestley). 55 “ The soul’s a mere machinethey thence explain By motion’s laws the visions of the brain. But how can fancy then her vigils keep, When the mechanic frame is lulled to sleep ? Though sages may, yet sure th’ unlettered clown Ne’er seeks the hour—when once his is clock down. Dreams, then, as far the powers of clay surpass. As Myra’s self her image in the glass. “ Dreams are from Jove !” their origin divine : No truth more sure e’er spake the Delphic shrine. Fatigued with care, with daily toils opprest, When now the languid carcass sinks to rest. The soul takes wing; to distant regions flies; Exults, expands; commercing with the skies: Assumes fresh vigour; through Elysian groves, Through fairy scenes, her own creation, roves: Bevels in bliss to waking wights unknown; The earth, the air, the universe her own. She rhymes, harangues, or hails the absent friend; Her views, enlarged, to future times extend. No chain of matter can her powers control; Thus dreams display the grandeur of the soul. Universal Magazine, vol. lxi., December, 1777. OBJECTIONS TO THE PROPHETIC CHARACTER OF DREAMS. JAMES BEATTIE, LE.D. “We are warranted by authentic history to believe that dreams have given information of future events. Hence weak people infer that they always were, or still may be prophetical. But nothing: is more absurd. Because in ancient times there were prophets and holy men, shall I, therefore, conclude that I am a saint or a prophet? Because the Deity has been pleased to reveal Himself in an extraordinary manner to some persons set apart by Him for extraordinary purposes, shall I therefore imagine that He will reveal to me the trifling occur- rences of my life a few days before they happen ? He has in great mercy concealed from us the knowledge of what is to come, except so far as was necessary to us, and could not be made out by human reason. For man acquainted with futurity would be both useless and miserable. For him all curiosity and enterprise would be at an end, and all hope extinguished; future evils would torment him before they came ; and future good, by being anticipated, would lose every charm that surprise and novelty confer upon it. And he would sit down, motionless and stupid, in expectation of evil which he could not avoid, and of good which would give rise neither to activity nor desire. An oyster endowed with sight and hear- ing, consciousness and reason, would not be a more wretched creature. Even when God has foretold future events by his prophets, He has generally delivered the prophecy in terms that could not be fully understood till after it was accom- plished, for otherwise it must have interfered with the princi- ples of human action, and with the ordinary course of human affairs. “Is it not strange, if dreams are prophetical, that, after the experience of so many ages, we should never have found out any rational way of expounding them ? And if some are prophetical, but not all, is it not strange that every species of dream should be equally familiar to good men and to bad ? For of each character there are some superstitious people who believe in dreams, and some more rational who do not. To say that dreams are of divine origin, implies (as Aristotle has well observed) many absurdities, and this among others, that it is not to the wisest and best men they are sent, but to all indiscriminately.* “ The rules by which the vulgar pretend to interpret dreams are too ridiculous to be mentioned. They are indeed such as may make almost any dream prophetical of any event. If a dream and a subsequent occurrence be the same or similar, then they believe that the dream foretold it; if totally dif- ferent, and even contrary, they still believe that the dream foretold it. * Aristotle, “ De Divinatione per Somnia.” “ That there may occasionally he a coincidence of a dream with a future event, is nothing more than one has reason to expect from the revolution of chances. It would indeed be wonderful, considering the variety of our thoughts in sleep, and that they all bear some analogy to the aflairs .of life, if this did never happen. But there is nothing more extra- ordinary in it than that an idiot should sometimes speak to the purpose, or an irregular clock once or twice a year point to the right hour. The same coincidence of a reality with a previous imagination is observable when we are awake, as when a friend whom we did not expect, happens to come in view the very moment we were thinking or speaking of him ; a thing so common, that both in Latin and in English, it may be expressed by a proverb.”—Dissertations, Moral and Critical. PROPHECY AND INSTINCTIVE ANTICIPATION. “ It is obvious, that in a prophetic dream, a person may have the conclusions of waking thoughts (he having deduced them unconsciously) re-excited and made manifest to his consciousness in a dream, under which circumstances they will appear new. Or the thoughts may actually occur during the dream, as if in the waking state, at the same time becoming objects of consciousness, yet instinctively and automatically, and therefore with the precision of instinctive reasoning. “ It is in this way, we suspect, that dreams have proved prophetic. Prescience,—one of the most striking and inscru- table of the instinctive faculties,—is also that which is most commonly in operation in instinctive life. Hence it is not remarkable that that faculty which dominates among all the instincts of irrational creatures, should re-appear in the human organism when it is thrown by suspension of the cere- bral senses into the irrational condition. It seems strange that organized matter should have this innate prescience, but it is manifest throughout nature, from the evolution of the INNATE PRESCIENCE. germ and tlie anticipatory formation of the organs necessary to successive phases of existence, to the prudent foresight of adult life. We may well ask, with Pope, Who taught the nations of the field and wood To shun their poison, and to choose their food ? Prescient, the tides or tempests to withstand, Build on the wave, or arch beneath the sand ? Who made the spider parallels design Sure as De Moivre, without rule or line ? Who bid the stork, Columbus-like explore Heavens not his own, and worlds unknown before ? Who calls the council, states the certain day ? Who forms the phalanx, and who points the way ? If, then, this anticipation of the future be so universally manifest in organized matter that there is no exception, can we with any inductive propriety, except the organism of man from the universal law F We apprehend not. The simple fact that all nature anticipates a real future, is, indeed, the strongest argument in natural theology for the reality of a future state; because, since that anticipation is innate in organisms, as a law of their being, so it must needs be innate in man as a law of his being. And in what clime or region is man without a hope of future life ? Lo, the poor Indian, whose untutored mind Sees God in clouds, or hears Him in the wind, His soul proud science never taught to stray Far as the solar track or'milky way ; Yet simple nature to his hope has given, Behind the cloud-topped hill a humbler heaven. The apparently prophetic anticipation of events in dreams is, then, a natural phenomenon, and so far from being closely allied with the purely spiritual world in causation, it depends upon the special exercise of one of the most common, if not the most universal, of instincts. Our knowledge of the inner workings of organism in reference to apparently rational pre- scient acts, and of the relations of the cerebro-spinal or central axis to the instinct in animals endowed with nerves and central ganglia, is so utterly imperfect, that we can advance no further, hypothetically, than the principles we have laid down. In a vast majority of prophetic dreams, the whole of the facts are not stated ; consequently it is not possible to trace the dream ideas to their sources ; and even if they were it would still probably be impossible, because (as we have already shown) the mind may compare and deduce, and establish a conclusion, of which it does not become conscious until the whole series of ideas are acted in a dream. Conse- quently, results and events may be thus unconsciously anticipated in a waking state which appear as things done in a dream. For this reason, dreams of this kind should not be neglected.”—Journal of Psychological Medicine, vol. iv., October, 1851. MORE THAN OURSELVES IN SLEEP. SIR THOMAS BEOWNE. “ There is surely a nearer apprehension of anything that delights us in our dreams, than in our waked senses. With- out this I were unhappy; for my awaked judgment discontents me, ever whispering unto me that I am from my friend, but my friendly dreams in the night requite me and make me think I am within his arms. I thank God for my happy dreams, as I do for my good rest; for there is a satisfaction in them unto reasonable desires, and such as can be content with a fit of happiness. And surely it is not a melancholy conceit to think we are all asleep in this world, and that the conceits of this life are as mere dreams to those of the next, as the phan- tasms of the night to the conceit of the day. There is an equal delusion in them both; and the one doth but seem to be the emblem or picture of tbe other. We are somewhat more than ourselves in our sleeps ; and the slumber of the body seems to be but the waking of the soul. It is the ligation of sense, but the liberty of reason; and our waking conceptions do not match the fancies of our sleeps. At my nativity, my ascendant was the watery sign of Scorpio. I was born in the planetary hour of Saturn, and I think I have a piece of that leaden planet in me. I am no way facetious, nor disposed for the mirth and galliardise of company; yet in one dream I can compose a whole comedy, behold the action, apprehend the jests, and laugh myself awake at the conceits thereof. Were my memory as faithful as my reason is then fruitful, I would never study but in my dreams, and this time also would I choose for my devotion ; but our grosser memories have then so little hold of our abstracted understandings, that they forget the story and can only relate to our awaked souls a confused and broken tale of that which hath passed. Aristotle, who hath written a singular tract of sleep, hath not, methinks, thoroughly defined it; nor yet Galen, though he seems to have corrected it; for these noctamhulos and night-walkers, though in their sleep, do yet enjoy the action of their senses. We must therefore say that there is something in us that is not in the jurisdiction of Morpheus ; and that those abstracted and ecstatic souls do walk about in their own corpses, as spirits with the bodies they assume, wherein they seem to hear, see, and feel; though indeed the organs are destitute of sense, and their natures of those faculties that should inform them. Thus it is observed, that men sometimes upon the hour of departure do speak and reason among themselves. For then the soul begius to be freed from the ligaments of the body, begins to reason like herself, and to discourse in a strain above a mortality.”—lieligio Medici. CHAPTER IV. RESPONSIBILITY AND MORAL USES OF DREAMS. I A SINFUL STATE OF DREAMS. SIB THOMAS BROWNE. “ Besides innocent delusions, there is a sinful state of drearas. Death alone, not sleep, is able to put an end unto sin; and there may be a night book of our iniquities; for besides the transgressions of the day, casuists will tell us of mortal sins in dreams, arising from evil precogitations. Meanwhile human law regards not noctambulos; and if a night-walker should break his neck, or kill a man, takes no notice of it.”—On Breams. TOUCHSTONE OF MORALS. PLUTARCH. “ Zeno was of opinion that every man might and ought to know whether he profited or no in the schoole of vertue, even by his verydreames; namely, if hee tooke no pleasure to see in his sleepe any filthy or dishonest thing, nor delighted to imagine that he either intended, did, of approved, any lewd, unjust, or outrageous action, but rather did behold (as ill a settled calme, without winde, weather, and wave, in the cleare bottome of the water) both the imaginative and also the passive facultie of the soule wholly overspread and lightened with the bright beames of reason ; which Plato before him (as it should seeme) knowing well enough, hath prefigured and represented unto us, what fantasticall motions they he that proceed in sleepe from the imagination and sensual part of the soule given by nature to tyranize and overrule the guidance of reason; namely if a man dream that he seeketh to perpetrate any great or grievous iniquity, or that he hath a great minde and appetite to eate all strange, unlawfull and forbidden meats; as if then the said tyrant gave himselfe wholy to all those sensualities and concupiscences as being let loose at such a time, which by day the law either by feare or shame doth represse and keepe downe. Like as therefore beasts which serve for draught or saddle, if they be well taught and trained, albeit their governors and rulers let the reines loose and give [ ' them the head, fling not out nor goe from the right way, but either draw or make pace forward still, and, as they were wont ordinarily, keepe the same traine and holde on in one course and order,—even so they whose sensuall part of the soule is made trainable and obedient, tame, and well schooled by the discipline of reason, will neither in dreams nor sicknesses easily suffer the lusts and concupiscences of the flesh to rage or breake out into any enormities punishable by law ; but will observe and keepe still in memorie that good discipline and custome which doth ingenerate a certeine power and efficacie unto diligence, whereby they shall and will take heed unto themselves; for if the mind hath bene used by exercise to resist passions and temptations, to hold the boclie, and all the members thereof as it were with bit and bridle under subjec- tion, in such sort that it hath in comand the eies not to shed tears for pitty ; the heart likewise not to leape and pant in feare ; the whole nature and disposition to be easily governable and obedient to the suggestions of vertue ; how can it other- wise be but that there should be more likelihood that exercise having seized upon the sensuall parts of the soul, and tamed it should polish, lay even, reforme, and bring unto good order al the imaginations and motions thereof even asfarre as thedreames and fantasies in sleepers ? as is reported of Ililjpo the philosopher, who dreamed that he saw Neptune expostulating with him in answer, because he had not killed a beefe to sacrifice unto him as the manner was of other priests to doe, and that himself nothing astonied or dismaid at the said vision, should answer thus againe, ‘ What is it thou saist, 0 Neptune ? commest thou to complaine indeed like a child (who pules and cries for not having a piece big enough) that I take not up some money at interest, and put myselfe in debt, to fill the whole citie with the sent and savor of rost and burnt, but have sacrificed unto thee such as I had at home according to my abilitie and in a meane?’ Whereupon Neptune (as hee thought) should merrily smile and reach forth unto him his right hand, promising that for his sake, and for the love of him, that he would that yeere send the Megarians great store of rain, and good foison of sea loaches or fishes called Aphyrce by that means comming to them by whole sculles. Such then as while they lie asleepe have no illusions arising in their braines to trouble them, but those dreames or visions only as be joious, pleasant, plaine and evident, not painfull, not terrible, nothing rough, maligne, tor- tuous and crooked—may boldly say that these fantasies and apparitions be no other than the reflections and raies of that light which rebound from the good proceedings in philosophic; whereas, contrariwise, the furious pricks of lust, timorous frights, unmanly and base flights, childish and excessive joies, dolorous sorrowes, and dolefull mones by reason of some piteous illusions, strange and absurd visions appearing in dreames, may be well compared unto the broken waves and billowes of the sea beating upon the rocks and craggie banks of the shore ; for that the soule having not as yet that settled perfection in itselfe which should keepe it in good order, but holdetk on a course still according to good lawes onley and sage opinions, from which when it is farthest sequestered and most remote, to wit, in sleepe, it suffereth itselfe to returne againe to the old wont and to be let loose and abandoned to the passions.”—Of proceeding in Vertue. Translated by Phile- mon Holland. EEGULATION OF THE PASSIONS. QUALIFIED SELF-EXAMINATION. JAMES BEATTIE, LL.D. “ What if I should say that dreams may he serviceable, as a means of moral improvement ? I will not affirm, however, as some have done, that by them we may make a more ac- curate discovery of our temper and prevailing passions than by observing what passes in our minds when awake. For in sleep we are very incompetent judges of ourselves, and of everything else; and one will dream of committing crimes with little remorse, which, if awake, one could not think of without horror. But as many of our passions are inflamed or allayed by the temperature of the body, this I think may be affirmed with truth, that by attending to what passes in sleep, we may sometimes discover what passions are predominant, and so receive good hints for the regulation of them. “ A man dreams, for example, that he is in violent anger, and strikes a blow, which knocks a person down and kills him. He awakes in horror at the thought of what he has done, and at the punishment he thinks he has reason to ap- prehend ; and while, after a moment’s recollection, he rejoices to find it is only a dream, he will also be inclinable to form resolutions against violent anger, lest it should one time or other hurry him on to a real perpetration of like nature. If we even derive this advantage from dreams we cannot pro- nounce them useless. And why may we not, in this way, reap improvement from a fiction of our own fancy as well as from a novel or a fable of AEsop ?”—Dissertations, Moral and Critical. THE REAL NATURE UNVEILED. “ Even in sleep our imaginations are not invariably at rest. Our memories still wake, while our judgment is plunged into profound sleep; and this it is which causes our dreams to abound so much in the marvellous and incoherent. Our imaginations confonnd dissimilar circumstances, and bring widely distant localities together. Judgment, which in our waking moments guards our minds against these anomalous combinations, reposes from its labours, and is no longer at its post to direct the inferior faculties of the mind. Our associa- tions are consequently directed by mere chance. A place which we have seen is associated with the form of a person whom our eyes have never beheld; we converse with friends to whom we have long since paid the last sad offices, and pace rooms from which we are divided by the bounding ocean. It has been well observed, that though dreams have not that prophetic virtue which superstitious persons would fain invest them with, yet they have a use to which that class never think of applying them. A man may with very great accuracy determine his own true character of mind, by reflecting upon the particulars of those fantastic visions by which his sleeping hours are haunted. “ Deprived of the natural and acquired power of judgment, the inferior faculties of the dreamer riot in their real character. Is he cruel ? He dreams of the tumults of war, the horrors of deadly strife, and the exulting shout of conquest. He feels all the bitterness of his true and unalleviated nature, as the figment of sleep paints his enemy prostrate before him, and fills his whole soul with savage triumph, and unsparing and unrelenting resolutions. “ In this manner, all other violent determinations of the waking will are, as it were, depicted in the dreams of the night. If, for instance, a cruel man dreams of committing, and exulting while he commits, more atrocious and terrible cruelty than he would willingly commit while awake, he is not the less faithfully warned in sleep of the tendency of his waking nature; for it must be borne in mind that, as has before been stated, the judgment is absent, or rather dormant, while we dream. How it is by judgment pointing out inte- rested motives to us, that the chief modifications and disguises of our actual and unextinguishable natures are brought about. RATIONAL USE OF DREAMS. “ Thus guided, many a haughty man veils his actual feel- ings "beneath the demeanour of courtesy and humility, and many a coward speaks bold words in a brave tone. “ But while dreaming, this potent monitor has no longer any influence over us. We, therefore, dream, not according to our factitious, but according to our real nature. “ Perhaps it will be urged that, admitting all that we have said to be correct and irrefragable, it is still somewhat difficult to see what use can be derived from a knowledge of it. “We are of opinion that many a ruined and criminal man might have derived a saving use from it. By observing our dreams, by pondering upon those bad qualities which they, so to speak, accuse us of possessing, and by increasing our watchfulness over those particular qualities, and abstaining as far as possible from anything which can by possibility arouse them into action, we may obtain such a mastery over ourselves as will save us from vice and its consequent misery, contrition, and disgrace. This is the only rational and virtuous purpose with which we can take note of our nightly visions; and to this purpose a good and rational man cannot make even the shadow of an objection. Contrariwise, it is greatly to be commended, as being one stimulus to all good, and to forbear from the commission of evil.”—“ On Dreaming ” Pinnock's Guide to Knowledge, December 26, 1835. DREAMS DEPENDENT ON HABIT. “ Plutarch, endeavouring to show how we may know if we have acquired the habit and perfection of virtue, points out twelve ways, one of which is that of dreams. If even in your dreams, he says, you have no idea but what is right and proper, or if, when others come upon you, you find that even in your sleep you struggle like a valiant soldier to resist them as strenuously as if you were awake,—it is a sign that virtue is deeply rooted in you; because not only the will, but even 10 the imagination and tHe senses, are made subject to reason. This agrees with the explanation of some authors on the passage of St. Paul in Thessalonians (1 Thess. v. 10), that not only when we are awake, but even when asleep, our thoughts should always be flowing in the same current, and directed towards the same end. So Aristotle says, that when a man is master of any trade or art, he can so easily put it into practice that he has no occasion to wait and think how he should set about it; and all philosophers hold that habit appears not in the actions performed with reflection and care, but in those done upon the spur of the moment, without having any leisure allowed us for deliberation and circumspec- tion. It is spontaneous behaviour that evinces the instinctive habit of the mind and heart. Hence it follows that we are as responsible for our dreams as for our waking thoughts,—just as much so as, we are told, we shall be for every idle word at the great tribunal. For the nature of our dreams is deter- mined by the gloss or tone of mind which we cultivate, indulge in, or abandon ourselves to; so that, whether sleeping, waking, or dreaming, a man’s life is nothing else than a dramatic personification of his innate or acquired ideas, or in other words, it is his mind in deed. The phantoms of the night reappear as the motives of his conduct in the day, in the same manner as the deeds of the past day rise up in judgment against him in the fitful visions of the night. Accordingly, the masters of the spiritual life have taken occasion to prescribe rules to their disciples concerning the pi’oper manner of composing themselves to sleep, their manner of sleeping, and the manner of their dress, the kind of thoughts wherewith they should entertain themselves as they close their eyes, what they should do if they could not sleep, and how they should recollect themselves upon first awaking in the morning; for they justly concluded that in no moment of his life should a good man ever neglect himself, or permit his great enemy, Death, to steal upon him unawares.” —Journal of Psijchological Medicine, vol. ii., July, 1849. PHASES OF DREAMS. “We must now trace some curious phases of dreams which insult from partial fatigue of the brain, and when there is a state of complete sleep of the organs of the intellectual faculties and moral attributes, and an undue activity of the animal propensities. We admit that it is true in some measure, that dreams are modified by the pursuits of men, and by the natural character of individuals, although the latter is not always the case. And hence it will answer one of the objects of this essay, to explain an important physio- logical fact, and one which is too important to pass by unno- ticed, but which must not be regarded as counteracting any of our preceding views,—it may be considered an exception,—it is, however, valuable for not confounding the accidental thoughts of a dream, as indicating the moral condition of men ; and it furnishes important data to prove that pious and worthy people would do well to study the mental laws, for some of the best persons may dream of things and actions which disgust their waking consciousness, and in their sleep may perform actions which may excite a sense of horror that, under any circumstances, they could entertain such horrible conceptions. “ The solution of this enigma is simple and easy, and, so far as inductive reasoning is to be depended upon, almost as satisfactory as if it could be actually demonstrated. When persons have been much engaged during the whole day on subjects which require the continued exercise of the intel- lectual and moral attributes, they may induce so much fatigue and exhaustion of those powers, that in their sleep, to their subsequent sorrow and surprise, they may have the most sen- sual and most vicious dreams ! And they may on awakening, under the violence of their own impressions, marvel at the fact that such should have been the case, as they had, even though tired, addressed the Lord with prayers for his manifold mercies and sustaining powers, as manifested during their re- spective occupations. And they may perfectly recollect that, prior to closing their eyes in sleep, they had not entertained any impure associations, nor had occupied their thoughts with any reflections on the criminal condition of different members of the community. “ On the contrary, they may remember that they had calmly looked back on a well-spent day, and, strongly im- pressed with one idea, that they might be permitted to con- tinue their labours of usefulness with a renovated mind and body on the ensuing morning. And yet under this state of mind, and with such inclinations, nevertheless scenes of the most polluted kind, and actions the most depraved, haunt the dreamy thoughts. Now all this occurs from a non-observance of the Creator’s laws. Such persons have sustained an undue exercise of the intellectual and moral powers, so as to induce intense fatigue in them, while the animal propensities had remained in a state of comparative inactivity. These latter powers (the animal propensities) being wide awake, they, in their turn, manifest greater energy in consequence, whilst the intellect revives imperfect impressions. Acting with the animal propensities, these revel as if under their respective stimuli; and hence the debased and brutalized dreams which result. “ Had the intellectual attributes been more active and vigorous, they would have constrained in some degree the vagrant thoughts; but from their being in a dormant condi- tion, thev cease to act as ‘the board of control,’ and therefore the propensities indicate the greatest excess;—memory fur- nishing a variety of incidents either read or spoken of, whilst fancy aids in fanning the overstrained energy of the feelings ■—manifest their blind and impulsive condition, as when acting from the stimulation of real occurrences. These explanations furnish satisfactory data to explain the whole phenomena. “ In saying these things we may still admire the wisdom TEMPERANCE IN ALL THINGS. of Zeno, which induced him to regard a dream as a test of virtue. For he thought (according to Plutarch) that if, in a dream, a man’s heart did not recoil from vicious suggestions, there was an immediate necessity for self-examination and repentance. “ If our explanation is correct—and numerous facts could he cited to render this obvious—we demur at anything like actual responsibility for any thoughts which may actually occur in our dreams under the circumstances indicated. Even should our normal mental condition be shocked or disgusted that any such notions should have been entertained with all the vividness of reality, and though we repudiate any criminal responsibility from these visions of sleep, yet we, nevertheless, think that such dreams should be heeded. And if they occur involuntarily, we should begin to ascertain the cause, and endeavour to regulate in a better way both our mental faculties and the functions of the body. We should study the profound laws of God, by which we should ensure cor- poreal health and sanity of mind. We should recognize the importance of ‘being temperate in all things,’ and therefore avoid giving way to excess, even in sustaining the most ele- vated and spiritual thoughts; that the exercise would then be natural, and in every instance invigorating and beneficial; for it is an indisputable truth that when we regulate our varied powers, without excess of any hind, we ensure refresh- ing sleep, undisturbed by dreamy visions of any kind, and our lives would then be useful to others, agreeable to ourselves, and ensure a lasting satisfaction.”—Journal of Psychological Medicine, vol. x., January, 1857. STATE OP THE MIND IN SLEEP AND DREAMS. THE MIND NOT ALWAYS ACTIVE. JOHN LOCKE. “ § 11. I grant that the soul in a waking man is never withou thought, because it is the condition of being awake; but whether sleeping without dreaming be not an affection of the whole man, mind as well as body, may be worth a waking man’s consideration ; it being hard to conceive that any should think and not be conscious of it. If the soul doth think in a sleeping man without being conscious of it, I ask, whether during such thinking it has any pleasure or pain, or be capable of happiness or misery ? I am sure the man is not any more than the bed or earth he lies on; for to be happy or miserable without being conscious of it seems to me utterly inconsistent and impossible. Or if it be possible that the soul can, whilst the body is sleeping, have its thinking, enjoyments, and concerns, its pleasure or pain, apart, which the man is not conscious of, nor partakes in,—it is certain that Socrates asleep and Socrates awake is not the same person ; but his soul when he sleeps, and Socrates the man, consisting of body and soul when he is waking are two persons; since waking Socrates has no knowledge of, or concernment for that happiness or misery of his soul which it enjoys alone by itself, while he sleeps, without perceiving anything of it; any more than he has for the happiness or misery of a man in the Indies, whom he knows not. For if we take wholly away all consciousness of our actions and sansations, especially of pleasure and pain, and the concernment that accompanies, it will be hard to know wherein to place personal identity. “ § 12. ‘ The soul, during sound sleep, thinks,’ say these men. Whilst it thinks and perceives, it is capable certainly of those of delight or trouble, as well as any other perceptions. But it has all this apart; the sleeping man, it is plain, is conscious of nothing of all this. Let us suppose the soul of Castor, while he is sleeping, retired from his body, which is no impossible supposition for the men I have here to do with, who so liberally allow life without a thinking soul to all other animals. These men cannot then judge it impossible, or a contradiction, that the body should live without the soul; nor that the soul should subsist and think without the body. Let us then, as I say, suppose the soul of Castor separated, during his sleep, from his body, to think apart. Let us suppose, too, that it chooses for its scene of thinking the' body of another man, e. y., Pollux, who is sleeping without a soul; for if Castor’s soul can think whilst Castor is asleep, what Castor is never conscious of, it is no matter what place it chooses to think in. We have here, then, the bodies of two men with only one soul between them, which we will suppose to sleep and wake by turns, and the soul still thinking in the waking man, whereof the sleeping man is never conscious, has never the least perception. I ask, then, whether Castor and Pollux, thus, with only one soul between them, which thinks and perceives in one what the other is never conscious of, nor is concerned for, are not two as dis- tinct persons as Castor and Hercules, or as Socrates and Pollux were ? And whether one of them might not be very happy, and the other very miserable ? Just by the same reason they make the soul and the man two persons, who make the soul think apart what the man is not conscious of. For, I suppose, nobody will make identity of person to consist in the soul’s being united to the very same numerical particles of matter; for if that be necessary to identity, it will be impossible, in that constant flux of the particles of our bodies, that any man should be the same person two days or two moments together. “ § 13. Thus, methinks, every drowsy nod shakes their doctrine who teach that the soul is always thinking. Those, at least, who do at any time sleep without dreaming, can never be convinced that their thoughts are sometimes busy for four hours without their knowing of it; and if they are taken in the very act, waked in the middle of that sleeping contemplation can give no manner of account of it. “ § 14. It will perhaps be said, ‘ that the soul thinks in the profoundest sleep, but the memory retains it not.’ That the soul in a sleeping man should be at this moment busy a-thinking, and the next moment in a waking man not remem- ber nor be able to recollect one jot of all those thoughts, is very hard to be conceived, and would need some better proof than bare assertion to make it be believed. For who can, without any more ado, but being barely told so, imagine that the greater part of men do, during all their lives, for several hours every day, think of something, which if they were asked, even in the middle of those thoughts, they could remember nothing at all of it ? Most men, I think, pass a great part of their sleep without dreaming. I once knew a man that was bred a scholar, and had no bad memory, who told me he had never dreamed in his life till he had that fever he was then newly recovered of, which was about the five or six-and-twentieth year of his age. I suppose the world affords more such instances; at least every one’s acquaintance will furnish him with examples enough of such as pass most of their nights without dreaming. “ § 15. To think often, and never to retain it so much as one moment, is a very useless sort of thinking ; and the soul, in such a state of thinking, does very little, if at all, excel that of a looking-glass, which constantly receives a variety of images or ideas, but retains none; they disappear and vanish, and there remain no footsteps of them; the looking-glass is never the better for such ideas, nor the soul for such thoughts. Perhaps it will he said, ‘that in a waking man the materials t)f the body are employed, and made use of in thinking, and that the memory of the thoughts is retained by the impressions that are made on the brain, and the traces left there after such thinking ; but that in the thinking of the soul, which is not perceived in a sleeping man, there the soul thinks apart, and making no use of the organs of the body, leaves no impression on it, and consequently no memory of such thoughts.’ Not to mention the absurdity of two distinct persons, which follows from this supposition, I answer further, that whatever ideas the mind can receive and contemplate without the help of the body, it is reasonable to conclude it can retain without the help of the body too ; or else the soul, or any separate spirit, will have but little advantage by thinking ? If it has no memory of its own thoughts, if it cannot lay them up for its owo use, and be able to recall them upon occasion,—if it can- not reflect upon what is passed and make use of its former experience, reasonings, and contemplations,—to what purpose does it think ? They who make the soul a thinking thing-, at this rate will not make it a much more noble being, than those do whom they condemn for allowing it to be nothing more than the subtlest part of matter. Characters drawn on dust, that the first breath of wind effaces, or impressions made on a heap of atoms, or animal spirits, are altogether as useful, and render the subject as noble, as the thoughts of a soul that perish in the thinking, that once out of sight are gone for ever, and leave no memory of themselves behind them. Nature never makes excellent things for mean or no uses ; and it is hardly to be conceived that our infinitely wise Creator should make so admirable a faculty as the power of thinking—that faculty which comes the nearest to the excellency of his own incomprehensible being—as to be idly and uselessly employed, at least a fourth part of its time here, as to think constantly 5 without remembering any of those thoughts, without doing any good to itself or others, or being any way useful to any other part of the creation. If we will examine it, we shall not find, I suppose, the motion of dull and senseless matter, any- where in the universe, made so little use of, and so wholly thrown away. “ § 16. It is true, we have sometimes instances of percep- tion whilst we are asleep, and retain the memory of those thoughts; hut how extravagant and incoherent for the most part they are, —how little conformable to the perfection and order of a rational being,—those who are acquainted with dreams need not be told. This I would willingly be satisfied in, whether, when it thinks thus apart, and, as it were, separate from the body, it acts less rationally than when conjointly with it, or no ? If its separate thoughts be less rational, then these men must say, that the soul owes the perfection of rational thinking to the body; if it does not, it is wonder that our dreams should be, for the most part, so frivolous and irrational, and that the soul should retain none of its more rational soliloquies and meditations. “§ 17. Those who so confidently tell us that ‘the soul always actually thinks,’ I would they would also tell us what those ideas are in the soul of a child, before or just at the union with the body, before it hath received any by sensation. The dreams of sleeping men are, as I take it, all made up of the waking man’s ideas, though for the most part oddly put together. It is strange if the soul has ideas of its own, that it derived not from sensation or reflection (as it must have, if it thought before it received any impression from the body) that it should never in its private thinking (so private, that the man himself perceives it not) retain any of them the very moment it wakes out of them, and then make the man glad with new discoveries. Who can find it reasonable that the soul should, in its retirement during sleep, have so many hours’ thoughts, and yet never light on any of those ideas it borrowed not from sensation or reflection, or at least preserve the memory of none but such, which being occasioned from the body, must needs be less natural to a spirit ? It is strange THE SOUL NOT ALWAYS THINKING. tlie soul should never once in a man’s whole life recall over any of its pure native thoughts, and those ideas it had before it borrowed anything from the body,—never bring into the waking man’s view any other ideas but what have a tang of the cask, and manifestly derive their origin from that union. If it always thinks, and so had ideas before it was united, or before it received any from the body, it is not to be supposed but that during sleep it recollects its native ideas ; and during that retirement from communicating with the body, whilst it thinks by itself, the ideas it is busy about should be, sometimes at least, those more natural and congenial ones which it had in itself, underived from the body, or its own operations about them; which since the waking man never remembers, we must from this hypothesis conclude, either that the soul remembers something that the man does not, or else that memory belongs only to such ideas as are derived from the body, or the mind’s operations about them. “ § 18. I would be glad to learn from these men, who so confidently pronounce that the human soul, or which is all one, that a man, always thinks,—how they come to know that they themselves think, when they themselves do not perceive it. This, I am afraid is to be sure without proofs, and to know without perceiving. It is, I suspect, a confused notion taken up to serve an hypothesis ; and none of those clear truths, that either their owm evidence forces us to admit, or common experience makes it impudence to deny. For the most that can be said of it is, that it is possible the soul may always think, but not retain it in memory ; and I say, it is as possible that the soul may not always think, and much more probable that it should sometimes not think than that it should often think and that a long time together, and not be conscious to itself the next moment after that it had thought.”—Essay on the Human Understanding. THE SOUL NEVER INTERMITS ITS ACTIVITY. DE. WATTS. “ The objections of Mr. Locke against the constancy of thinking in the sonl of man are easily answered ; I shall set the chief of them in order here, from book ii. chap. 1. “I. Mr. Locke supposes, sect. 11, 12, that if the soul thinks while the body is sleeping, then it has its own concerns, pleasures, pains, apart from the body, and Socrates asleep and awake are two distinct persons. “ To this I answer, (1) that it is still the same person, for both the soul and body of Socrates are employed in these ideas, and that whether sleeping or waking. The ideas of his dreams and of his waking thoughts, though they both exist in the mind, yet both of them may be occasioned by the motion of his blood and spirits, and they are the acts or effects of the soul and body united, i. e., of both the constituent parts of Socrates. “ Or, (2) if it were not so, and if the soul alone were employed in sleep, yet Mr. Locke’s objection might be answered by showing that the actions of life, which belong only to the body as their proper principal, or only to the soul, are gene- rally attributed to the whole man; it is the soul of Socrates that philosophised, and his body wore a gown, and yet we say it is the same person, it is Socrates did them both. So that there is no manner of reason to suppose Socrates asleep to be a distinct person from Socrates when he is awake, though the soul alone were engaged in thinking while he was asleep with- out any operations of the brain. “ II. Mr. Locke, sect. 13, 14, 18, supposes nobody can be convinced that they have been thinking for four hours together and not know it, etc. “ But it plainly appears that we may know or be conscious of sleeping thoughts at that moment when they arise, and not retain them the next moment; so that the forgetfulness of our THE SOUL VINDICATED. dreams never so soon, is no proof that we did not dream, or had no consciousness of thinking in sleep. “ III. Sect. 16, Mr. Locke would insinuate, that if the soul thinks while the body is asleep, and inactive, those thoughts should be more purely the soul’s own operation, and conse- quently more rational. But it appears that the sleeping thoughts of a man being the effects of the various and un- governed rovings of the animal spirits in the brain, imposing images on the soul, are not more regular or rational than those of a waking man, but far less; and therefore they are less worth our remembrance; and it is no inconvenience to us, nor dishonour to our nature, that we are so made as to forget such roving and irregular exercises so easily and so soon. “ IV. Another objection of Mr. Locke’s is this, sect. 15 :— That it is not agreeable to the wisdom of our Creator to make so admirable a faculty as the power of thinking to be so idly and uselessly employed all our sleeping hours, i. e., at least one quarter of our time, as not to be able to recollect, to treasure up, or use any of these thoughts for our own or others’ advan- I tage. “ To this it is answered, (1) That there are but few even of our waking thoughts which most men can recollect for par- ticular uses of life, in comparison of those multitudes and millions which vanish and are for ever lost as soon as they are formed; yet this is not esteemed to reflect upon the wisdom of our Creator, who, at least in this present state, hath thus constituted us. Let a man who has been awake seventeen hours or a whole day, try in the eighteenth to recollect what he can of what has passed in his mind; and he shall hardly be able to fill up one hour with such recollected thoughts from which he can draw any proper inferences, experiences or obser- vations, for the use of life ; and it may be as well inferred that we have not thought ten hours of that seventeen, as that we did not think the foregoing night in our sleep, merely upon this supposition, that God would not make us such creatures as to think so many hours to so little purpose. (2) Why may not a thinking "being "be suffered to think some hours every night to little purpose, as well as to exist without thinking, i. e., to no purpose at all ? Useless ideas are at least as good as no ideas; and a soul thinking idly, is as good as a soul sleeping. (3) "Wliat if we should say, that as the irregular and exorbitant power of sense and imagination, and its ungovernableness by reason when we are awake, in many instances, is owing to our fallen state,—so our unrecollected and useless dreams may possibly he ascribed in some measure to the same cause ? Perhaps innocent man could manage his sleeping ideas better "by reason, and make them someway serviceable to his wakeful actions. “ Or we may borrow from Mr. Lee a fourth answer, viz., (4) there seems to be a constant sense of pleasure in sound sleep, which appears by a reluctancy to be disturbed in that pleasure, and strong tendences to re-enjoy it when we are suddenly awakened ; this is at least as demonstrable as that we have no consciousness at all. And if it be so, then (1) here is something we are conscious of when sleeping; and (2) it is not unworthy of the wise Contriver of Nature to bestow an innocent pleasure in the act of sleeping which Himself has made necessary to preserve life, and improve the comforts of it. . . . “ Thus 1 have endeavoured to answer the chief objections of this great writer against the constant consciousness of the soul. And, indeed, so far as my ideas reach, or my reasoning powers will help me, constant or perpetual cogitation seems to belong to the very nature, essence, and substance of a spirit, and that when it ceases to think it ceases to be. And herein it bears a very near resemblance to God, and is the fairest image of its Maker, whose very being admits of no sleep nor quiescence, but is all conscious activity, COROLLARIES. “ 1. Hence it will follow, that the soul is in its own nature immortal; for nothing but the power which hath given it this THE SOUL FREE AND IMMORTAL. active life and being can destroy it. It is entirely out of the reach of all the material world to hurt it. It cannot lay aside its own thinking; it cannot put itself out of being. Nor can we conceive how any other spirit can make it cease to act, that is cease to be. Such an active being as a spirit cannot be destroyed but by annihilation ; and surely God, whose right and prerogative it is to create or give being to a creature, hath not put it into the power of any creature to annihilate his works or take away their being. “ 2. Hence it will follow also, that when the human body dies, the soul exists and continues to think and act in a sepa- rate state, and when it is freed from all the avocation of sensations and sensible things, it will live more entirely in the reflection on its own operations, and will commence a state of happiness or misery according to its own former conduct; either rejoicing in the testimony of a good conscience, or under inward anguish and bitter self-reproaches, from the conscious- ness of its own guilt.”—Philosophical Essays. DOES THE MIND EVER REMAIN INERT ? “ Some philosophers imagine that the mind never remains inert; that successions of ideas incessantly present themselves, and thought is always employed. With respect, however, to this notion, it may be alleged that it is highly improbable that dreams which, according to the supposition, must perpetually occur, should be so seldom and so faintly recollected. To this it may be answered that the same thing happens when we are awake. Let any person try to recall the whole train of ideas that has passed through his mind during the twelve hours that he has been stirring about in the ordinary business of the day ; he will be able to remember particular essential transactions; but if he attempts to recover the mass of ideas that filled his mind diming that time, or even only a considerable part of the time, he will find it an impracticable labour; he will in vain endeavour to trace the connection of his ideas: the same broken confused assemblage will be perceived, even by bim who possesses the most retentive memory, as when he first wakens with that imperfect consciousness that is usually called a dream. Were we to commit to writing in the minutest manner every idea our remembrance then suggested, it would be difficult, perhaps impossible, to collect as many as would employ an hour to read over. “ If it be granted that thought never stops, and that the mind is perpetually employed, the wonder should rather be that so few cases of similitude have been recorded. If millions of the human species, during the whole extent of time, have been, during their state of slumber continually subject to dream, perhaps the calculators of chances would be apt to maintain that near coincidences have probably happened much more frequently than they have been either noticed or sus- pected.”—Scot's Magazine, vol. xlix., 1787. DREAMS EXTERNAL TO THE SOUL. ANDREW BAXTER. “ In order to search out the cause and origin of the phenomenon of dreaming, I shall first endeavour to show that it is not produced by the soul itself; however some may insinuate, rather than seem quite ignorant, that it is the sport of the sleeping fancy, the extravagance of imagination, or some such general thing, which hath no meaning, will not bear an exami- nation, and is in truth contradictory. The soul, as hath been shown, is forced to abandon its working on the sensory, which is the seat of these impressions, because of the expense of animal spirits necessary to keep the former impressions patent, or to produce new ones. We know by experience that the fatigue of continuing to do this is intolerable. The animal spirits must be recruited, and of consequence the sensory must be shut up, and the soul leave off acting upon it; and it is inconsistent to think that the soul should be forced to cease THE SOUL DOES NOT ACT BY ITSELF. working upon the sensory this minute, and the next minute begin to work again. We are convinced from our own con- ciousness in this case, that the soul must finally quit all attempts of this kind before sleep can be brought on, and yet it is often engaged in a dream before we are well fallen asleep ; so that we may trace back the perceptions of the soul in iliese confines between sleeping and waking, but shall not find its designing to amuse itself, but rather suddenly engaged in behold- ing things, it knows not how. The soul, it is true, is always active and percipient, or is never without some real percep- tion ; but it is most certain it ceases to act and perceive by the body. It might as well employ itself in constant contemplation in the time of sleep, and thinking something regular and useful, as in these odd, whimsical scenes ; and yet it hath been shown above, No. 13, of the last, that it cannot do this. Nor is the soul indulged to act by itself, and separately, so as to be a different person, for reasons there likewise given ; nor yet would this be acting by itself, but on the sensory. Besides, it is inconceivable what the soul could design by these extrava- gances, always deceiving and often terrifying itself; no one can have a notion of the possibility of this. In a word, to contend that the soul may still act on the sensory, and produce those scenes of vision in it, is to forget what it was that forced it to suspend its acting on this material organ ; and to suppose likewise that it would fatigue itself madly, without any view or purpose, when it might rather employ itself in something profitable, or at least pleasant. These reasons, drawn from what hath been already said, seem to show -with a great deal of evidence that the soul doth not form and present to itself those scenes. But to proceed to others. The actions of the soul must always be accompanied with a consciousness that they are produced by it, as being effected by the will. To say the soul acts without willing the action, hath been shown in Section 4 to be repugnant; and since willing is one species of consciousness or thinking, not to be conscious of our own willing is not to be conscious of our own consciousness. Constant 11 action and constant thinking require constant willing; but if we could will constantly without knowing that we willed, we might act and think constantly without knowing that we acted and thought, and consciousness would be a contra- dictory notion. Whence it is not only easy to know whether we ourselves produce an action, or some other being, but impossible not to know it. And in this present case we have this further degree of certainty, that the action or effect is not produced by the soul, but by something else, because it is forced upon the mind violently ; the mind suffers and is made uneasy by it, and would fain avoid being conscious of it, if it were in its power. “ Now common experience tells us that most of those repre- sentations which are offered to the soul in sleep, are not only not produced by it, but there is no consciousness of any act of the ivill to introduce them; but that they are involuntarily obtruded upon it. It hears, sees, and feels objects at that time, not as it would itself, but such as they are made appear to it; and is just as passive in receiving these impressions as it would be in receiving the like impressions from real external objects, by means of the senses, when broad awake; showing as much backwardness to them, and suffering as much from them; awaking sometimes with trembling, sweating, and crying, and as much fatigued by a night of such visions, as with labour and toil by day. I say this is common experience, and there is nothing more ordinary than to be made to fancy, immediately after we fall asleep, that we are placed on some dreadful height, or precipice, or in some slippery, dangerous station, where we are in hazard of falling, or are actually tumbling down. The apprehensions from this visionary danger are as great as they could be from the reality of the thing represented. We awake with a start or cry, are glad to find ourselves in safety, and the precipice vanished. The recovering our waking memory, and the reviving the real impressions from external objects, for- merly lodged in the brain, disturbs these scenes, and so brings us back to our former state, and rescues us from our un- easiness. Instances of this kind are as various as frequent; sometimes we are threatened in sleep from a strange and ugly confluence of waters; sometimes from frightful and merciless animals. Sometimes we are cai’ried to desert and inhospitable places, or placed in other disagreeable, shocking, and unnatural circumstances. “ Now, undoubtedly, in these and such other instances, it is absurd to say the soul would lay a plot to frighten itself and then be foolishly in real terror with its own designs. To make this succeed, it ought to be tioo distinct beings, each ignorant of the other’s consciousness and designs, and the whole com- pounded soul be diverted by the contrivance on the one hand, and yet terrified with the execution on the other. These are the most commom instances ; there are others vastly more strange and surprising, but equally certain ; but in them all the soul must necessarily be passive and unconcerned in the production, since that it should act without designing to act, or design to act without knowing it designed, or knowing that it designed the action and yet be terrified at it, is incon- ceivable. To this may be added, that many of these scenes are above the power and workmanship of the soul itself: so that it could not produce them though it were willing (for those who are for material souls, and mechanical dreams, will not, I suppose, allow that it hath greater powers and faculties then, than when awake ; and those on the other side, who are for exalting the powers of the soul at that juncture, cannot expect their assertions will be allowed them, unless they could bring good proof) ; but omitting this, I shall only name another, and that a very satisfying consideration, which plainly shows these representations to be the works of agents, distinct from the soul, namely, that whatever part the soul itself acts when these things are offered to it,—as it always acts some part or other, either for its own relief and defence, if the object offered is uneasy, or appears to have bad designs upon it, or if pleasant and friendly in concurring and forwarding the effect since it does not lose the principle of self-preservation, or self- love,—I say, whatever part it acts, it is conscious of its own act- ing, and that this acting is of its own willing and production. And the memory of its acting thus, in resisting or concurring, it distinctly retains afterwards when awakened. Thus if we dream that we are conversing with any persons, or doing any- thing with them in consequence of that conversation, we are conscious enough what sentences in the conversation we our- selves speak, and what actions we do; and there is the same distinction and difference of consciousness, betwixt our words and actions and theirs, as if the whole transaction had passed between them and us while we were awake. This shows us clearly, I conceive, that the soul is not the productive cause, in contriving and offering these scenes first to itself. Indeed, it would be a slippery principle to allow, that in sleep, the soul acted both parts, ivliile it were only conscious that it acted but one ; the notion of consciousness would be rendered inconsistent, as I said just now, or the certainty of consciousness and intuition would, I think, be invalidated. The case might be translated to our waking thoughts, and something more urged than D. Berkeley hath contended for, (he allows that those ideas which the soul is not conscious of exciting in itself, are excited in it by some other thing, though not the thing that we imagine), and that kind of scepticism, called Egomism, would have a new argument to support it. Let reasonable men weigh these con- siderations. . . . “ As these representations cannot be effected by the soul itself, because it is as undesigning, passive, and involuntary ' as it could be in seeing the same disagreeable objects when awake, so they are such as require a living, designing, and intelligent cause to produce them. Thus when one dreams (still to take a common, or at least an instance by no means extraordinary) that a man pursues him with a drawn sword, and withal threatens him, in words, the sound of which he plainly hears, and the sense of which he plainly understands,— it is impossible that these impressions can be made on the sensory, and these ideas exerted in the soul, by anything but a living intelligent cause, as it is that consciousness and spon- taniety should belong to anything but such a cause. Here is (Iksign, life, action, articulate words importing connected ideas, and those ideas excited in the soul, and all involuntary as to it. And now let a man think closely upon this appearance ; let him try his invention to make out another cause, if he can, consistently with all that is shown before in these papers. Let him also take this caution along with him, that philosophy doth not hinder him from finding a cause that can do more than produce the effect, though it strictly prohibits him to assign one that cannot do so much; and a free cause doth not always act to the extent of its power, nor will the effect appear so despicable, if narrowly examined. The only causes (exclu- sive of an intelligent cause) that can be named, are either chance or the mechanism of the body, since it hath been shown that the soul itself is not this cause. But it is scarce to be supposed that anybody, understanding the import of those two words, could assert that either of them was the cause of such an appearance. Chance, as hath been said, is only a word which we make use of when we are ignorant of the true cause, whether intelligent or mechanical; as when an effect is produced through a train of causes too long for us to see the beginning of, or where the dependence lies too deep for us to find out. But to suppose chance a rea.1, efficient cause, or some positive agent subsisting by itself, blind and unintelligent, doing it knows not what, nor how, and yet pro- ducing effects, where there is design, and an end proposed, and this end attained by just, natural, and compendious means, is to dress up a contradiction in our own mind, and to give it a name. It is not only to make the cause act above its power, but it is to feign a cause, and give an imaginary power where there is none at all. As to the mechanism of the body, or any other mechanical and necessary cause, it is the most incompetent of all others. (See from No. 12 of Sect. 2.) This could never account for the life, the action, the variety, observable in the appearance of dreaming, nay, for the senti- 1GG MATTER NOT AUTOMATIC. merits, the reasoning in many instances. The impressions then would he determined and invariable, without life and diversity, —just the opposites of what they are. The surprising and really endless diversity seems designed on purpose to exclude the fixed unalterable measures of mechanism, and the design, life, and spontaneity, to exclude any blind or surd efficient. If mechanism could produce a consciousness and reasoning different from that of the soul itself, as is the case where we seem to converse with others in sleep; it might produce the consciousness and reasoning in our soul. For showing how absurd this is, how far it would put an end to all rational inquiries whatever, I refer not only to the place just before named, but to the beginning of the last section. Allow but thus much to the sceptic, and he will defy all the philosophers that ever lived, to establish one certain truth in philosophy, or to infer any higher cause of appearances than what Lucretius has assigned. And are not men aware how much they abet the atheistical scheme by arguing thus ? Lucretius was much more clear-sighted, who was justly afraid of this phenomenon. Though mechanism is now become a learned word, is it any more than only one particle of matter being impelled by another, as they resist each of them a chang- ing of their state, and that still by another, until we come to the particle first moved ? And the oftener the motion is thus communicated, the first impressed quantity of it neces- sarily becomes the less, if it be not kept up to the first height by an extraneous power. And how stupendous doth the multiplicity of the action of the first cause appear to be, in constantly maintaining the mechanism of our bodies ! If matter, then, cannot keep up mechanical motion in itself, can it rise to perfection infinitely excelling that, both in degree and kind ? If it were matter that spoke the threatening words in the present instance, and performed the consequent threatening gestures,—that is, if it made those impressions on the sensory that excite these appearances in the soul,—would he be much in the wrong who should say, matter thought and reasoned ? DREAMS HAVE AN INTELLIGENT CAUSE. I rather think he would not. If we should either suppose that the sensory makes these impressions on itself, or that the animal spirits combine to infringe on it in such order; or that the blood as it circulates, stops or accelerates itself, so as to perform all this; or lastly that these several things conspire together to mimic life and spontaneous motion,—in all these suppositions, everything is inconceivable, absurd, im- possible. It was observed before, that if the mechanism were simple, we should expect no great things from it; but if it be very complicated, we think it not impossible for it to become a power to itself; and yet this is a grievous prejudice, for all the reason is on the contrary side. A complicated piece of mechanism wants, if possible, a power more, as more of the impressed motion is constantly consumed. And after this it can ill be alleged that mechanism is the cause of the present appearance. And if it cannot be the effect of a cause working mechanically, it follows that it must be produced by a living intelligent cause.”—An Inquiry into the Nature of the Human Soul; wherein the Immateriality of the Soul is evinced from the Principles of Reason and Philosophy. POSSIBILITY OF SUPERNATURAL SUGGESTIONS. WILLIAM SMELLIE. “ To deny the possibility of supernatural suggestions, either when asleep or awake, would be both presumptuous and absurd. On the contrary, I can conceive a superior being so thoroughly acquainted with the human frame, so perfectly skilled in the connection and mutual dependence which sub- sist between our intellect and our sensitive organs, as to be able by titillating, in various modes and directions, parti- cular combinations of nerves, or particular branches of any single nerve, to excite in the mind what ideas he may think proper. I can likewise conceive the possibility of suggesting ' any particular idea, or species of ideas, by affecting the nerves, in the same manner, as these ideas affect them when excited by any other cause.”—The Philosophy of Natural History. ARGUMENT FOR IMMORTALITY REPUDIATED. THOMAS CROMWELL, PH.D., F.S.A. • “‘See,’cry some people, ‘an incontestable proof of the natural immateriality and immortality of the soul in its actions during sleep. Then, though the body may lie in the torpidity, as it were, of death, the mind will exhibit its native superiority to matter, and (shall we not say F) its capability of living even though the body died, by feeling, thinking, and willing for itself. Is not this enough to show the existence of self-subsistent, immaterial, and immortal spirit ?’ “ It is answered, in the first place, that if the ability to dream prove the existence in man of the sort of spirit described, the dog who, sleeping on your hearth-rag, as plainly dreams as though he could tell you the subject that agitates his slumbers, must not be less allowed to possess it. In the second place, a single conclusion shall be founded on the philosophy of dreaming. “ Dreams take place only when the sleep is unsound, and arise, first from partial returns of activity of the brain itself, when ideas revive in it which at some previous time it has entertained, though perhaps with other than their original applications, and in general with much misassociation, irregu- larity, and confusion ; secondly, from impressions made upon or arising within one or more of the organs having the power to excite the brain to sensations. The ideas, for the most part, may be traced without much difficulty to some likeness to themselves in waking thoughts that at no very distant period have engaged the attention; though occasionally they are of remote times, persons, places, etc., springing up as thoughts often do in the daytime, from no associated source that we can detect or imagine. The sensations show the propagation of THE BRAIN PARTIALLY AWAKE. tlie action of some other organ to the brain, the action being most frequently perhaps of the stomach, and flowing from its undue fulness, or emptiness, or from some impropriety in the diet; though it may be also that of organs operated upon by external appliances, as the eyes affected by a sudden light, the ears by a noise, etc. When the thoughts or feelings are powerful enough, they lead to volitions and movements, just as they do in the waking hours ; the movements being mus- cular actions which the brain originates, and carries into effect through the media of the nerves, exactly as' in the state of wakefulness. In every case the brain is really more or less awake, and therefore acts in a degree as though it were perfectly so. And in this manner may the whole phenomena of dream- ing be accounted for.” * # # * # “ If a separate incorporeal being, a being living another and a higher life than could possibly be dependent on cor- poreality, were really in man, we might expect it both to maintain an uninterrupted consciousness of itself, and to understand and be able to give some account of the mystery of sleep, in particular as affecting the organ periodically sub- jected to the state so designated, and the more especially since that organ is regarded as the being’s peculiar residence. As Priestley asked, Why does not this independent corporeality ‘ contemplate the state of the body and the brain during sleep, which might afford matter enough for reason and reflection ?’* Then might Andrew Baxter be shown to have been right when he aranied that the “ considerations of the indefeasibleness or o nnweariedness of the principle of thought in us should practi- cally satisfy us of the immateriality of our thinking part. . . . It is busy all day with the body, and all the night without the body, and all the day with the body again ; and this is a con- stant circle, without respite or intermission that we can con- ceive by our strictest inquiry. For the body no sooner sinks # “ Disquisition on Matter and Spirit,” p. 80. down in weariness and slumber than this thing, within us enters afresh upon other scenes of action, and hears and sees things worth inquiring into ; and this without the subserviency of its organs, which are thus disabled from their functions remarks in which few readers will fail to see much perversion of the facts, if not, in some respects, a flat contradiction to them. The same author has a long and labourious argument (his book is alike tedious and laboured) to prove that £ our dreams are prompted by separate immaterial beings ’— ‘ spirits,’ who have ‘ spiteful designs,’ and who thus £ gratify their enmity to us,’—£ powerful, living, and designing beings,’ who, it appears, however, have not the power to invade the quiet of the soul until its organs £ be disordered,’ for £ we see through their artifice when we are awake.’ ‘Dreaming,’ he adds, £ is but possession (by these spirits) in sleep.’ Common sense here exclaims, £ Hold, enough !’ ”—The Soul and the Future Life. THEORY OF VIBRATIONS. DAVID HARTLEY, M.D. “Dreams are nothing but the imaginations, fancies, or reveries of a sleeping man, and they are deducible from the three following causes, viz.: First. The impressions and ideas lately received, and particularly those of the preceding day. Secondly. The state of the body, particularly of the stomach and brain. Thirdly. Association. ££ That dreams are in part deducible from the impressions and ideas of the preceding day appears from the frequent recurrence of these in greater or lesser clusters, and especially of the visible ones, in our dreams. We sometimes take in ideas of longer date, in part on account of their recency ; how- ever, in general, ideas that have not affected the mind for * “ Inquiry into the Nature of the Human Soul,” p. 194, orig. edit, quarto, without date or author’s name. some days recur in dreams only from the second or third cause here assigned. “ That the state of the body affects our dreams is evident from the dreams of sick persons, and of those who labour under indigestion, spasms, and flatulencies. “ Lastly. We may perceive ourselves to be carried on from one thing to another in our dreams partly by associa- tion. “ It is also highly agreeable to the foregoing theory to expect that each of the three foregoing causes should have an influence on the train of ideas that are presented in dreams. “ Let us now see how we can solve the most usual phe- nomena of dreams upon these principles. “ First. The scenes which present themselves are taken to be real. We do not consider them as the work of the fancy ; but suppose ourselves present, and actually seeing and hearing what passes. How, this happens, first, because we have no other reality to oppose to the ideas which offer themselves, whereas, in the common fictions of the fancy, while we are awake, there is always a set of real external objects striking some of our senses and precluding a like mistake there; or, if we become quite inattentive to external objects, the reverie does so far put on the nature of a dream as to appear a reality: secondly, the trains of visible ideas which occur in dreams are far more vivid than common visible ideas, and therefore may the more easily be taken for actual impressions. For what reasons these ideas should be so much more vivid I cannot presume to say. I guess that the exclusion of real impressions has some share, and the increased heat of the brain may have some likewise. The fact is most observable in the first approaches of sleep,—all the visible ideas beginning then to be more than usually glaring. “ Secondly. There is a great wildness and inconsistency in our dreams ; for the brain, during sleep, is in a state so different from that in which the usual associations were formed, that they can by no means take place as they do during vigilance. On the contrary, the state of the body suggests such ideas, amongst those that have been lately impressed, as are most suitable to the various kinds and degrees of pleasant and pain- ful vibrations excited in the stomach, brain, or any other part. Thus a person who has taken opium sees either gay scenes or ghastly ones, according as the opium excites pleasant or pain- ful vibrations in the stomach. Hence it will follow, that ideas will rise successively in dreams which have no such connection as takes place in nature, in actual impressions, nor any such as is deducible from association. And yet if they rise up quick and vividly one after the other as subjects, predicates, and other associates use to do, they will be affirmed of each other and appear to hang together. Thus the same person appears in two places at the same time; two persons appear- ing successively in the same place coalesce into one ; a brute is supposed to speak (when the idea of voice comes from that quarter) or to handle; any idea, qualification,, office, etc., coinciding in the instant of time with the idea of ones’s self, or of another person, adheres immediately, etc., etc. “ Thirdly. We do not take notice of, or are offended at these inconsistencies, but pass on from one to another. For the associations, which should lead us thus to take notice, and be offended, are, as it were asleep,—the bodily causes also hurry- ing us on to new and newer trains successively. But if the bodily state be such as favours ideas of anxiety and perplexity, then the inconsistency and apparent impossibility occurring in dreams are apt to give great disturbance and uneasiness. It is to be observed likewise that we forget the several parts of our dreams very fast, in passing from one to another; and that this lessens the apparent inconsistencies and their in- fluences. “ Fourthly. It is common in dreams for persons to appear to themselves to be transferred from one place to another by a kind of sailing or flying motion ; this arises from the change of the apparent magnitude and position of the images excited in the brain,—this change being such as a change of distance and position in ourselves would have occasioned. Whatever the reasons be for which visible images are excited in sleep, like to the objects we converse with when awake, the same reasons will hold for changes of apparent magnitude and posi- tion also; and these changes in fixed objects, being constantly associated with motions in ourselves when awake, will infer these motions when asleep. But then we cannot have the idea of the vis inertice of our own bodies answering: to the im- o pressions in walking, because the nerves of the muscles either do not admit of such miniature vibrations in sleep, or do not transmit ideas to the mind in consequence thereof; whence we appear to sail, fly or ride. Yet sometimes a person seems to walk, and even to strike, just as in other cases he seems to feel a foreign body on his skin. “ Those who walk and talk in their sleep have evidently the nerves of the muscles concerned so free as that vibrations can descend from the internal parts of the brain, the peculiar residence of ideas, into them. At the same time the brain is so impressed, that they have scarce any memory. Persons who read inattentively, i. e., speak and see almost without remembering, also those who labour under such a morbid loss of memory that though they see, hear, speak, and act, pro re nata, from moment to moment, yet they forget all immediately, somewhat resemble the persons who walk and talk in sleep. “ Fifthly. Dreams consist chiefly of visible imagery. This agrees remarkably with the perpetual impressions made upon the optic nerves and corresponding parts of the brain during vigilance, and with the distinctness and vividness of images impressed. “We may observe also that the visible imagery in dreams is composed, in a considerable degree, of fragments of visible appearances lately impressed; for the disposition to these vibrations must be greater than to others, cceterisparibus, at the same time that by the imperfection and interruption of the associations only fragments, not whole images, will generally appear. Tlie fragments are so small, and so intermixed with other fragments and appearances that it is difficult to trace them up to the preceding day, the shortness of our memory contributing also not a little thereto. “ It happens in dreams, that the same fictitious places are presented again and again at the distance of weeks and months, perhaps during the whole course of life. These places are, I suppose, compounded at first, probably early in youth, of frag- ments of real places, which we have seen. They afterwards recur in dreams, because the same state of brain recurs ; and when this has happened for some successions, they may be expected to recur at intervals during life. But they may also admit of variations, especially before frequent recurrency has established and fixed them. “ Sixthly. It has been observed already, that many of the things which are presented in dreams, appear to be remem- bered by us, or, at least as familiar to us ; and that this may be solved by the readiness with which they start up, and succeed one another in the fancy. “ Seventhly. It has also been remarked, that dreams ought to be soon forgotten, as they are in fact: because the state of the brain suffers great changes in passing from sleep to vigi- lance. The wildness and inconsistency of our dreams render them still more liable to be forgotten. It is said, that a man may remember his dreams best by continuing in the same posture in which he dreamt, which, if true, would be a remark- able confirmation of the doctrine of vibrations ; since those which take place in the medullary substance of the brain, would be least disturbed and obliterated by these means. “ Eighthly. The dreams which arc presented in the first part of the night are, for the most part much more confused, irregular, and difficult to be remembered than those which we dream towards the morning ; and these last are often rational to a considerable degree, and regulated according to the usual course of our associations. Eor the brain begins then to ap- proach to the state of vigilance, or that in which the usual associations were formed and cemented. However, associa- tion has some power even in wild and inconsistent dreams. “ Corollary 1. As the prophecies were, many of them, communicated in the way of divine visions, trances, or dreams, so they bear many of the foregoing marks of dreams. Thus they deal chiefly in visible imagery : they abound with appa- rent impossibilities, and deviations from common life, of which yet the prophets take not the least notice ; they speak of new things as of familiar ones ; they are carried in the spirit from place to place; things requiring a long series of time in real life, are transacted in the prophetical visions as soon as seen ; they ascribe to themselves and others new names, offices, etc.; everything has a real existence conferred upon it; there are singular combinations of fragments of visible appearances, and God himself is represented in a visible shape, which of all things must be most offensive to a pious Jew. And it seems to me that these and such like criterions might establish the genuineness of the prophecies, exclusively of all other evi- dence. “ Corollary 2. The wildness of our dreams seems of sin- gular use to us, by interrupting and breaking the course of our associations. For, if we were always awake, some acci- dental associations would be so much cemented by continuance, as that nothing could afterwards disjoin them, which would be madness. “ Corollary 3. A person may form a judgment of the state of his bodily health, and of his temperance, by the general pleasantness or unpleasantness of his dreams. There are also many useful hints relating to the strength of our passions deducible from them.”—Observations on Man: his Jr am e, his duty, and his expectations. m CEASELESS FLOW OF IDEAS. DREAMS RECEIVED BY THE SENSES. ERASMUS DARWIN, M.D., P.R.S. “ Our sensations of pleasure and pain are experienced with great vivacity in our dreams ; and hence all that motley group of ideas which are caused by them, called the ideas of imagina- tion, with their various associated trains, are in a very vivid manner acted over in the sensorium ; and these sometimes call into action the larger muscles which have been much associated with them,—as appears from the muttering sentences which some people utter in their dream, and from the obscure bark- ing of sleeping dogs, and the motion of their feet and nostrils. “ This perpetual flow of the train of ideas which constitute our dreams, and which are caused by painful or pleasurable sensation, might at first view he conceived to be a useless expenditure of sensorial power. But it has been shown, that those motions which are perpetually excited, as those of the arterial system by the stimulus of the blood, are attended by a great accumulation of sensorial power, after they have been some time suspended; as the hot fit of fever is the consequence of the cold one. Now as these trains of ideas caused by sen- sation are perpetually excited during our waking hours, if they were to be suspended in sleep like the voluntary motions (which are excited only at intervals during our waking hours) an accumulation of sensorial power would follow; and on our awaking a delirium would supervene, since these ideas caused by sensation would be produced with such energy, that we shonld mistake the trains of imagination for ideas excited by irritation,—as perpetually happens to people debilitated by fevers on their first awaking; for in these fevers with debility the general quantity of irritation being diminished, that of sensation is increased. In like manner, if the actions of the stomach, intestines, and various glands, which are per- haps in part at least caused by, or catenated with agreeable sensation, and which perpetually exist during our waking NERVES OF SENSE. hours, were, like the voluntary motions, suspended in our sleep, the great accumulation of sensorial power, which would necessarily follow, would he liable to excite inflammation in them. “ As the larger muscles of the body are much more fre- quently excited by volition than by sensation, they are but seldom brought into action in our sleep; but the ideas of the mind are by habit much more frequently connected with sen- sation than with volition ; and hence the ceaseless flow of our ideas in dreams. Every one’s experience will teach him this truth, for we daily exert much voluntary muscular motion; but few of mankind can bear the fatigue of much voluntary thinking, “ A very curious circumstance attending these our sleeping imaginations, is, that we-seem to receive them by the senses. The muscles, which are subservient to the external organs of sense, are connected with volition, and cease to act in sleep ; hence the eyelids are closed, and the tympanum of the ear relaxed ; and it is probable a similarity of voluntary exertion may be necessary for the perceptions of the other nerves of sense; for it is observed that the papillae of the tongue can be seen to become erected when we attempt to taste any thing extremely grateful. (Hewson, Exper. Inquir. V. 2, 186; Albani Annot. Acad. L. i. c. 15.) Add to this, that the im- mediate organs of sense have not objects to excite them in the darkness and silence of the night; but their nerves of sense, nevertheless, continue to possess their perfect activity, subservient to all their numerous sensitive connections. This vivacity of our nerves of sense, during the time of sleep, is evinced, by a circumstance which almost every one must at some time or other have experienced ; that is, if we sleep in the daylight, and endeavour to see some object in our dream, the light is extremely painful to our eyes; and after repeated struggles, we lament in our sleep that we cannot see it. In this case I apprehend the eyelid is in some degree opened by the vehemence of our sensations; and the iris, being dilated, 12 the optic nerve shows as great or greater sensibility than in our waking hours. “ When we are forcibly waked at midnight from profound sleep, our eyes are much dazzled with the light of the candle for a minute or two, after there has been sufficient time allowed for the contraction of the iris ; which is owing to the accumula- tion of sensorial power in the organ of vision during its state of less activity. But when we have dreamt much of visible objects, this accumulation of sensorial power in the organ of vision is lessened or prevented, and we awake in the morning without being dazzled with the light, after the iris has had time to contract itself. “ The perpetual mistake in dreams and reveries, where our ideas of imagination are attended with a belief of the pre- sence of external objects, evidences, beyond a doubt, that all our ideas are repetitions of the motions of the nerves of sense, by which they were acquired; and that this belief is not, as some late philosophers contend, an instinct necessarily con- nected only with our perceptions. . . . “ By this criterion we distinguish our waking from our sleeping hours. We can voluntarily recollect our sleeping ideas when we are awake, and compare them with our waking ones ; but we cannot in our sleep voluntarily recollect our waking ideas at all. “ The vast variety of scenery, novelty of combination, and distinctness of imagery, are other curious circumstances of our sleeping imaginations. The variety of scenery, seems to arise from the superior activity and excellence of our sense of vision, which in an instant unfolds in the mind extensive fields of pleasurable ideas, while the other senses collect their objects slowly, and with little combination ; add to this, that the ideas which this organ presents us with are more fre- quently connected with our sensation than those of the other. “ The great novelty of combination is owing to another circumstance; the trains of ideas which are carried on in our waking thoughts, are in our dreams dissevered in a thousand places by tbe suspension of volition, and the absence of irri- tative ideas, and are hence perpetually falling into new cate- nations. For the power of volition is perpetually exerted during our waking hours in comparing our passing trains of ideas with our acquired knowledge of nature, and thus forms many intermediate links in their catenation. And the irri- tative ideas, excited by the stimulus of the objects with which we are surrounded, are every moment intruded upon us and form other links of our unceasing catenations of ideas. “ The absence of the stimuli of external bodies and of volition in our dreams, renders the organs of sense liable to be more strongly affected by the powers of sensation and associa- tion. For our desires or aversions, or the obtrusions of surrounding bodies, dissever the sensitive and associate tribes of ideas in our waking hours by introducing those of irritation and volition amongst them. Hence proceeds the superior distinctness of pleasurable or painful imagery in our sleep ; for we recall the figure and the features of a long-lost friend, whom we loved, in our dreams with much more accuracy and vivacity than in our waking thoughts. This circumstance contributes to prove that our ideas of imagination are reite- rations of those motions of our organs of sense which were excited by external objects, because, while we are exposed to the stimuli of present objects, our ideas of absent objects can- not be distinctly formed. “ The rapidity of the succession of transactions in our dreams is almost inconceivable, insomuch that, when we are accidentally awakened by the jarring of a door, which is opened into our bedchamber, we sometimes dream a whole history of thieves or fire in the very instant of awaking. “ During the suspension of volition we cannot compare our other ideas with those of the parts of time during which they exist; that is, we cannot compare the imaginary scene which is before us, with those changes of it which precede or follow it, because this act of comparing requires recollection or volun- tary exertion. Whereas, in our waking hours, we are perpet- ually making this comparison, and by that means our waking ideas are kept consistent with each other by intuitive analogy ; but this comparison retards the succession of them, by occasion- ing their repetition. Add to this, that the transactions of our dreams consist chiefly of visible ideas, and that a whole history of thieves and fire may be beheld in an instant of time, like the figures in a picture. “ As we- gain our knowledge of time by comparing the present scenery with the past and future, and of place by comparing the situations of objects with each other, so we gain our ideas of consciousness by comparing ourselves with the scenery around us, and of identity by comparing our pre- sent consciousness with our past consciousness : as we never think ol time or place, but when we make the comparisons above mentioned, so we never think of consciousness but when we compare our own existence with that of other objects ; nor of identity, but when we compare our present and our past consciousness. Hence the consciousness of our own existence, and of our own identity, is owing to a voluntary exertion oi our minds; and on that account in our complete dreams we neither measure time, are surprised at the sudden changes ot place, nor attend to our own existence or identity, because our power of volition is suspended. But all these circumstances are more or less observable in our incomplete ones, for then we attend a little to the lapse of time and the changes of place, and to our own existence, and even to our identity of person; for a lady seldom dreams that she is a soldier, or a man that he is brought to bed. . . . “ Two other remarkable circumstances of our dreaming ideas are their inconsistency, and the total absence of surprise. Thus we seem to be present at more extraordinary meta- morphoses of animals or trees than are to be met with in the fables of antiquity ; and appear to be transported from place to place, which seas divide, as quickly as the changes of scenery in a playhouse, and yet are not- sensible of their in- consistency, nor in the least degree affected with surprise. “We must consider this circumstance more minutely. In our waking trains of ideas, those that are inconsistent with the usual order of nature, so rarely have occurred to us, that their connection is the slightest of all others; hence, when a con- sistent train of ideas is exhausted, we attend to the external stimuli that usually surround us, rather than to any in- consistent idea which might otherwise present itself; and if an inconsistent idea should intrude itself, we immediately compare it with the preceding one, and voluntarily reject the train it would introduce ; this appears in reverie, in which state of the mind external stimuli are not attended to, and yet the streams of ideas are kept consistent by the efforts of voli- tion. But as our faculty of volition is suspended, and all external stimuli are excluded in sleep, this slighter connection of ideas takes place, and the train is said to be inconsistent, that is, dissimilar to the usual order of nature. “ But when any consistent train of sensitive or voluntary ideas is flowing along, if any external stimulus affects us so violently as to intrude irritative ideas forcibly into the mind, it disunites the former train of ideas and we are affected with surprise. These stimuli of unusual energy or novelty not only disunite our common trains of ideas, but the trains of muscular motions also, which have not been long established by habit, and disturb those that have. Some people become motionless by great surprise, the fits of hiccup and of ague have often been removed by it, and it even affects the movements of the heart and arteries ; but in our sleep all external stimuli are excluded, and, in consequence, no surprise can exist. “We frequently wake with pleasure from a dream which has delighted us, without our being able to recollect the trans- actions of it; unless, perhaps, at a distance of time, some analogous idea may introduce afresh this forgotten train ; and in our waking reveries we sometimes for a moment lose the train of thought, but continue to feel the glow of pleasure or the depression of spirits it occasioned ; whilst at other times we can retrace with ease these histories of our reveries and dreams. “ The above explanation of surprise throws light upon this subject. When we are suddenly awakened by any violent stimulus, the surprise totally disunites the tram of our sleep- ing ideas from those of our waking ones ; but it we gradually awake this does not happen, and we readily unravel the pre- ceding trains of imagination.”—Zoonomia; or, the Laws of Organic Life: Of Sleep. UNCONSCIOUS KEFLEX ACTION. ROBERT DUNN, F.R.C.S. “ After the mind has been pondering over the perplexities of a difficult subject of thought, that the automatic or uncon- scious reflex action of tire intellectual and reflecting organs should, during a period of repose—that of nrofound sleep— evolve clear ideas and new developments of thought in connection with the subject, may be truly wonderful; but it is more wonderful that during sleep, when the controlling influence of volition is suspended, a mathematical problem should be solved, than that a poetical fragment like the £ Kubla Khan ’ of Coleridge should be composed ? Condorcet saw in his dreams the final stage of a difficult calculation which had puzzled him during the day; and Condillac, when engaged in his ‘ Cours d’Etude,’ frequently developed and finished a subject in his dreams, which he had broken off before retiring to rest. Coleridge says of himself, that his fragment £ Kubla Khan ’ was composed during sleep, £ the images rising up before him as things, with a parallel production of the corres- ponding expressions, without any sensation or conscientious- ness of effort.’ The imagination, it is true, is prone to run riot when the controlling influence of the will is withdrawn, and, as in dreams— To join a medley of disjointed things, A court of cobblers, or a mob of kings. “ At all times, indeed, the imaginative are less amenable to the dominion of volition than are the reasoning processes; hut still we mast hear in mind the mental relations of the imagina- tive faculty and the reasoning powers.”—An Essay on Physio- lorical Psychology. VOLITION WITHOUT POWER. DUGALD STEWART. “ My fundamental principle with respect to the state of the mind in sleep is, not that the power of volition is then sus- pended, but that the influence of the will' over the faculties both of mind and body is then interrupted. I mention this chiefly in order to mark the difference between my doctrine and that maintained in Dr. Darwin’s ‘Zoonomia.’ According to this ingenious wTriter, ‘ the power of volition is totally suspended in perfect sleep.’ (‘ Zoonomia,’ vol. i. p. 315.) ‘ In the incubus,’ he observes, ‘the desire of moving the body is pain- fully exerted, but thqpower of moving it, or volition, is inca- pable of action till we awake.’ (p. 288.) Would he not have stated the fact more correctly if he had said that volition is painfully exerted, but that the power of moving the body is suspended ? In the very accurate phraseology of Mr. Locke, 1 volition is an act of the mind, knowingly exerting that dominion it takes itself to have over any part of the man, by employing it in, or withholding it from any particular action.’ This act of the mind Dr. Darwin expresses by the word desire, —an indistinctness still extremely common among metaphysical writers, although it was long ago remarked and censured by the eminent author just quoted :—‘ I find,’ says Locke, ‘ the will often confounded with desire, and one part for the other, and that by men who would not willingly be thought not to have very distinct notions of things, and not to have written very clearly about them.’ (‘ Essay on Human Understanding,’ b. ii. c. 21, s. 30).”—Works of Dugald Stewart. ACTIVITY OF PARTICULAR ORGANS. DK. J. C. SPURZHEIM. “ Watching is called the state wherein the will can pnt in action the organs of the intellectual faculties, of the five senses, and of voluntary motion; but it is impossible to define watching as the state wherein all these organs are active, for it cannot happen that all the faculties are active at the same time ; all organs, being fatigued, take rest, and this state of rest is sleep ; but any particular organ, or even several organs may be active while the other organs rest; then the peculiar sensations or ideas which result from this particular activity constitute that which is called dreams, which are more or less complicated according to the number of the active organs.”—Outlines of the Physiognomical System of Drs. Gall and Sgurzlieim. DREAMS A PARTIAL WAKING OF ANIMAL LIFE. ROBERT DUNGLISON, M.D. “ The causes of imperfect or incomplete sleep, and hence of dreams, are various. The fact of the different organs of the animal functions having their distinct periods of waking and rest would induce us to suppose that it ought not to be always equally profound and durable ; yet there are individuals whose sleep is nearly complete throughout, but they are not many. The previous occupation of the sleeper exerts great influence. If it have been of a fatiguing nature, all the faculties rest equally long and soundly ; but if the fatigue extend beyond the due point, a degree of excitability of the brain is left which renders it extremely liable to be aroused. In this way we understand why dreams should bear upon subjects that have long occupied the mind in its waking state, the tension of the mind on those subjects having left considerable excitability as respects them, and a disposition to resume them under the slightest irritation. The presence or absence of irritants— external or internal—exerts likewise a great effect on the soundness of sleep and the formation of dreams. The stillness of the night and the absence of light are hence favourable to repose ; the position, too, must be one devoid of constraint, and the couch soft and equable, and especially such as the individual has been accustomed to use. Sleep is impracti- cable in a badly-made bed; and every one must have ex- perienced the antisoporific influence of a strange bed, the arrangement of which, as to size, pillows, etc., differs from that to which he has been habituated. It is not, however, by external irritants that the sleep is usually disturbed. The state of the system itself may react upon the brain, and give occasion to broken sleep, and to dreams of the most turbulent character. Irritations, existing in the viscera, are frequently the cause of dreams, in children more especially; and a hearty supper, especially if of materials difficult of digestion, may bring on the whole train of symptoms that characterize night- mare. In like manner, anything that impedes the action of the functions of respiration, circulation, etc., may occasion the wildest phantasies. All these internal impressions are more vividly perceived for the reasons already stated. The nervous system is no longer excited by the ordinary impressions from the external senses ; and if the internal impressions be insuffi- cient to prevent sleep altogether, they may excite dreams. . . . “ In the explanation of the cause of dreaming, we have the most plausible application of the theory of Gall regarding the plurality of organs in the brain. Every explanation, indeed, takes for granted that certain faculties are suspended whilst others are active. Gall’s view* is, that during sleep particular organs of animal life enter into activity, and hence that the perceptions and ideas which depend on these organs, awake ; but, in such case, their activity takes place without any in- fluence of the will;—that when one organ only is in activity, the dream is simple: the dreamer caresses the object of his * “ Sur les Fonctions du Cerveau,” ii. 506. Paris, 1825. affection; lie hears melodious music, or figlits his enemies, according as this or that organ is exercising its functions ;— that the greater the number of organs in activity at the same time, the more confused or complicated will be the dream, and the greater the number of extravagancies;—that when the organs are exhausted by watching and labour, we generally do not dream during the first hours of sleep, unless the brain is extremely irritable ; but in proportion as the organs get rid of their fatigue, they are more disposed to enter into activity, and hence, near the time for waking, we dream more and with greater vivacity. ‘ Dreaming, consequently,’ he concludes, ‘ is only a state of partial waking of animal life ; or, in other words, an involuntary activity o 1 certain organs, whilst others are resting.’ ”—Human Physiology. PROGRESSIVE COMPLICATIONS. ANDREW CARMICHAEL, M.R.I.A. “ In the gradual progress from intense sleep, when there can be no dream, to the moment of perfect vigilance, see what occurs. The first cerebral organ that awakes enters on the train of thinking connected with its faculty,—some kind of dream is the result; as organ after organ awakes, the dream be- comes more vivid, and as the number of active organs increases, so does the complication of dreams; and if all the internal organs are awake, the man is still asleep until his waking senses bring him into direct communication with the world.”— A Memoir of the Life and Ph ilosophy of Spurzheim. PHRENOLOGICAL ANALYSIS. ROBERT MACNISH, M.D. “ Following the bent of their waking idiosyncrasy, persons who have a strong passion for music often dream of singing and composing melodies ; and the ideas of some of our finest pieces are said to have been communicated to the musician in his sleep. A mathematician, in like manner, is often engaged in the solution of problems, and has his brain full of Newton, Euler, Euclid, and Laplace ; while a poet is occupied in writ- ing verses, and in deliberating upon the strains of such bards as are most familiar to his spirit. To speak phrenologically, if the faculty of Size is large, then material images, more than sounds or abstractions, possess the soul, and everything is magnified to unnatural dimensions; if Colour be fully deve- loped, whatever is presented to the mental eye is brilliant and gaudy, and the person has probably the idea of rich paintings, shining flowers, or varied landscapes ; should Locality predomi- nate, he is carried away to distant lands, and beholds more extraordinary sights than Cook, Parry, or Franklin ever des- cribed. An excess of Cautiomness will inspire him with terror; an excess of Self-esteem causes him to be placed in dignified situations; while Imitation may render him a mimic or a player; Language, a wrangler or philologist; Secretive- ness, a deceiver ; Acquisitiveness, a thief. In a word, whatever propensities, faculties, or passions are strongest in the mind, will, in most cases, manifest themselves more vigorously than the others in dreams ; and where a faculty is very weak it will scarcely manifest itself at all. Thus, one person who has large lune and small Causality will indulge in music, but never in ascertaining the nature of cause and effect; while another, with a contrary disposition of organs, may attempt to reason upon abstract truths in dreams, while music will never once intrude into the temple of his thoughts. It is but fair to state, however, that the compositions, the reasonings, and the poems which we concoct at this time are generally of a very absurd description ; and how admirable soever they may have appeared, their futility is abundantly evident Avhen we awake.” —Philosophy of Sleep. PHRENOLOGY DOES NOT EXPLAIN ALL DREAMS. EDWARD BINNS, M.D. “ Reminiscent dreams are explicable on the principles of phrenology as tanght by the disciples of Gall and did all dreams admit even of this qualified explanation, there would be no difficulty in adopting the phrenological theory wholly, as I have done partially in the text. But phrenology only explains those which can be traced to some past action or motion of the brain, or, in a word, reduces the causes of dreams to recollection of events or memory, and leaves all others un- explained.”—Anatomy oj Sleep ; Appendix. A SEPTENARY SCALE. ANDREW CARMICHAEL, M.R.I.A. “ There is no difficulty in comprehending Dr. Spurzheim’s development of the nature of dreaming; and if we are acquainted with the inadequate theories of his predecessors, to comprehend his explanation is but an easy step to its un- qualified adoption. It accounts for every phenomenon con- nected with the subject, hitherto unexplained. If the whole brain is locked up in sleep, there is no dream. If a portion of it is emancipated, thoughts peculiar to that portion arise, and those thoughts are dreams. The mechanic’s imagination may rove among machinery ; the mathematician may solve a problem ; the orator pour forth unstudied eloquence ; the poet, unpremeditated verse; the wit, delectable jests; the musician, unprecedented harmony; yet this does not always occur, but occasionally. If the peculiar organ happens to be asleep, there is no music, no wit, no poetry, no oratory, no mathematics, no mechanics,—a different faculty may be active, and those individuals may wander through inextricable diffi- culties, or fly before wild beasts, or combat with enraged assailants, or dissolve in a cold sweat at the frightful visit of some spectre from the grave. It is not because the organ may have been frequently or recently exercised, that it is employed in a dream, it is simply because it has escaped from the trammels of sleep which still envelope the remainder of the brain, or at least the senses, which open a communication with the external world, and supply the only means by which we are informed whether similar objects of thought are realities or illusions. This theory, therefore, explains why we some- times have dreams and are sometimes without them; why we sometimes dream on the subject most familiar to our reflec- tions, and sometimes ramble into the most unaccountable fancies ; and lastly, why happiness and misery are occasionally the companions of our sleep, according as peculiar organs are greatly affected or rudely agitated by the thoughts which engage them,—pleasure frequently losing itself in pain, as the mental disturbance increases, till at length the accumulating uneasiness trepasses on the sensorium, or the very organ of sense, when suddenly awaking, we find an unexpected relief from our griefs, vexations, and terrors. “ A dream must, therefore, be the necessary consequence of any portion of the brain being awake, while the senses are asleep ; and the question naturally occurs, are the senses ever awake -while the brain is asleep, and if so, what is the conse- quence ? Certainly not the perception of external things, because the sensorium being involved with the remainder of the brain in sleep, the ray of light would merely fall upon the retina, and the vibrations of the air on the auditory appa- ratus without conveying any further the sensations of colour or sound. But if those sensories and other limited portions of the brain were awake with the organs of sense, the obvious and natural consequence is actually one of very common occur- rence. The active organs continue to think, but their thoughts do not appear to be dreams, because our communi- cation with the external world by means of our senses prevents this phenomenon ; but, at the same time, we are sensible that we are, to use a common expression, half awake and half asleep ; and there are few individuals who have not frequently indulged themselves in the luxury of observing the gradual departure of their slumbers, and the renewal of their active and proper existence. “ Yet, jnossibly, if the organ of a single sense is awake, as for example that of hearing or feeling, its effects may not be altogether complete, but so far merely as to satisfy us of the illusory nature of our internal perceptions; and then we are enabled to account for the extraordinary circumstance of dreaming that we are dreaming. “ These several predicaments, therefore, present no less than seven different states of sleeping and waking :—• “ 1. When the entire brain and nervous system are buried in sleep, and there is a total exemption from dreaming. “ 2. When some of the mental organs are awake, and all the senses are asleep ; then dreams occur which seem to be realities. If among these busy organs should be one or two whose peculiar powers and affections will readily occur to the admirers of the organic theory, their disturbances, whether occasioned by disorder of the digestive functions or any other cause, will sufficiently account for uneasy dreams, frightful visions, and oppressive nightmares. “3. When the above-mentioned conditions exist, and the nerves of voluntary motion are also in a state of wakefulness, then may occur the rare phenomena of somnambulism. “ 4 When one of the senses is awake with some of the onental organs, then we may be conscious during our dream of its illusory nature ; and if the nerves of voluntary motion con- cur, somnambulism may also accompany these circumstances. “ 5. When some of the mental organs are asleep and two or more senses awake, then we can attend to external im- pressions, and notice the gradual departure of our slumber,— a state in which -we consider ourselves neither awake nor asleep. “6. When we are totally awake and in the full enjoyment of all our faculties and powers. “ 7. When under these circumstances we are so intimately occupied by our mental operations as that we do not attend to the impressions of external objects ; and then our reverie deludes us like a dream. “ Thus as the process of assimilation ceases to operate, one portion after another of the brain and nervous system is restored to a state of vigilance and energy; and thus the verification of this conjecture, in conjunction with the explana- tions afforded by the organic theory, will be fully adequate to remove all that has been obscure and inexplicable in these mysterious phenomena.”—Essay on Breaming ; including Con- jectures on the proximate cause of Sleep. THE ORGANIC THEORY REPUDIATED. “ The human mind is considered, in most of the systems of philosophy, to be composed of a certain number of funda- mental powers or elementary faculties, from whose separate and combined action result all the phenomena of thought and feeling. These powers the phrenologists have endeavoured to refer each to its appropriate and distinct organ in the brain. Perfect sleep is supposed to be a suspension of activity, by natural causes, of all these powers, and, of course, a suspension of all thought and feeling. Whether there is any such thing as perfect sleep, in this sense, may be doubtful ; though we have been accustomed to think there probably is. On such a subject, we can have only the evidence of some loose reason- ing from analogy. Consciousness, in the form of remembrance, is silent, and ever must be in a case like the present, when if there be any mental action at all, it is too feeble to leave durable impressions, or to be recalled by memory. The common metaphysical arguments, both pro and contra, which are adduced to give greater certainty to this question, we hold to be worth just—nothing. “The prevailing theory of dreaming supposes that the fundamental faculties go to sleep, not simultaneously, but one by one, and in succession, and that the incoherence of our sleeping thoughts results from the want of balance in the mind thus occasioned; one set of faculties continuing in action, while another set, which is usually associated with it, and whose joint action is essential to the perfection and truth of our ideas, is buried in the torpor of sleep. This theory looks extremely plausible at first sight, and on a superficial view, and, when considered only in the abstract, will even bear some scrutiny; but the worst of it is, it utterly fails to account for facts. One of two things is certain: either the theory in question is without truth or foundation in nature,— or, in other words, is a pure fiction,—or we have nothing like a true analysis and classification of the powers of the mind, and have therefore no rule by which to test it and determine its just claims to belief. In either case the theory is practi- cally worthless. Even the phrenological form of it,—that form which assigns a distinct cerebral organ to each special faculty,—about which certain dreamy enthusiasts talk so pompously, can scarcely be considered an improvement. We can tell the phrenologists (a class of men for whom we entertain a particular respect, notwithstanding the intolerable quackery of a set of itinerant vagabonds, calling themselves lecturers, who claim fellowship with them), and we tell them for their special information:—You must entirely remodel your classification of the mental faculties, before your science will serve to illustrate the phenomena of dreaming. We have often, in order to stop the mouth of cavillers, and to make our set of experiments complete, adopted your arrangement, as possibly the correct one, and then have faithfully applied the theory of dreaming which has been under consideration, and which you adopt, to the solution of our own sleeping thoughts, and have as uniformly found ourselves bewildered and lost,—fast anchored, and far from shore in a ‘ continent of mud.’ The result has been the same, whatever arrangement PHRENOLOGY UNSATISFACTORY. has been adopted. Our feet stick fast in whatever direction they are turned. It is impossible to proceed, and flouncing only sinks us deeper in the mire. We are compelled, then, either to reject all the systems of mental philosophy which have ever been invented, or to discard the notion that the faculties go to sleep in succession, as a chimaera; and, as it is not natural to forsake a philosophy which is supported at least by some proofs in order to receive an hypothesis which is sustained by none, and which, in the present state of our knowledge, must remain a pure abstraction, we prefer the latter alternative. “We do not deny that the hypothesis in question is coun- tenanced by some facts, wdiich, by the superficial, might be accounted as proofs. The external senses do certainly seem to fall asleep and awake in succession; the sight first (it has been said), then taste, smell, hearing, and touch, —all in regular order; and these faculties very commonly continue closed to impressions, while the others are busy in the dream- ing occupations of the night. These facts, open to common observation, have doubtless given rise to the supposition that all the faculties follow the same law. But if wc take a broader view of the subject,—if we go from the surface to the depths of the mind,—we shall be at once convinced of the limited application of this law. True, if we confine ourselves to reasoning abstractedly in the case, leaving entirely out of view the facts we would explain, we can get on well enough; but the moment we come to employ ourselves about realities, perplexity assails us, and progress is at an end. Take any classification of the mental powers you please, and see ir the phenomena of dreaming, as they occur in the interior of the mind, can be explained by this law of senses. Is memory a fundamental faculty ? And will the supposition that memory falls to sleep earlier than the other faculties, give to our sleep- ing vagaries the consistency and truth of waking thoughts ? But memory is evidently exercised as well in our dreams as at other times. Take judgment, reason, imagination, association, 13 volition, taste, or any of the affections, or any of the long list of faculties enumerated by Gall, and test the theory of dreaming which has been under examination. Why have not the advocates of this theory tested its claims to belief, and afterwards presented us with the results, instead of merely proclaiming and asserting its truth, as seems to have been the uniform practice? We have thus tested it over and over again. Our opinion of its merits the reader already knows. The truth is, in dreaming, as in waking, all the internal faculties seem to be called into action, either simultaneously, or successively, or interruptedly, according to the subject- matter of thought; and the former state differs from the latter, not so much in the torpitude* of one set of faculties, and the continued action of another, as in the irregular action of th whole. We judge, reason, and remember, in both cases ; but in the first we judge, reason, and remember falsely. We conceive and imagine as well in our dreams as at other times but our conceptions and imaginations are strangely confused and distorted. In the visions of sleep, the taste, the appetite, and affections are changed. We have new desires, we love, and hate, and fear new objects, and without adequate cause. The moral sense is perverted. We approve where we should disapprove, and the contrary. Truth and falsehood, reality and fiction, are mingled in the wildest confusion. New principles of association are developed, and regulate the suc- cessions of our ideas. The play of the faculties is disordered, both as to time of action and mode of action. A given power is called into exercise when it should not be, and, vice versa, remains at rest when it should be exercised, etc. “ This sort of irregularity seems to be a usual character- * It is true, some of these powers may be in a state of relative torpor in our dreams, acting with less of their accustomed vigour and ease, but this is no more than is liable to happen at any time during the medita- tions and imaginations of the day. There are few subjects that employ the thoughts, which admit of the equal and uninte nipted operation of all the faculties. CEREBRAL IRRITATION. istic of dreams, but they are not regular even in this. Some- times the balance of the mind, and the natural and harmonious relation of all its parts, seem to be perfectly preserved. It is then that our thoughts are as coherent and just as in the period of wakefulness. Witness the extemporaneous per- formances of the sleeping preacher. Witness the instances of persons composing speeches, poems, etc., and solving mathematical problems in their sleep; and when the train of thought has been recovered, finding it singularly happy (often original), connected, and just. “It is not a little remarkable that persons in their sleep (and in other instances in which the brain is under excite- ment, as mania, the delirium of fever, etc.) sometimes show themselves capable of mental efforts, which, in point of argument, taste, and the requisites of good composition and execution, entirely surpass anything to which they are known to be equal at other times. Such persons, at such times, seem to rise far above the level of their natures. Powers and gifts which they were supposed never to have possessed, are sud- denly brought into exercise. To vulgar minds, in fact, they seem to be inspired. Ignorant persons will converse with great propriety. Those who know little of music will sing delightfully. Their conceptions are quick. The connections and relations of things are caught at a glance. The judgments are rapid. The memory seems to have acquired new vigour. Events which have long been forgotten, scenes of former life which have gradually faded away and finally disappeared in the distance, are brought up once more to the mind, and represented there with all their original truth and freshness. All this, we need not say, is the consequence of cerebral irritation. “Though the mind in our dreams, and in instances of somnambulism, seems sometimes to act in a regular and connected manner, it very rarely does so for a long period at a time, and perhaps never in reference to different and unrelated trains of thoughts passing through it in succession. Its tendency to fly off and revel in the extravagance of fiction is almost incessant and irresistible. It has a fondness for the ridiculous, the impossible, and the absurd, which is constantly gratified. It is for ever under the influence of some false impression which leads to error and extravagance. “ The preceding remarks, we trust, will be sufficient to show that the distinction between our sleeping and our waking thoughts does not consist in that which has commonly been supposed—in the quiescence or torpitude of one set of faculties, and the continued activity of another. All this we say in reference to the internal powers. The senses, it is true, do not, as a general rule, take part in our dreams; but this law of the senses should not, except for better reasons than we are able to find, be extended to the interior of the mind. Not even are the senses always asleep during the mental occupations of the night. They are sometimes either part or all of them fully awake, and take as active a share in whatever is to be done as any of the faculties.”—Christian Spectator, vol. vii. Newhaven, April, 1835. THE WILL IN DREAMS. “ For our part, we do not see why the will is not as truly active in our dreams as at other times. Those specific mental acts which are the invariable antecedents or causes of muscular motion, and which, more appropriately than any other class of mental operations, come under the appellation of Will, are undoubtedly and indeed almost continually put forth in the dreaming state. We use our hands (or seem to do so), we walk, we run, we speak, we are even busy actors in the scenes in which we conceive ourselves to be engaged. It is true, all this time we are perfectly motionless, lying prostrate upon our beds; but we will, nevertheless, all these muscular acts. That is to say, we go through all the mental part of the process which is concerned in those acts, though the mechanical part of it—that which properly constitutes motion—does not follow. This is the general fact: though there is the long list of cases jecurring in every variety of form, which come under the head of somnambulism and its modifications, in which there is not only will, hut obedience to will, or motion. In such cases, we execute the various bodily movements just as we do when awake, evincing to all the entire possession of the power in question, and also that the relation between this power and the muscular motion is unbroken.”—Christian Spectator, vol. vii. Newhaven, April, 1835, REMEMBRANCE OF DREAMS. JOHN C. COLQUHOUN. “ Sleep appears to be the natural state of repose of the corporeal organism. I say of the corporeal organism, because it cannot be conceived that the soul itself—the immaterial principle—ever sleeps, otherwise it were not sleep, but death. In dreaming, we occasionally perceive the soul—the imma- terial and inorganic principle—struggling, as it were, to manifest its independent activity without the co-operation of the bodily organs. It is probable, if not certain, that all sleep is accompanied with dreaming, that is, with the exercise of spiritual energy; but in the case of the soundest sleep, these dreams—the manifestations of this spiritual activity—are not remembered; there has been no co-operation of the corporeal organs, and, therefore, no adequate impression has been made upon the material part of our constitution; in like manner, as we have seen that the operations performed, and the conversa- tions held, in the state of perfect somnambulism, when the sensibility of the corporeal organs is altogether suspended, are entirely forgotten when the individual awakes, and is restored to his natural state. In sleep, the corporeal organs are merely more or less profoundly dormant, but still sensible to external impressions, when sufficiently strong to affect them. It appears to be only when the natural sleep is unsound or disturbed, that the dreams are remembered, and that they recur to the recollection with more or less distinctness, in proportion to the degree in which the material organs have been affected. The sound sleeper declares he never dreams; that is to say, he has no recollection of having dreamt, his sleep having been so profound. On the other hand, the unsound sleeper con- tinually dreams, and he has also a distinct recollection of his nocturnal reveries when awake. This circumstance proves that the corporeal organs have only been in a state of partial or imperfect repose. “ Upon the same principles, too, we may explain the frequently fantastic, absurd, and incoherent nature of our dreams. The union and harmony between the soul and the body, although not actually dissolved, is partially interrupted by sleep; the latter is no longer capable of co-operating effectually with the former. Hence, in imperfect sleep, when the sensibility is enfeebled but not annihilated, the soul is still encumbered by the partial wakefulness of the body, and, at the same time, for the same reason, it is incapable of freely exerting its own independent energies. On the other hand, when the sleep is profound, when the corporeal sensibility is completely dormant, the energies of the soul are set at liberty, and freely exercised, without any co-operation or control of the body, but of this exercise there can be no recollection in the waking state, because, as formerly observed, no adequate impression has been made upon any material organ.”—Isis Revelata: an Inquiry into the Origin, Progress, and Present State of Animal Magnetism. MISCELLANEOUS PHENOMENA. POETIC PERSONALITY OF DREAMS. OVID. In the eleventh book of his “Metamorphoses,” Ovid furnishes ns with a poetical account of dreams which, as was to be expected, he represents as personal. The occasion is this:— Ceyx was a king of Trachinia, and brother to Dasdalion, by whose death and that of his niece Chione, he was affected with an almost lethargic melancholy, To recover from this he went to Claros, to consult the oracle of Apollo, and was shipwrecked on his return. Juno now kindly sends Iris to the god of sleep, who, at her request, despatches Morpheus to Halcyone, the unconscious widow of Ceyx, to inform her in a dream of the death of her husband. “ Father Sleep, out of the multitude of his thousand sons, raises Morpheus, a skilful artist, and an imitator of any human shape. No one more dexterously than he mimics the gait and the countenance, and the mode of speaking; he adds the dress, too, and the words most commonly used by any one. But he imitates men only; for another one becomes a wild beast, becomes a bird, or becomes a serpent, with its length- ened body ; this one the gods above call Icelos ; the tribe of mortals, Phobetor. There is likewise a third, master of a different art, called Phantasos; he cleverly changes himself into earth, and stone, and water, and a tree, and all those things which are destitute of life. These are wont, by night, to show their features to kings and to generals, while others wander amid the people and the commonalty. These Sleep, the aged god, passes by, and selects Morpheus alone from all his brothers, to execute the commands of the daughter of Thaumas; and again he both drops his head, sunk in languid drowsiness, and shrinks back within the lofty couch.” THE “ISLAND OF DREAMS.” LUCIAN. Lucian gives us an ingenious description of an “ Island of Dreams,” to which the access is obtained by the Haven of Sleep. The island is covered by a forest of poppies and mandragora, and full of owls and bats, the only birds to be found there. In the midst is a river which flows only by night. The walls of the city are very lofty, and their colours various and changeful as those of the rainbow. There are four gates: one of iron and another of earth, by which fright- ful and melancholy dreams make their exit; the two others are of horn and of ivory, and it is by these that the city is entered. Sleep is the king of the island, and Night is its divinity. The inhabitants are dreams, of whom the forms and the aspects are dissimilar. Some are well-favoured and of a captivating appearance; others are hideous and mis- shapen. The former are richly clothed in purple and gold, as monarchs on the stage; the latter are miserably poor, and apparelled in rags. REASONING WORTHLESS. J. MULLER, M.D. “ Sometimes we reason more or less correctly in dreams. We reflect on problems, and rejoice in their solution. But on awaking from such dreams, the seeming reasoning is fre- quently found to be no reasoning at all, and the solution of the problem, over which we had rejoiced, to be mere nonsense. Sometimes we dream that another person proposes an enigma; that we cannot solve it, and that others are equally incapable of doing so; but that the person who proposed it himself gives the explanation. We are astonished at the solution which we had so long laboured in vain to find. If we do not immediately awake, and afterwards reflect on this proposition of an enigma in our dream, and on its apparent solution, we think it wonderful; but if we awake immediately after the dream, and are able to compare the answer with the question, we find that it was mere nonsense. I have, at least, several times observed it in my own case.”—Elements of Physiology. VARIOUS CHARACTERISTICS OF DREAMS. JOHN ABERCROMBIE, M.D. “It has been alleged that we never dream of objects which we have not seen. On this I cannot decide ; but we certainly dream of things in combinations in which they never occurred to us. Our dreams appear to be very much influenced by the intensity of our conceptions, and, in this respect, there is great variety in regard to the objects of the different senses. Our most vivid conceptions are certainly of objects of sight; and they appear to be much less distinct in regard to tastes, smells, and even sounds. Accordingly, I think dreams are chiefly occupied with objects of sight; and I am not sure that we dream of tastes, or smells, or even of sounds, except when a sound actually takes place. This, indeed, only applies to simple sounds, for we actually dream of persons speaking to us, and of understanding what they say,—but I am not sure that this is necessarily accompanied with a conception of sound. I am informed by a friend, who is a keen sportsman, that he often dreams of being on shooting excursions; that he starts his game, and points his gun, but never succeeds in firing it. It sometimes seems to miss fire, but in general there appears to be something wrong with the lock, so that it cannot be moved. A gentleman, mentioned by Dr. Darwin, had been for thirty years so deaf that he could be conversed with only by writing, or by forming letters with the fingers. He assured Dr. Darwin, that he never dreamed of persons conversing with him except by the fingers or in writing, and that he never had the impression of hearing them speak. Two persons who had long been blind also informed him, that they never dreamed of visible objects since the loss of their sight. Mr. Bew, however, in the ‘ Manchester Memoirs,’ mentions a blind gentleman who dreamed of the figure, though he could not distinguish the varieties, of the human countenance; and Smellie mentions of Dr. Blacklock, who had lost his sight at the age of a few months, that in his dreams he had a distinct impression of a sense which he did not possess when awake. He described his sensations by saying that when awake there v^ ere three ways by which he could distinguish persons, namely,—by hearing them speak, by feeling the head and shoulders, and by attending to the sound and manner of their breathing. In his dreams, how- ever, he had a vivid impression of objects in a manner distinct from any of these modes. He imagined that he was united to them by a kind of distant contact, which was effected by threads or strings passing from their bodies to his own. “ On a similar principle, probably, we may explain the fact that dreams refer chiefly to persons or events which we have actually seen, though they are put into new combinations; and that we more rarely dream of objects of simple memory unless they have been strongly associated with some object of conception. Thus we seldom dream of events or characters in ancient history. Dr. Beattie, indeed, mentions having dreamed of crossing the Alps with Hannibal; but such dreams, I think, are very rare. It would be curious to observe their occurrence, and to trace the train that leads to them. “ It appears, then, that the mental operations which take place in dreaming consist chiefly of old conceptions and old associations, following one another according to some principle of succession over which we have no control. But there are facts on record which show mental operations in dreams of a much more intellectual character. Many people have been conscious of something like composition in dreams. Dr. Gregory mentions that thoughts which sometimes occurred to him in dreams, and even the particular expressions in which they were conveyed, appeared to him afterward, when awake, so just in point of reasoning and illustration, and so good in point of language, that he has used them in his college lectures, and in his written lucubrations. Condorcet related of himself, that when engaged in some profound and obscure calculations, he was often obliged to leave them in an incom- plete state, and retire to bed; and that the remaining steps, and the conclusion of his calculations, had more than once presented themselves in his dreams. Dr. Franklin also assured Cabanis that the bearing and issue of political events, which had puzzled him when awake, were not unfrequently unfolded to him in his dreams. . . . “ There can be no doubt that many dreams take place which are not remembered, as appears from the fact of a person talking in his sleep so as to be distinctly understood, without remembering anything of the impression that gave rise to it. It is probable, also, that the dreams which are most distinctly remembered are those which occur during imperfect sleep, or when the sleep begins to be broken by an approach towards waking. Another very peculiar state has perhaps occurred to most people, in which there is a distressing dream, and at the same time an impression that it probably is only a dream. This appears to take place in a still more imperfect state of sleep, in which there is the immediate approach to waking, and to the exercise of the reasoning powers. . . . “ Some persons are never conscious of dreaming; and a gentleman, mentioned by Locke, was not sensible of dreaming till be had a fever at the age of twenty-six or twenty-seven. “A leading peculiarity in the phenomena of dreaming is the loss of power over the succession of our thoughts. We tave seen that there are some exceptions to this, but the fact applies to by far the greater number of dreams, and some curious phenomena appear to be referable to it. Of this kind are probably some of those singular instances of imaginary difficulties occurring in dreams on subjects on which none could be felt in the waking state. It is not uncommon for a clergyman to dream that he is going to preach, and cannot find his text; or for a clergyman of the Church of England, that he cannot find the place in the Prayer-book. This, I think, can only be explained by supposing that in the chain of ideas passing through the mind the church and Prayer-book had come up, but had then led off into some other train, and not into that of actually going on with the service; while, at the same time, there arose in the mind a kind of impression that, under these circumstances, it ought to have been gone on with. “ The remarkable analogy between dreaming and insanity has been illustrated, amongst others, by a case mentioned by Dr. Gregory of a maniac who had been for some time under his care, and entirely recovered. For a week after his recovery he was harassed during his dreams by the same rapid and tumultuous thoughts, and the same violent passions by which he had been agitated during his insanity. “ The slight outline which has now been given of dreaming may serve to show that the subject is not only curious but important. It appears to be worthy of careful investigation, and there is much reason to believe that an extensive col- lection of authentic facts, carefully analyzed, would unfold principles of very great interest in reference to the philosophy of the mental powers.”—Inquiries concerning the Intellectual Powers. DIFFERENCE AND ANALOGY. JAMES BEATTIE, LL.D. “ Though some of our dreams are very extravagant, others are more regular, and not unlike real life. When the mind is at ease, and the body in health, we often dream of our ordinary business. The passions, too, that occupy the mind when awake, and the objects and causes of those passions, are apt to recur in sleep, though for the most part under some disguise, accompanied with painful circumstances when we are in trouble, and with more pleasing ideas when we are happy. “ The poets attend to this ; and, in describing the dreams of their heroes and heroines, are careful to give them a resem- blance to their real fortune. Dido, when forsaken by ./Eneas, dreams she is going a long journey alone, and seeking her Tyrians in a desert land :— Longam incomitata videtur Ire viam, Tyriosque deserta, qugerere terra, thus uniting, in one image of melancholy distress, the two passions that engrossed her through the day, love to her people, and a sense of her forlorn condition. Eloisa, separated for ever from her friend, dreams of being again happy in his company ; but the next moment, says she :— Methinks, we wandering go Through dreary wastes, and weep each other’s woe > Where round some mouldering tower pale ivy creeps. And low-browed rocks hang nodding o’er the deeps. Sudden you mount; you beckon from the skies: Clouds interpose, waves roar, and winds arise. On these occasions the poet will not describe a dream exactly like the real circumstances of the dreamer; he makes it only a sort of dark allegorical similitude. And this we approve of, because we know it is according to nature. “ It appears to be mercifully ordered by Providence, that our dreams should thus differ from our waking thoughts. And, from what we know of the influence of our passions upon the general tenor of our thinking, we need not wonder that there should be, notwithstanding, some analogy between them. It is this mixture of resemblance and diversity that makes many of our dreams allegorical. But when that happens, an attentive observer, who is free from superstition, will find ihat they allude, not to what is future, but to what is present or past, unless we have been anticipating some future event, in which case our dreams may possibly resemble our conjectures. ISTow, if our conjectures were right, and if our dreams be like them, it may happen that there shall be a resemblance between a dream and a future occurrence. But in this there is nothing more supernatural than that I should dream to-night of what I have been employed in to-day. For this is nothing more than a particular train of thought im- pressed upon us in sleep by a certain previous train of thought, into which reason and experience had led us when awake. “For example:—When I see a man dissipating his fortune, I may, with reason, apprehend that poverty will soon overtake him. “ If this conjecture troubled me in the daytime, it may also recur in sleep, accompanied with some visionary circum- stances ; and I shall dream, perhaps, that I see him in rags and misery. Suppose this to happen soon after, what opinion am I to entertain concerning my dream ? Surely I have no more reason to consider it as prophetical, than to look upon the conjecture which gave rise to it as the effect of inspiration. “ Some of our dreams bear little or no resemblance to anything that ever before occurred to our senses or fancy. But this is not common, except in bad health. It holds true in general that dreams are an imitation, though often a very extravagant one, of reality. “ There are people who observe that one particular dream frequently returns upon them. Socrates, in the ‘ Phsedo ’ of MORNING DREAMS. Plato, says that he had all his life been haunted with a vision of this kind, in which one seemed to exhort him to study music. If this repetition of dreams be, as is likely enough, the effect of habit,—if I dream the same thing a second and a third time, in consequence of having thought or spoken of it after I first dreamed it,—wre may hence learn the expediency of concealing disagreeable dreams, and banishing them from our thoughts as soon as we can. Indeed, it is a vulgar observation, that they who never speak of dreams are not often troubled with them. “ Intemperance of every kind, in eating or drinking, in sleep or watching, in rest or exercise, tends to make dreams disagreeable; and, therefore, one end of dreaming may be to recommend temperance and moderation. For the time we employ in sleep bears a great proportion to the whole of human life; and if there be any expedient for rendering that part of time agreeable, it is surely worth while to put it in practice. Habits of virtue and soberness, the repression of turbulent desires, and the indulgence of pious, social, and cheerful dispositions are, for the most part, effectual in giving that lightness to the animal spirits, and that calm temperature to the blood, which promote pleasurable thoughts through the day, and sweet slumber and easy dreams by night. “ The ancients thought that morning dreams come nearest the truth. In the morning, no doubt, the perspiration and digestion continued through the night will make the stomach, and the whole frame of the body, more composed and cool than when we go to sleep; and hence, perhaps, it is not absurd to say, that dreams may be more regular then, and more like real life. But if we have passed the earlier hours of the morning without sleep, and fall a-dozing about the time we usually rise, our dreams are seldom agreeable, and our slumber is rather stupefying than salutary; whence we may reasonably suppose it to be the intention of nature that we should rise early and at a stated hour.”—Dissertations, Moral and Critical: Of Dreaming. RELATIVE TRUTH OF ILLUSIONS. JAMES HINTON. “ Let any man recall the phenomena of dreams; let him even think how he can know he is not dreaming now. Are not certain and undeniable illusions as real to us, in sleep, as any part of the experience we call our life ? the things we feel and see in dreams as real to us, as potent over our feelings, as veritable sources of joy or pain, as anything we dignify with the name of reality, and think it madness to deny P Truly, we feel these things that are around us; they are real to us, there is no trifling with them: but even so are dreams; we cannot disregard their power, or treat them with unconcern. For in that sleep of death what dreams may come, Must give us pause. “ Dreams may thrill with acutest anguish, rouse to mad- dening terror, overthrow the reason, making trivial all things besides. A dream may be to us more and more real than our waking life.”—Man and his Dwelling-place: an Essay towards the interpretation of Nature. EXAMPLES, NOT THEORIES. JAMES HOGG, THE ETTRICK SHEPHERD. “ There is no phenomenon in nature less understood, and about which greater nonsense is written, than dreaming. It is a strange thing. For my part I do not understand it, nor have I any desire to do so ; and I firmly believe that no phiosopher that ever wrote knows a particle about it more than I do, however elaborate and subtle the theories he may advance concerning it. He knows not even what sleep is, nor can he define its nature, so as that any common mind can comprehend him; and how can he define the ethereal part of it, wherein the soul holds intercourse with the external world? —how, in that state of abstraction, some ideas force them- selves upon ns in spite of all our efforts to get rid of them; while others, which we have resolved to bear with ns by night as well as by day, refuse us their fellowship, even at periods when we most require their aid ? “ No, no ! the philosopher knows nothing about either; and if he says he does, I entreat you not to believe him. He does not know what mind is; even his own mind, to which one would think he has the most direct access; far less can he estimate the operations and powers of that of any other intel- ligent being. He does not even know, with all his subtlety, whether it be a power distinct from his body, or essentially the same, and only incidentally and temporarily endowed with different qualities. He sets himself to discover at what period of his existence this union was established. He is baffled; his consciousness refuses the intelligence, declaring that she cannot carry him far enough back to ascertain it. He tries to discover the precise moment when it is dissolved, but on this consciousness is altogether silent, and all is darkness and mystery; for the origin, the manner of continuance, and the time and mode of breaking up of the union between soul and body, are in reality undiscoverable by our natural faculties, are not patent beyond the possibility of mistake: but whosoever can read his Bible and solve a dream, can do either without being subjected to any material error. “ It is on this ground that I like to contemplate, not the theory of dreams, but the dreams themselves; because they prove to the unlettered and contemplative mind, in a very forcible manner, a distinct existence of the soul, and of its lively and rapid intelligence with external nature, as well as with a world of spirits with which it has no acquaintance, when the body is lying dormant, and the same to us as if sleeping in death. “ I account nothing of any dream that relates to the actions of the day; the person is not then sound asleep, there 14. is no division between matter and mind, but they are mingled together in a sort of chaos,—what a farmer would call compost, fermenting and disturbing one another. I find that in all these sort of dreams, every calling and occupation of men have their own, relating in some degree to their business; and in the country, at least, their imports are generally under- stood. Every man’s body is a barometer. A thing made up of the elements must be affected by their various changes and convulsions, and so it assuredly is. When I was a shepherd, and all the comforts of my life so much depended on good or ill weather, the first thing I did every morning was strictly to overhaul the dreams of the night, and I found that I could better calculate from them than from the appearance and changes of the sky. I know a keen sportsman, who pretends that his dreams never deceive him. If he dream of angling or pursuing salmon in deep waters, he is sure of rain; but if fishing on dry ground, or in waters so low that the fish cannot get from him, it forebodes drought. Hunting or shooting hares, is snow; and moorfowl, wind.”—Blackwood's Magazine, 1827. THOMAS CHURCHYARDE. A DREAM, WRITTEN TO MASTER WILLIAM HARBERT, ESQUIER, DWELL1NGE AT SAINCT GILLIANS BY CARLION, IN WALLES. Som men affyrm Dreams are vntrue, But what the iudgment is of you I know not yet, but well I thinke They may proceed, of meat or drinke Receyud before the sleep we take; Complexcions often fancies make, And talke of thyngs o’er night befoer Breedes dreams in som men’s beds great stoer. But this you know, the pow’rs aboue Our earthly vessels heer doth moue By cowrs as they, are of thear kinde, And sets the moshons in our minde. As oen might say we nothing do, But Planets pricks vs thearvnto. Loek how the Heauens order is The Earth must follow, grant me this, Than we that of the earth are maed Must needs obay, the Heauens traed Fowre ellements of eatch ye kno Or all we feel, the ruell is so: Som won moer mixt thearwith we se And subject moer, than others be, To them among vs heer remayn But what of that, to break my brayn, About disputing of sutch thing Or yet my wits in erors bring! I need not seartch so deep a cace, I shuld but ron beyond my race, Yet of som dreams that aer deuien Let me a little heer defien, For priuey warnings God doth give By sleeps to those that heer do live. Was not the dreams of kings sought owt By Danniell, who maed cleer eatch dowt ? That by the saem might ries or spring Takes God no care but for a king. Is not the poer to him as deer, The meanest as the greatest peer; Thoght on of him, yeas than befoer By dreams somtims he doth procner A man to think on, things to com, A dream may speak that seemeth dom. A dream hath lief, though sleeps full ded, Breed fancies in an Idell bed. Som when they waek do soon forget What sweauons in the night they met, And driues the day to end withall And at the length unwaeres doth fall In that great floed, or in that stream, That they aer warnd of by thear dream. The firste parte of Churchyardes Chippes, contayning twelve severall labours. INTENSITY OF DREAM-LIFE. “ Tli (Tagli there are many authors who have written on dreams, they have generally considered them only as revela- tions of what has already happened in distant parts of the world, or as presages of what is to happen in future periods of time. “ I shall consider this subject in another light, as dreams may give us some idea of the great excellency of a human soul, and some intimation of its independency on matter. “ In the first place, our dreams are great instances of that activity which is natural to the human soul, and which it is not in the power of sleep to deaden or abate. When the man appears tired and worn out with the labours of the day, this active part in his composition is still busied and umvearied. When the organs of sense want their due repose and necessary reparations, and the body is no longer able to keep pace with that spiritual substance to which it is united, the soul exerts herself in her several faculties, and continues in action till her partner is again qualified to bear her company. In this Cc.se dreams look like the relaxations and amusements of the soul, when she is disencumbered of her machine, her sports and recreations, when she has laid her charge asleep. “ In the second place, dreams are an instance of that agility and perfection which is natural to the faculties of the mind, when they are disengaged from the body. The soul is clogged and retarded in her operations when she acts in conjunction with a companion that is so heavy and unwieldy in its motions. But in dreams it is wronderful to observe with what a sprightliness and alacrity she exerts herself. The slow of speech make unpremeditated harangues, or converse readily in languages that they are but little acquainted with. The grave abound in pleasantries, the dull in repartees and points of wit. There is not a more painful action of the mind than invention; yet in dreams it works with that ease and activity, that we are not sensible when the faculty is employed. For instance, I believe every one, some time or other, dreams that he is reading papers, books, or letters ; in which case the invention prompts so readily that the mind is imposed upon, and mistakes its own suggestions for the compositions of another. “We may likewise observe, in the third place, that the passions affect the mind with greater strength when we are asleep than when we are awake. Joy and sorrow give us more vigorous sensations of pain or pleasure at this time than at any other. Devotion likewise, as the excellent author of the ‘ Religio Medici’ has hinted, is in a very particular manner heightened and inflamed, when it rises in the soul at a time that the body is thus laid at rest. Every man’s experience will inform him in this matter, though it is very probable that this may happen differently in different constitutions. I shall conclude this head with the two following problems, which I shall leave to the solution of my reader. Supposing a man always happy in his dreams, and miserable in his waking thoughts, and that his life was equally divided between them, whether would he be more happy or miserable ? Were a man a king in his dreams, and a beggar awake, and dreamed as consequentially, and in as continued unbroken schemes, as he thinks when awake, whether he would be in reality a king or a beggar, or rather, whether he would not be both ? “ I must not omit that argument for the excellency of the soul which I have seen quoted out of Tertullian, namely, its power of divining in dreams. TItfit several such divinations have been made, none can question, who believes the Holy Writings, or who has but the least degree of a common his- torical faith; there being innumerable instances of this nature in several authors, both ancient and modern, sacred and profane. Whether such dark presages, such visions of the night, proceed from any latent power in the soul during this her state of abstraction, or from any communication with the Supreme Being, or from any operation of subordinate spirits, lias been a great dispute among the learned; the matter of fact is, I tliink, incontestible, and has been looked upon as such by the greatest writers, who have been never suspected either of superstition or enthusiasm. “I do not suppose that the soul in these instances is entirely loose and unfettered from the body: it is sufficient, if she is not so far sunk and immersed in matter, nor entangled and perplexed in her operations with such motions of blood and spirits, as when she actuates the machine in its waking hours. The corporeal union is slackened enough to give the mind more play. The soul seems gathered "within herself, and recovers that spring which is broke and weakened, when she operates more in concert with the body. “ The speculations I have here made, if they are not arguments they are at least strong intimations, not only of the excellency of a human soul, but of its independence on the body; and if they do not prove, do at least confirm these two great points which are established by many other reasons that are altogether unanswerable.”—Spectator, Thursday, Sep- tember 18, 1712. BLESSINGS AND MISHAPS OF DEEAMS. “ Since we have so little time to spare, that none of it may be lost, I see no reason why we should neglect to examine those imaginary scenes we are presented with in sleep, only because they have less reality in them than our waking meditations. A traveller would bring his judgment in ques- tion who should despise the directions of his map for want of real roads in it, because here stands a dot instead of a town, or a cipher instead of a city, and it must be a long day’s journey to travel through two or three inches. Fancy in dreams gives us much such another landskip of life as that does of countries, and though its appearances may seem strangely jumbled together, we may often observe such traces and footsteps of noble thoughts, as, if carefully pursued, might lead us into a proper path, of action. There is so much rap- ture and ecstasy in our fancied bliss, and something so dismal and shocking in our fancied misery, that though the in- activity of the body has given occasion for calling sleep the image of death, the briskness of the fancy affords us a strong intimation of something within us that can never die. “ I have wondered that Alexander the Great, who came into the world sufficiently dreamt of by his parents, and had himself a tolerable knack at dreaming, should often say, that sleep was one thing that made him sensible he was mortal. I, who have not such fields of action in the daytime to divert my attention from this matter, plainly perceive that in those operations of the mind, while the body is at rest, there is a certain vastness of conception very suitable to the capacity, and demonstrative of the force of that divine part in our composition which will last for ever. “ Several of my correspondents have been pleased to send me an account how they have been employed in sleep, and what notable adventures they have been engaged in during that moonshine in the brain. I shall lay before my readers an abridgment of some few of their extravagancies, in hopes that they will in time accustom themselves to dream a little more to the purpose. “ One who styles himself Gladio, complains heavily that his fair one charges him with inconstancy, and does not use him with half the kindness which the sincerity of his passion may demand; the said Gladio having by valour and stratagem put to death tyrants, enchanters, monsters, knights, etc., with- out number, and exposed himself to all manner of dangers for her sake and safety. He desires in his postscript to know, whether, from a constant success in them, he may not promise himself to succeed in her esteem at last. “ Another, who is very prolix in his narrative, writes me word, that having sent a venture beyond sea, he took occasion one night to fancy himself gone along with it and grown on a sudden the richest man in all the Indies. Having been there about a year or two, a gust of wind that forced open his case- ment blew him over to his native country again, where awak- ing at six o’clock, and the change of air not agreeing with him he turned to his left side in order to a second voyage, but ere he could get on shipboard, was unfortunately apprehended for stealing a horse, tried and condemned for the fact, and in a fair way of being executed, if somebody stepping hastily into his chamber had not brought him a reprieve. “ The next is a public-spirited gentleman, who tells me, that on the 2nd of September, at night, the whole City was on fire, and would certainly have been reduced to ashes again by this time, if he had not flown over it with the New River on his back, and happily extinguished the flames before they had prevailed too far. He would be informed whether he has not a right to petition the Lord Mayor and Aldermen for a reward. “A letter dated September the 9th acquaints me that the writer, being resolved to try his fortune, had fasted all that day ; and that he might be sure of dreaming upon something at night, procured a handsome slice of bride-cake, which he placed very conveniently under his pillow. In the morning his memory happened to fail him, and he could recollect nothing but an odd fancy that he had eaten his cake, which, being found upon search reduced to a few crumbs, he is resolved to remember more of his dreams another time, believing from this that there may possibly be somewhat of truth in them. “ I have received numerous complaints from several delicious dreamers, desiring me to invent some method of silencing those noisy slaves "whose occupations lead them to take their early rounds about the City in a morning, doing a deal of mischief, and working strange confusion in the affairs of its inhabitants. Several monarchs have done me the honour to acquaint me how often they have been shook from their respective thrones by the rattling of a coach, or the rumbling of a wheelbarrow. And many private gentlemen, I find, have been bawled out of vast estates by fellows not IMPERTINENCE OP STREET CRIES. worth threepence. A fair lady was just on the point of being married to a young, handsome, rich, ingenious nobleman, when an impertinent tinker passing by forbade the banns ; and a hopeful youth, who had been newly advanced to great honour and preferment, was forced by a neighbouring cobbler to resign all for an old song. It has been represented to me that those inconsiderable rascals do nothing but go about dissolving of marriages and spoiling of fortunes, impoverish- ing rich and ruining great people, interrupting beauties in the midst of their conquests, and generals in the course of their victories. A boisterous Peripatetick hardly goes through a street without making half-a-dozen kings and princes to open their shops or clean shoes, frequently transforming spectres into paving-shovels, and proclamations into bills. I have by me a letter from a young statesman, who in five or six hours came to be Emperor of Europe, after which he made war upon the Great Turk, routed him horse and foot, and was crowned Lord of the Universe in Constantinople: the con- clusion of all his successes is, that on the 12th instant, about seven in the morning, his Impexual Majesty was deposed by a chimney-sweeper. “ On the other hand, I have epistolary testimonies of grati- tude from many miserable people, who owe to this clamorous t tribe frequent deliverances from great misfortunes. A small coal-man, by waking of one of these distressed gentlemen, saved him from ten year’s imprisonment. An honest watch- man, bidding aloud ‘ Good-morrow ’ to another, freed him from the malice of many potent enemies, and brought all their designs against him to nothing. A certain valetudinarian confesses he has often been cured of a sore-throat by the hoarseness of a carman, and relieved from a fit of the gout by the sound of old shoes. A noisy puppy that plagued a sober gentleman all night long with his impertinence, was silenced by a cinder-wench with a word speaking. “ Instead, therefore, of suppressing this order of mortals, I would propose it to my readers to make the best advantage of their morning salutations. A famous Macedonian prince, for fear of forgetting himself in the midst of his good fortune, had a youth to "syait on him every morning, and hid him remember that he was a man. A citizen who is waked by one of these criei’s, may regard him as a kind of remembrancer, come to admonish him that it is time to return to the circumstances he has over-looked all the night-time, to leave off fancying himself what he is not, and prepare to act suitably to the con- dition he is really placed in. “ People may dream on as long as they please, but I shall take no notice of any imaginary adventures that do not happen while the sun is on this side the horizon ; for which reason I stifle Pritilla’s dream at church last Sunday, who, while the rest of the audience were enjoying the benefit of an excellent discourse, was losing her money and jewels to a gentleman at play, till after a strange run of ill-luck she was reduced to pawn three lovely pretty children for her last stake. When she had thrown them away her companion went off, discover- ing himself by his usual tokens—a cloven foot and a strong smell of brimstone, which last proved only a bottle of spirits, which a good old lady applied to her nose, to put her in a condition of hearing the preacher’s third head concerning time. “ If a man has no mind to pass abruptly from his imagined * to his real circumstances, he may employ himself in making a new kind of observation of himself. Pursuing the imagina- tion through all its extravagancies, whether in sleeping or waking, is no improper method of correcting and bringing it to act in subordinacy to reason so as to be delighted only with such objects as will affect it with pleasure, when it is never so cool and sedate.”—Spectator, Monday, September 13, 1714. A REMARKABLE DREAM. THE DEATH OF LORD LYTTELTON. The following accounts of the circumstances attending the death of Thomas, Lord Lyttelton, in 1779, were supplied by the present holder of the title to “ Notes and Queries ” for August 9, 1862. They are transcribed verbatim, with the remarks of the editor of that publication. “ There are several versions of the well-known ghost stoiy (so-called) connected with the death of Thomas, Lord Lyttelton. According to some of them, the announcement to him of his approaching end was accompanied by the appearance of a bird. I enclose two documents upon the subject, which, if you think it worth while, you can print together with this letter. Lyttelton. Hagley, Stourbridge, July 21. “ No 1. The first MS., so obligingly forwarded by Lord Lyttelton, is written by Lord Westcote, and is the original. It is enclosed in an enve- lope, endorsed ‘ Remarkable circumstances attending the death of Thomas, Lord Lyttelton.' Lord Westcote, it will be remembered, was nncle of Lord Lyttelton. REMARKABLE DREAM OF THOMAS, LORD LYTTELTON. “On Thursday, the 25th of November, 1779, Thomas Lord Lyttelton, when he came to breakfast, declared to Mrs. Flood, wife of Frederick Flood, Esq., of the kingdom of Ireland, and to the three Miss Amphletts, who were lodged in his house in Hill Street, London (where he then also was), that he had had an extraordinary dream the night before. He said he thought he was in a room which a bird flew into, which appearance was suddenly changed into that of a woman dressed in white, who bade him prepare to die ; to which he answered, I hope not soon—not in two months. She replied, Yes, in three days. He said he did not much regard it, be- cause he could in some measure account for it; for that a few days before he had been with Mrs. Dawson, when a robin redbreast flew into his room. When he had dressed himself that day to go to the House of Lords, he said he thought he did not look as if he was likely to die. In the evening of the following day, being Friday, he told the eldest Miss Amphlett that she looked melancholy, but said, You are foolish and fearful; I have lived two days, and, God willing, I will live out the third. On the morning of Saturday he told the same ladies that he was very well, and believed he should bilk the ghost. “ Some hours afterwards he went with them, Mr. Fortescue, and Captain Wolseley, to Pitt Place at Epsom, withdrew to his bedchamber soon after eleven o’clock at night, talked cheerfully to his servant, and particularly inquired of him what care had been taken to provide good rolls for his break- fast the next morning ; stepped into bed with his waistcoat on, and as his servant was pulling it off, put his hand to his side, sank back, and immediately expired without a groan. He ate a good dinner after his arrival at Pitt Place that day, took an egg for his supper, and did not seem to be at all out of order, except that while he was eating his soup, at dinner, he had a rising in his throat,—a thing which had often happened to him before, and which obliged him to spit some of it out. His physician, Dr. Fothergill, told me Lord Lyttelton had in the summer preceding a bad pain in his side ; and he judged that some great vessel in the part where he had felt the pain, gave way, and to that he conjectured his death was owing. His declaration of his dream, and his expressions above men- tioned consequential thereunto, were upon a close inquiry, asserted to me to have been so by Mrs. Flood, the eldest Miss Amphlett, Captain Wolseley,and his valet de chambre, Faulkner, who dressed him on the Thursday, and the manner of his death was related to me by William Stuckey in the presence of Mr. Fortescue and Captain Wolseley, Stuckey being the servant who attended him in his bedchamber, and in whose arms he died. Westcote. “ February the 13th. “ The second document, forwarded by Lord Lyttelton, is in the hand- writing of Sir Digby Neave, and is endorsed by Lord Lyttelton, ‘ Given to me by Sir Digby Neave, Sept. 1860—L.’ “Thomas, Lord Lyttelton, died in 1779 at his own resi- dence, Pitt Place, Epsom. In 1828, Mr. Taylor, of Worcester Park, near Ewell, who was then above eighty years of age, told me—then residing at Pitt Place—that he was in the neigh- bourhood during the year 1779, and heard particulars of the illness and death of Lord Lyttelton from an Italian painter residing at Pitt Place at the time of Lord Lyttelton’s death. “ Lord Lyttelton had come to Pitt Place in a very pre- carious state, and was ordered not to take any but the gentlest exercise. Walking in the conservatory with Lady Affleck and two Misses Affleck, a robin perched on an orange-tree close to them. Lord L. attempted to catch it, but failing, and being laughed at by the ladies, said he would catch it if it was the death of him, and succeeded, putting himself in a great heat by the exertion. He gave the bird to Lady Affleck, who walked about with it in her hand. “ Lord Lyttelton became so ill and feverish that he went off to London for advice to a house in Bruton Street. In his delirium he imagined that a lady with a bird in her hand, drawing his curtain, told him he would die. Dreams being the galamatia of waking thoughts, it needed no ghost to fix such an impression on the mind of a sick man ; and this may be said to clear away supernatural agency thus far. As to his death occurring at the moment indicated by an apparition, and the putting on the clock by his friends,—from the habits of his boon companions in the house at the time, and the report of the Italian painter, his informant, Mr. Taylor was satisfied as to its being a fable invented to mystify the public, as the actual circumstances attending his death were as follows :— “ Being in bed opposite a chimney-piece with a mirror over it, he desired his valet to give him some medicine which was on the chimney-piece. Seeing him mixing it with a tooth- brush, Lord Lyttelton raised himself up and rated him, but he was so weak that his head sank below the pillow on to his chest, and he gasped for breath. “ His valet, instead of relieving him, in his fright left the room, and death ensued before assistance could be given. “Digby Heave. “ Mr. Taylor, of Worcester Park, told me the names of the party in the house. I only recollect that Mr. Michael Angelo Taylor was one of them. He named that Lord L. had be- come possessed of Pitt Place in payment of a debt of honour.” —Notes and Queries, August 9, 1862. SUSPENSION OF JUDGMENT. WALTEE C. DENDY, M.E.C.S. “ It is evident that slumber possesses the power of destroy- ing the relative consistency of those mental faculties which are not absolutely suspended. The mind, when excited during this state, may possess the power of exercising the faculties of perception, association, memory, or imagination, individually or collectively, but the influence of judgment over the ideas thus excited being lost, imperfect conclusions are formed: in this want of integrity consists the most common species of transient illusions, dreaming. “ The dream, I believe, never occurs in sound or perfect sleep, for then all the senses are quiescent, or uninfluenced, at least by slight stimuli; to rouse the person, loud sounds and powerful light are requisite. It is produced in that state which we denominate slumber, the period of transition from waking to sleep, or from sleep to waking, the moments of departing or returning consciousness. “ But it will be thought, perhaps, that I am reversing the order of these phenomena; that, in fact, the excitement of vague ideas in. the mind is itself the cause of waking. I believe SOUND SLEEP DREAMLESS. tliat this is not the case except the sensibility of the body be influenced by touch or sound, or by congestion of blood in the brain, causing that state of disturbance which reduces sound sleep to slumber, as in the instance of nightmare, which is to the mind what sensation is to the body, restoring the mind to that state of half-consciousness which is essential to the phenomena of dreaming.* “ The state of sound sleep, that Certissima mortis imago, is incompatible even with consciousness (by which I do not mean insensibility to touch or stimuli), and a fortiori with the slightest exercise of the faculty of judgment. This notion has been poetically expressed in Jachimo’s invocation in the chamber of Imogen: 0 Sleep, thou ape of death, lie dull upon her, And be her sense but as a monument Thus in a chapel lying. “ It has been asserted, however, especially by two profound metaphysicians, Beattie and Reid, that they persuaded them- selves in their dreams that they were dreaming, and would then attempt to throw themselves off a precipice; this awoke them, and proved the impression a fiction. “ I presume that the condition in which these philosophers were placed was under the influence of Incubus. The pheno- mena, nay, the expressions which are used to relate them, are precisely illustrative of the condition of nightmare. When, therefore, Dr. Beattie asserts that he knew he was dreaming, his mind, I believe, was labouring under that oppressive con- gestion compatible with consciousness. “ If we know we are dreaming, the faculty of judgment cannot be inert, which I believe it is in the dream; and in * Sir Walter Scott alludes to this notion in “ The Antiquary — “ Eh, sirs, sic weary dreams as folk has between sleeping and waking, before they win to the long sleep and the sound.” support of my opinion I would adduce the fact of Dr. Johnson’s well-known wit contest with himself.* “ It is not uncommon for the dreamer to reverse the doc- trine of Pyrrho, who doubted his own existence, and to imagine himself possessed of ubiquity, to be both old and young at the same moment, to possess the hundred eyes of Argus or the hundred hands of Briareus. In short, he is influenced in thought and action by a complete principle of paradox, to form a fresh creation, an independent world of his own. It was a saying, I believe, of Heraclitus, that all men, whilst they are awake, are in one common world, but that each of them, when he is asleep, is in a world of his own. “ Addison has added, that ‘ there seems somethin£r in this consideration that intimates to us a natural grandeur and perfection in the soul, which is rather to be admired than explained.’ I am not so certain that these illusions tend to advance our notion of the dignity of mind. Nothing can be more convincing to prove a suspension of judgment. Still there is so much impression made by these eccentric dreams that intense pleasure or pain may be felt by their recollection during waking moments. Ambition may for a time appear to have been fully gratified, immense riches to have been gathered. On the principle, therefore, that sublunary happiness consists in our being agreeably deceived, a perpetual dream would doubtless be according to its subjects, a state of happiness or misery.”—On the Phenomena of Dreams and other transient Illusions. FREAKS OF QUEEN MAB. WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE. Romeo. I dreamt a dream to night Mercutio. Oh, then, I see, Queen Mab hath been with yon. She is the fairies’ midwife; and she comes In shape no bigger than an agate-stone # See “ A Dream-Antagonist.” QUEEN MAB. On the forefinger of an alderman, Drawn with a team of little atomies Athwart men’s noses as they lie asleep; Her waggon-spokes made of long spinners’ legs, The cover, of the wings of grasshoppers ; Her traces, of the smallest spider’s web; Her collars, of the moonshine’s watery beams ; Her whip, of cricket’s bone; the lash of film: Th9 waggoner, a small grey-coated gnat, Not half so big as a round little worm Pricked from the lazy finger of a maid : Her chariot is an empty hazel nut, Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, Time out o’ mind the fairies’ coachmakers. And in this state she gallops night by night Through lovers’ brains, and then they dream of love ; On courtiers’ knees, that dream on court’sies straight; O’er lawyers’ fingers, who straight dream on fees ; O’er ladies’ lips, who straight on kisses dream ; Which oft the angry Mab with blisters plagues, Because their breaths with sweetmeats tainted are. Sometimes she gallops o’er a courtier’s nose, And then dreams he of smelling out a suit; And sometimes comes she with a tithe-pig’s tail. Tickling a parson’s nose as ’a lies asleep, Then dreams he of another benefice : Sometimes she driveth o’er a soldier’s neck, And then dreams he of cutting foreign throats, Of breaches, ambuscadoes, Spanish blades, Of healths five fathom deep ; and then anon Drums in his ear ; at which he starts, and wakes; And, being thus frighted, swears a prayer or two, And sleeps again. This is that very Mab That plats the manes of horses in the night; And bakes the elf-locks in foul sluttish hairs, Which, once untangled, much misfortune bodes. This is the hag, when maids lie on their backs. That presses them, and learns them first to bear, Making them women of good carriage. This is she Romeo. Peace, peace, Mercutio, peace. Thou talk’st of nothing. 15 Mercutio. True, I talk of dreams, Which are the children of an idle brain, Begot of nothing but vain fantasy; Which is as thin of substance as the air. And more inconstant than the wind who woos Even now the frozen bosom of the north, And, being angered, puffs away from thence. Turning his face to the dew-dropping south. Romeo and Juliet. THE REASON RUN MAD. JOHN DKYDEN. Dreams are but interludes which fancy makes: When monarch reason sleeps, this mimic wakes j Compounds a medley of disjointed things, A court of cobblers and a mob of kings. Light fumes are merry, grosser fumes are sad,— Both are the reasonable soul run mad; And many monstrous forms in sleep we see, That neither were, nor are, nor e’er can be. STRANGE PHENOMENA IN DREAMING. Extract of an original letter from an eminent divine to Mr. Baxter, author of the “ Inquiry into the Nature of the Human Soul.” Newark, June 14, 1740. “ There is nothing I have been more attentive to than my own sensations in dreams, though I dream incessantly. There are two or three odd phenomena in my dreaming, which I shall beg leave to mention to you, and leave you to conclude how much they make for or against your hypothesis. “ I am frequently troubled with frightful dreams, more especially when I lie on my left side ; when these become very troublesome I have in my sleep gamed a kind of habit of reflect- ing Low the case stands with me, and whether I he awake or asleep. This generally ends in the discovery of the truth of the case ; and when I find it to he a dream I then am easy, and my curiosity engages me to see how the fantastic scene will end, with the same kind of indifference that the spectator receives from a theatrical entertainment; but being all along an actor in this scene, the reality of the representation is per- petually obtruding itself upon me ; so when the scene, as it often does, grows too troublesome to be borne, I can at any time, by making a certain effort, which I can in no way describe to you, awake myself. This, you will say, is extraordinary; but not more so than the next circumstance. “ It has been said by aD ingenious writer, that waking wre all live in one common world, but on going to rest each retires into a world of his own. But I do not know whether this or any other writer has observed anything like what happens to me, that this world of our own is as constant and regular in many particulars as the common waking one. To explain myself : I have rambled for twenty years together in dreams, in one certain country, through one certain road, and resided in one certain country-house, quite different as to the whole face of the country and situation of the place from anything I ever saw awake, and the scene quite unvaried. “ The third case will appear still more surprising, perhaps, than either of the foregoing. You have taken notice of that new and strange consciousness we have in dreams, in which a bachelor, for instance, shall be conscious that he has been married ten or twenty years, and shall recollect all the events of that period. A consciousness of this kind I have frequently experienced. I suppose it to be very common; yet you are the first I know of who has publicly taken notice of it. But what I am going to tell you is infinitely more surprising. I have felt, as it were, in dreams a double identity. As thus, I have dreamed I was conversing with another, and at the same time was very inquisitive and desirous to know the subject of conversation, which seemed to be studiously kept from me. I was mentioning this odd circumstance one day to Mr. Pope, and he told me that his friend Gay, in the delirium of a fever, had something like the same sensation. He was quite assured himself he should recover, but he was under great apprehen- sions concerning the fate of John Gay. “ When Newark was besieged by the Scotch army in the grand rebellion, a silk-mercer in that place dreamed that his house was knocked down by a bomb; he awaked, removed, and in an hour after a bomb did that execution. The wonder, you see, is not that a rich tradesman should dream of bombs, but that he should dream so opportunely. However, the man thus preserved, to commemorate this mercy, left an annual donation to the poor, and a sermon to be preached on that day of the month for ever. This sermon I myself have preached occasionally.”—Scots Magazine, vol. xxv., 17G3. THE RULING PASSION STRONG IN DREAMS. LUCRETIUS. Whate’er the thoughts That chief subdue us, the concerns that claim Our ceaseless care, or what the mind explores With patient pause, in dreams we still pursue. The lawyer, thus, o’er briefs and statutes pores} New wars the soldier wages; with the winds Strives the vain mariner; while wTe the laws Of nature scan perpetual, and how best, When traced, to paint them in our native tongue. So various loves beside, and arts diverse Haunt oft, in sleep, the cheated mind of man. He who, from eve to eve, assiduous, long Has marked the public stage, though now no more It strikes his senses, through his porous frame Still the light images admits that float Countless around him. Hence for many a day, E’en while awake, the scene before his eyes Seems still renewed; the light-deekt dancers move Their modulated limbs, the living lyre He hears entranced, from every fluent string Speaking impassioned; he the throng surveys And all the pageantry the drama boasts. Of such vast import are the plans pursued, The thoughts indulged, the customs deep impressed Of man not merely, but of brutes as well. For the nerved steed, as o’er the glebe he lies. Oft sweats, and pants laborious in his sleep, As though amain contending for the palm. So, too, the hound, amid his soft repose, Oft starts abrupt, and howls, and snuffs the breeze With ceaseless nostrils, as though full at hand He tracked the antlered trembler. And, at times, E’en while awake, with vigour he pursues Yain semblances of deer as though themselves Started before him, till the phantoms void Vanish at length, and truth regain her sway. E’en so the lapdog his inglorious sleep Breaks not unfrequent, rousing all erect, Urged by the semblance of some face unknown; And as of harsher seeds the trains are formed Of floating phantoms, with augmented force Strike they the mind. Hence birds with flight abrupt Oft to the centre of the sacred groves At midnight hurry, in their dreams disturbed By hideous sight of hawks, on outstretched wings. Prowling aloft, all active for the pounce. Then what vast toils engage men when asleep! How pants the mind beneath superb exploits! Kings strive with kings in combat; or at large Contend, surrender, pour the cries of death; While some fight on, though wounded, loading still All heaven with groans, as though to atoms torn By some huge lion, or remorseless pard; Some, too, aloud their machinations tell, And thus, in sleep, full oft themselves accuse. Some on their deathbed seem; and some to leap Headlong from precipices; by the fright Awoke, of reason so bereft, the mind Scarce with the day resumes its wonted reign. Tie Rerum Naturd: On the Nature of Things. THE DREAM. LORD BYRON. Our life is twofold ; Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed Death and Existence: Sleep hath its own world And a wide realm of wild reality, And dreams in their development have breath, And tears, and tortures, and the touch of joy ; They leave a weight upon our waking thoughts, They take a weight from off our waking toils. They do divide our being; they become A portion of ourselves as of our time, And look like heralds of eternity; They pass like spirits of the past,—they speak Like sibyls of the future; they have power— The tyranny of pleasure, and of pain! They make us what we were not—what they will, And shake us with the vision that’s gone by. The dread of vanished shadows. Are they so ? Is not the past all shadow ?—What are they ? Creations of the mind ?—The mind can make Substance, and people planets of its own With beings brighter than have been, and give A breath in forms which can outlive all flesh. I would recall a vision which I dream’d, Perchance in sleep—for in itself a thought, A slumbering thought, is capable of years j And curdles a long life into one hour. ON DREAMS. JONATHAN SWIFT, D.D. An Imitation of Petronius. “ Somnia quse mentes ludunt volitantibus umbris,” etc. Those dreams that on the silent night intrude, And with false flitting shades our minds delude, NOCTURNAL PROFESSIONAL ACTIYITT. Jove never sends ns downwards from the skies; Nor can they from infernal mansions rise; But are all mere productions of the brain, And fools consult interpreters in vain. For when in bed we rest our weary limbs, The mind unburden’d sports in various whims j The busy head with mimic art runs o’er The scenes and actions of the day before. The drowsy tyrant, by his minions led, To regal rage devotes some patriot head. With equal terrors, not with equal guilt, The murderer dreams of all the blood he spilt. The soldier smiling, hears the widow’s cries, And stabs the son before the mother’s eyes j With like remorse his brother of the trade, The butcher, fells the lamb beneath his blade. The statesman rakes the town to find a plot, And dreams of forfeitures by treason got; Nor less Tom-t—d-man, of true statesman mould, Collects the city filth in search of gold. Orphans around his bed the lawyer sees. And takes the plaintiff’s and defendant’s fees} His fellow pickpurse, watching for a job, Fancies his fingers in the cully’s fob. The kind physician grants the husband’s prayers, Or gives relief to long-expecting heirs; The sleeping hangman ties the fatal noose, Nor unsuccessful waits for dead men’s shoes. The grave divine, with knotty points perplext, As if he was awake, nods o’er his text; While the sly mountebank attends his trade, Harangues the rabble, and is better paid. The hireling senator of modern days Bedaubs the guilty great with nauseous praise} And Dick, the scavenger, with equal grace, Flirts from his cart the mud in W—1—le’s face. NODDING AND DICTATING. LORD BROUGHAM. “ Let any one wlio is extremely overpowered with drowsi- ness—as after sitting up all night, and sleeping none the next day—lie down and begin to dictate; he will find himself falling asleep after uttering a few words, and he will be awakened by the person who writes repeating the last word, to show he has written the whole; not above five or six seconds may elapse, and the sleeper will find it at first quite impossible to believe that he has not been asleep for hours, and will chide the amanuensis for having fallen asleep over his work,—so great apparently will be the length of the dream which he has dreamt, extending through half a lifetime. This experiment is easily tried; again and again the sleeper will find his endless dream renewed; and he will always be able to tell in how short a time he must have performed it. For suppose eight or ten seconds required to write the four or five words dictated, sleep could hardly begin in less than four or five seconds after the effort of pronouncing the sentence; so that, at the utmost, not more than four or five seconds can have been spent in sleep. But, indeed, the greater probability is that not above a single second can have been so passed; for a writer will easily finish two words in a second; and suppose he has to write four, and half the time is consumed in falling: asleep, one second only is the duration of the dream, which yet seems to last for years, so numerous are the images that - compose it.”—Discourse of Natural Theology. CHAPTER TO. ANALOGIES OF DREAMING AND INSANITY. DREAMERS AND MANIACS. XDWARD BINNS, M.D. “We "believe that dreaming and insanity are nearly allied; for maniacs are inundated with a flow of thoughts, a superabun- dance of ideas, and a catenation of impressions, which invert order, escape arrangement, and defy control, exactly similar to images in dreams. Their cerebral organs riot in confusion; they exhibit burning and brilliant flashes of wit, but they are lost in the coruscations that follow; they enjoy glimpses of elevated genius, but the prospect is soon obscured; they sometimes reason acutely, but their premises are unfounded; they talk eloquently and write vigorously, but their images are unconnected by detail, their reasoning unsupported by evidence, and their arguments unrestrained by any rule of precedent, mode of thought, or law of logic. Is not this the case in dreams ? How, then, can persons be found who say that we reason, argue, think, and even act, in our dreams with more judgment and acumen than in the waking state ? Yet ' this is the recorded opinion of one great man—nay, of the greatest man of his age—Henry, Lord Brougham ! But if his lordship’s opinion cannot be admitted, it is at least entitled to respect.”—The Anatomy of Sleep. TIME IN DREAMING AND INSANITY. M. MOREAU. “Insanity implies a real transformation of personality. There are cases in which this transformation is so evident that the line of demarcation between the waking and the dreaming state could not be more clear and precise. There are among the insane, for instance, persons whose whole life previously to the delirium offers not a trace of its existence. “ Every act of the thinking faculty, performed without our free and voluntary assent, appertains to the state of dreaming. “ The mind cannot quit its ordinary wakeful condition, without passing into that of dreaming; in any other state its actions must be destroyed or suspended, as in profound sleep or coma. “ Sleep may be compared to the repose of a pendulum, which is still susceptible of new oscillations under the slight- est impulse, so long as the machinery by which it is set in motion retains its integrity. Death may be closely represented by this same pendulum, when the destruction of its wheels has put it for ever beyond the possibility of moving. Time exists only in its relation to the succession of our thoughts. “ It follows from what has been said, that the impression made upon the thinking faculty by loss of consciousness is the same, whatever may be its duration. Every person can recall that of which he is sensible at the moment of waking; whatever may be the length of time that has lapsed during sleep, the state of mind is the same; there is a feeling of a new exist- ence, the primary parts of which are supplied by the memory. It is perfectly true that in this state there is no difference between a moment and an age; so that, if an individual were to awake at the end of many thousand years, his first impres- sions would not differ from what he would have experienced had he slept only a few hours. “What occurs when an individual has been transformed by delirium, and coming to himself, with his inner conscious- ness annihilated, recovers his reason after ten, fifteen, or thirty years of mental disease ? Exactly what would have occurred had he awoke from several hours’ sleep. He is surprised that he does not find everything in the same state as at the moment when he was struck by insanity. His eyes seek the old objects, his affections look for the same persons. Every person and object round him, among whom he has passed so many years, he sees now for the first time, or has but a con- fused recollection of having seen them. He cannot recognize in the grown-up persons around him his own children; he is not sure of his own identity,—whence these wrinkles, these grey hairs, these indications of advancing age?”—On the Identity of Dreaming with Insanity. HALLUCINATIONS AND THEIR MODIFICATIONS. BRIERRE DE BOISJIONT. “ The nightmare presenting a strong analogy to madness, it is not surprising that it is combined with hallucinations. “ The hallucinations of nightmare are observable in child- hood. They are also noticed at different stages of life. “ Hallucinations have often been observed in nightmare under an intermittent form. “ In nightmare, as in madness, it sometimes happens that persons are conscious the phenomena they experience are not real. “ The hallucinations produced by nightmare usually cease on waking ; but they may be continued during waking hours, and be taken for realities. “ The hallucinations of nightmare are frequently observed in insanity. “The hallucinations of nightmare serve as a natural transition to those of sleep, which only differ from waking hallucinations by their intensity, and by certain psychological conditions. Indeed, it was long ago remarked that an hallu- cinated person was only a waking dreamer. “ During sleep, the operations of the mind are no longer subjected to the control of the will, and all ideas that are then formed are received as so many realities. “ The hallucinations of dreams may be traced to bygone reminiscences, or the association of ideas. “ Many authentic facts seem to prove that the hallucina- tions of dreams may communicate the knowledge of an event that is passing at a given time. In this case it is probable, however, that it is but a simple coincidence or a reminiscence. “ Presentiments are often naturally explained; but there are cases in which they may be attributed to unknown physical or moral influences, or to the real phenomena of somnambulism or magnetism. “ If impressions are generally weakened in dreams, there are cases which prove that the operations of the mind may take place, as in a waking state, and even be exercised with remarkable precision, rapidity, and power. “In general, the hallucinations of dreams cease on waking; or, if they still retain a certain energy, they have no influence on the conduct. In insanity, on the contrary, they exhibit an extreme intensity and great fixedness of character, and remain deeply engraven on the memory. “ Popular belief and religious opinions have concurred in imparting great influence to the hallucinations of sleep. It is, therefore, not surprising that some persons, extremely impressed by their dreams, have succeeded in imparting their opinions to the mass of the people. It is also possible that in this case, the recollection of nocturnal hallucinations has been entirely lost, and the mind has accepted as reality that which was, in fact, but a dream. “ Some authors think that the cases of second-sight, are only hallucinations of sleep. “ Dreams in cases of nervousness and insanity may furnish many valuable indications of the malady. “ Many insane persons reason during the day in conformity with the ideas and perceptions of the night. “ The disorders that have occurred during mental aliena- tion may be reproduced during sleep, after a cure has been effected. “ Nocturnal hallucinations have sometimes exhibited them- selves in an epidemic form. “ Hallucinations, after having been repeated several nights periodically, may become permanent during the day.”—Hal- lucinations; or, the Rational History of Apparitions, Visions, Dreams, Ecstasy, Magnetism, and Somnambulism. ANALOGICAL CAPRICES OF REVERIE. SIR HENRY HOLLAND, M.D., F.R.S., ETC. “In many points, the phenomena, both of dreaming and insanity, find more illustration from the waking moods of mind than is generally supposed. Dreams appear inconsecu- tive, in the series of impressions and thoughts which compose them; and are so in fact in different degrees, according to the varying conditions of sleep. But let any one follow with consciousness or immediate recollection the ramblings and transitions of the waking state, when the mind is not bound down to any one subject, and no strong impressions are present to the senses,—and he will often find these no less singular, abrupt, and rapid in change, though the effect of such irregularity is here subordinate to certain regulating causes, which are absent during sleep. “ The admission of external sensations is amongst the most important of these. Their influence in correcting aberrant trains of thought is marked in numerous familiar instances, still more remarkably when causes of actual disorder are present. A person on the verge of intoxication feels confusion of thought rapidly coming on him wThen he closes his eyes, which is lessened or removed when opening them again; and such alternations may repeatedly occur. A patient under low rambling delirium will often pause from this when a question is asked him, or when any distinct impression is made on the senses, relapsing almost immediately again into the same state. Examples of this kind show how slight the line is, if lino there he, which separates the healthy actions of mind from those of morbid nature. “ In children, where the corrections from reason and expe- rience are less complete than in adults, dreams often assume a very singular aspect in their passage to the waking state. I have seen cases, where a child, waking affrighted by some imaginations of an unquiet dream, has continued for an hour or longer in a state of agitation resembling delirium; the unreal images or ideas still possessing the mind, and being only slowly removed by actual impressions on the senses. Even in adults, we know by experience that the last images of an excited dream often hang painfully and perplexingly on the mind, when awake again to external objects; and that we reason and feel upon them before fully convinced of their unreality. “ I may add, further, a remarkable fact, strongly attested to us, though not free from ambiguity, viz., that the images created by a dream are sometimes actually seen as such by a person suddenly opening his eyes on wraking.”—Chapters on Mental Physiology. ARGUING KIGHTLY FROM WRONG PREMISES. HENRY MONRO, M.B. # “ The mental phenomena of sleep, when profound, are not remembered, if any exist; we must therefore take those of less profound or dreaming sleep. Here the condition of the mind is very like that of intense insanity, namely, a very vivid impression of simple images passing before the mind,—an inability to compare these images with the things of the ex- ternal world,—an inability to judge of the relation one image bears to another,—and, before all, an inability to control the train of these images by an act of will, either as regards their origin, their course, or their interruption. The most striking distinctions between the phenomena of dreams and those of intense insanity are—1st. That the external world is never perhaps so entirely shut out in insanity as it is in dreams, the special senses seldom or never being so much suspended. 2ndly. The power of voluntary motion is lost generally in sleep, but it exists in insanity. 3rdly. The dreaming state is temporary, and able to be dispelled, while insanity is more or less permanent. There is, however, a less profound sleep even, that of the ordinary dreaming state, which generally occurs when the person is very near the waking state, though some excitable temperaments are subject to its phenomena more or less at all times. In this condition the external world is not wholly shut off from the dreamer, for he is conscious of sounds, etc., though he misinterprets them; he is able also to use his organs of motion, as is manifested in talking in sleep and throwing his limbs about; this, however, approaches the condition of somnambulism. In the state of very light sleep, the reasoning faculties are often as intense as in the waking state, though moral liberty is not even yet achieved; and thus the succession of ideas is not directed by the will, but by other influences, such as those impressions most deeply en- graven at the time on the memory, or those sensations most strong on the field of consciousness. It may be said of this condition what Locke said of insanity—they argue rightly, but on wrong premises. “ Now what do we know of the conditions of the nervous system in sleep P What is the cause acting on the body which produces the mental state of profound or dreaming sleep ? We know that this condition, which results in such a defective state of mental manifestation, is one consistent with health; it excites no surprise, because it is common to all: persons do not go out of the way to account for the dreaming state on subtle metaphysical grounds; they do not think a man must be possessed in any supernatural manner with an evil spii-it because be dreams; and yet the only real and essential difference between dreaming and insanity is, that all are subject more or less to the former state, and only a few to the latter. The ordinary observation would indeed be, that there is this great distinction, that the one is awake, and the other asleep; but what is the physiological meaning of this (so far as the percipient nervous system is concerned), but that the one is suffering from an ordinary, natural, and peri- odic physical condition of depressed nervous energy; while the other is suffering from an extraordinary, not so generally periodic, but more or less permanent, physical condition, of a similar nature, though not so intense in degree ? “ The source of dreaming is indeed mysterious, although the act is common: our special senses would help us but little in investigating it, and common sense wrnuld help us but little more without the aid of science and extensive observation; and even with these auxiliaries much must be left undeter- mined.”—Remarks on Insanity, its Nature and Treatment. MORAL CAUSES OF DREAMING. WALTER C. DENDY, M.R.C.S. “ I have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it was. Man is but an ass, if he go about to expound this dream.”—Midsummer Wight's Dream. “Listen,” says Evelyn, one of the interlocutors in the conversations in which Mr. Dendy expounds his “ Philosophy of Mystery,”—“ it is my turn to speak.” “Like confirmed insanity, the essence of the dream is usually a want of balance between the representative faculty and the judgment,—being produced, directly or indirectly, by the excitement of a chain of ideas, rational or probable in parts, but rendered in different degrees extravagant, or illusive, by imperfect association,— as in the dream of the ‘ Opium Eater’: —‘The ladies of Charles I.’s age danced and looked as lovely as the Court of George IY.; yet I knew, even in my dream, that they had been in the grave for nearly two centuries.’ “ The relative complexity of these combinations includes the two divisions of dreams,—the plain, Oewp^-parLKol, and the allegorical, or images presented in their own form, or by similitude. “If we grant that certain faculties or functions of the mind are the result of nervous influence, we can as readily allow that an imperfection of these manifestations shall he the result of derangement of equilibrium in this influence, as the material function of muscle shall be disturbed by primary or secondary disease about the brain; of which we have daily examples among the spasmodic and nervous diseases of the body. “ Referring to the calculation of Cabanis, on the falling to sleep of the senses, I can readily carry on this analogy to the faculties of mind. We may suppose that the faculty of judg- ment, as being the most important, is the first to feel fatigue, and to be influenced, in the mode which I have alluded to, by slumber. It is evident, then, that the other faculties, which are still awake, will be uncontrolled, and an imperfect associ- ation will be the result. “ Thus the idea of a dream may be considered as a species of delirium; for the figures and situations of both are often of the most heterogeneous description, and both are ever illusive, being believed to be realities, and not being subject to the control of our intellect. Yet, if the most absurd dream be analyzed, its constituent parts may consist either o. ideas, in themselves not irrational, or of sensations or incidents which have been individually felt or witnessed. “ So the remembered faces and forms of our absent friends, faithful though a part of the likeness may be, are associated with the grossest absurdity : Velut aogri somnia van® Tingentur species, ut nec pes nec caput uni Reddatur forma;. 1G Or, as Dryden lias written,— Dreams are but interludes which fancy makes: When monarch Reason sleeps, this mimic wakes; Compounds a medley of disjointed things, A court of cobblers and a mob of kings. Light fumes are merry, grosser fumes are sad, Both are the reasonable soul run mad; And many monstrous forms in sleep we see. That neither were, nor are, nor e’er can be. “The little variations in the tissue of a dream, are not rectified by judgment. So the vision may have led us to the very consummation of the highest hopes with love and beauty, and then, if an object even of degradation or deformity shall cross the dream, an association shall be formed imparting a feeling of loathing and horror. “You may take Hobbes’s illustration, Astrophel, which you will probably prefer to mine. Hobbes says of the com- position of phantoms, ‘Water, when moved at once by divers movements, receiveth one motion compounded of them all; so it is in the brain, or spirits stirred by divers objects. There is composed an imagination of divers conceptions that appeared single to the sense; as sense at one time shows the figure of a mountain, at another of gold, and the imagination afterwards composes them into a golden mountain.’ “ I believe Parkhurst also will tell you that the Hebrew word for dream refers to things erroneously viewed by the senses; for each may assume, individually, an intimate ac- cordance with another, although the first and last appear perfectly incongruous, as the Chinese puzzle would be a chaos if its pieces be wrongly placed; a faulty rejoining, in fact, of scenes and objects reduced to their constituent elements. “ Ida. I have ever believed that there were incidents recorded, which left no doubt of the truth of innate idealism. Dr. Beattie has observed: ‘ Men born blind, or who have lost all remembrance of light and colours, are as capable of inven- tion, and dream as frequently as those who see.’ COMMUNITIES OF THE SENSES. “ Evelyn. These, fair lady, are surely very imperfect data. If a person loses remembrance of individual colour, he does not lose the power of comparing or of judging variety of colour. And, again, although he may be congenitally blind, yet if there be any other sense but sight, through which the mind can perceive or receive external impression, the objection must fail. There are very strange communities of the senses, which you may smile at, yet are they perfectly true. “ Dr. Blacklock (who was very early in life struck blind) expressed his ideas of colour by referring to a peculiar sound, the two being as it were synonymous to him. And he fancied also in his dreaming, that he was connected to other bodies by myriads of threads or rays of feeling. “ I may assure you, too, that on the loss of any one sense the subsequent dreams, after a lapse of time, will not be referred to that sense. “ Dr. Darwin will supply you with very illustrative in- stances of this ; from which you will learn, that after blindness had afflicted certain persons they never dreamed that they saw objects in their sleep ; and a deaf gentleman, who had talked with his fingers for thirty years, invariably dreamed also of finger-speaking, and never alluded to any dreaming of friends having orally conversed with him. “ Astrophel. I believe that a black colour was disagreeable to Clieselden’s blind boy, from the moment he saw it. “ Evelyn. Because from certain laws of refraction, the effect was instantly painful to his eye. “ Astrophel. I remember Sir Walter Scott, in his ‘ Letters on Demonology and Witchcraft,’ informs us that ‘ those ex- perienced in the education of the deaf and dumb find that their pupils, even cut off from all instruction by ordinary means, have been able to form, out of their own unassisted conjectures, some ideas of the existence of a Deity, and of the distinction of soul and body.’ “ Evelyn. And you do not see, dear Astrophel, the dilemma of this argument ? Before the deaf and dumb pupil can adopt a language, by wliich to make bis preceptor sensible of his thoughts or sentiments, he must have had certain facts or knowledge imparted to him, by signs, or other modes of in- struction. The modes of mutual understanding must first emanate from the tutor, and with these ideas may be excited, which at first sight may seem to be innate or unassisted. “Believe not that I deny a moral consciousness of the existence of the Deity, and of our immortality; but how can we prove it in those who have no sense to explain it ? If it were possible to find a creature so wretched as to be endued with no external sense from his birth, such a being would neither dream nor think; he would lead the life almost of a zoophyte, ceasing, of course, to be a responsible agent! . . . . “ And yet my Astrophel will lean to the vagaries of our pseudo-psychologists, who believed the dream to be the flight of the soul on a visit to other regions, and its observation of their nature and systems from actual survey. Of the fruits of this ethereal voyage the dreamer, I presume, is made conscious when the soul returns to the brain, its earthly pabulum or home. Were this so, it should enjoy visions of unalloyed beatitude; and even were there a limit to its excursions, a thing so pure and perfect would select angelic communion only. I do not aver that such things are not, but that we cannot hnow it here. We have no satisfactory remembrance of cities and temples thus surveyed, more gorgeous than the waking conceptions of a thousand and one nights, or the legends of the genii; no wonders or eccentricities which eclipse the exploits of Gulliver, Peter Wilkins, Friar Bacon, or Baron Munchausen. “ Lavater carries out this caprice by a very fine metaphy- sical thought, to illustrate the night apparition,—that it is their ‘ transportive or imaginative faculty that causes others to appear to us in our dreams.’ And I myself was once gravely told by a visionary that he dreamed one night of a certain old woman; and she afterwards told him that she dreamed she was, on that very night, in his chamber. So, you perceive, her image, or material thought, entered into his mind, and caused his dream. “ Is not this sublime ? “ How it is clear that these illusions cannot tend to advance the dignity of the mind. Nothing can be more convincing to prove a suspension of judgment. Remember that during this life—the incorporation of the soul—we are conscious of it only through the brain. It is not yet emancipated; and it is an error to think, because sometimes we have a brillant vision, that therefore if the body were more inactive, the soul would be more ethereal.” “ If dreams are essentially prophetic, why are they not all fulfilled ? and if one is not fulfilled, how know we if all will not be equally fallacious ? The argument for the prophetic nature is merely a posteriori, the shallow ‘ post hoc, ergo, prop- ter hoc,’ of the sophist. On the occurrence of any important event, all the auguries and dreams which bear the slightest semblance to a prophecy are immediately adduced, and stretched and warped to suit the superstition, as the whim- sical mother will account for marks on her child by frights and longings. When we know that myriads of enthusiasts and hypochondriacs have, by the failure of their predictions, deserved the stigma of false prophets, we may surely class these phantasies among the popular errors of the time. “ Yet the fulfilment of a prophecy may be a consequence; and that without the imputation of falsehood or imposition, or of any special interference. (I am not recanting my opinions, Astrophel.) “ 1. Through the effect of an imparted impetus. “ 2. Foresight, from the study of events and character. “ 3. Constantly thinking on one subject. “ 4. Impressions of terror or alarm, from spectres, sybils, etc. “ As there are dreams from impressions on the body dur- ing sleep, so there are diseased tissues in the brain, which light up phantoms of terror and death perfectly prophetic, bui wherefore so ? Merely because they are induced by that disease which usually terminates in death. Such were the dreams during nightmare which preceded, and I believe, still precede, the epidemic fevers of Rome, and those of Leyden in 1669, when the patient fell asleep and was attacked by incubus before each exacerbation. The impersonation of death was the prevailing phantom of their dream, and in reality death soon followed “ My friend the late Captain Mott, R. N., used frequently to repeat an anecdote of a seaman under his command. This individual, who was a good sailor and a brave man, suffered much trouble and anxiety from his superstitious fears. When on the night-watch, he would see sights and hear noises in the rigging and the deep, which kept him in a perpetual fever of alarm. One day the poor fellow reported upon deck that the devil, whom he knew by his horns and cloven feet, stood by the side of his hammock on the preceding night, and told him that he had only three days to live. His messmates endea- voured to remove his despondency by ridicule, but without effect. And the next morning he told the tale to Captain Mott, with this addition, that the fiend had paid him a second nocturnal visit, announcing a repetition of the melancholy tidings. The Captain in vain expostulated with him on the folly of such groundless apprehensions. And the morning of the fatal day being exceedingly stormy, the man, with many others, was ordered to the topmast to perform some duty among the rigging. Before he ascended, he bade his mess- mates farewell, telling them that he had received a third warning from the devil, and that he was confident he should be dead before night. He went aloft with the foreboding of evil on his mind, and in less than five minutes he lost his hold, fell upon the deck, and was killed upon the spot.” (Brande’s “Popular Antiquities.”)—Philosophy of Mystery. INFLUENCE OF DARK BLOOD IN THE BRAIN. WALTER C. DENDY, M.R.C.S. I talk of dreams Which are the children of an idle brain. Romeo and Juliet. “ Evelyn. That I may explain to you the predisposition of a dream,—in other words, the state of broken slumber,—it is essential that I refer to the physiology of the brain ; and I must humble our pride by combining some of the most debasing conditions of our nature, as influential on the divine mind, through the medium of its chambers of marrow; for to the intimate condition and function of the brain and its nerves, and its contained blood we must chiefly look for the physical causes of a dream. “ Yet, I may even grant you, for an argument, Astrophel, the flight of an immortal spirit, and all the amiable vagaries of Sir Thomas Browne, reserving to myself to prove at what moment we become conscious of this flight. “ In natural actions there are ever three requisites, like the points of a syllogism : 1. A susceptibility of influence; 2. The influence itself; 3. The effect of this influence. And these I call the predisposing, the exciting, and the proximate causes. “ 1. The brain is brought to this susceptibility by excited temperaments, study, intense and undivided thought,—in short by any intense impression. “ 2. The influence or excitement is applied; congestion of blood producing impression on extremities, or origin of a nerve at the period of departing or returning consciousness. Al these periods the blood changes, and I believe, as it changes the phenomena of the mind, as in the waking state, obey these changes ; rational and light dreams being the effect of circula- tion of scarlet blood ; dull and reasonless visions and nightmare, that of crimson or black blood. “ 3. The effect of this influence is recurrence of idea, memory,—more or less erroneously associated, as the blood approximates to the black or scarlet state, or as the brain it- self is constituted. “Now it is essential to the perfect function of the brain, not only that it shall have a due supply of blood, but that this blood shall be of that quality we term oxygenated. If there be a simple deficiency of this scarlet blood, a state of un- disturbed sleep (slightly analogous to the condition of syncope, or fainting). This may be the consequence of any indirect impression, or the natural indication of that direct debility which we witness in early infancy, and in the 1 second childish- ness and mere oblivion ’ of old age. But this deficiency of arterial blood may be depending on a more positive cause— venous congestion, impeding its flow ; for in sleep, the breath- ing being slower, the blood becomes essentially darker. Even arterial blood itself will become to a certain degree carbonized by lentor or stagnation. Venous congestion and diminution of arterial circulation are not incompatible; indeed, Dr, Abercombie reasons very ably on their relative nature, imply- ing the necessity of some remora of venous circulation to supply that want or vacuum which the brain would otherwise ex- perience from the deficiency of the current in the arterial system. Thus will the languid arterial circulation of the brain, which causes sleep in the first instance, produce secon- darily, that conjestion of blood in the veins and sinuses, which shall reduce it to disturbed slumber and excite the dream. May we not account, on this principle, for the difficulty which many persons experience in falling into a second slumber, when they have been disturbed in the first f”—Philosophy of Mystery. CHAPTER VHI. PSYCHOLOGY, ETC., OF DREAMING. PHANTASTICAL POWER OF THE SOUL. RALPH CUDWORTH, D.D. “ That dreams are many times begotten or excited by the phantastical power of the soul itself which, as it suffers from the body, so it can likewise act upon it; and according to our customary actions or inward affections, inclinations, or desires, may move the spirits variously, and beget divers phantasms in us—is evident from the orderly connection and coherence of imaginations, which many times are continued in a long chain or series ; with the fiction of interlocutory discourses and dialogues, consisting of apt answers and replies made in- terchangeably to one another, and contain such things as never were before printed upon the brain in such a series or order; which therefore could not proceed either from the fortuitous dancings or subsultations of the spirits, or from the determination of their motion, by antecedent prints or traces made by former sensations in the substance of the brain. “ And the dreams that we have in our sleep, are really the same kind of things with those imaginations that we have many times w’hen we are awake, when the Fancy, being not commanded or determined by the Will, roves and wanders, and runs at random; and spins out a long thread or conca- tenated series of imaginations or phantasms of corporeal things, quite different from those things which our outward senses at the same time take notice of. And some persons there are to whom these waking dreams are very ordinary and familiar. “ And there is little doubt to be made, but if a man should suddenly fall asleep in the midst of one of these waking dreams, when his fancy is roving and spinning out such a long series of imaginations, those very imaginations and phantasms would of course become Dreams, and run on, and appear not as Phantasms or Imaginations only of things, feigned or non- existent, but as perceptions of things really existent, that is as sensations.”—Treatise concerning Eternal and Immutable Morality. CERTISSIMA MORTIS IMAGO. LEOPOLD H. GRINDON. “ The transplantation of our consciousness, at the period of death, from the material to the spiritual world, has its image in the suspension of our external senses during sleep, and the wakening of that mysterious sensibility of which we become conscious in certain modes of dreaming. ‘We are sometimes more than ourselves in our sleep,’ says Sir Thomas Browne. ‘ The slumber of the body seems to be but the waking of the soul. It is the ligation of sense, but the liberty of reason.’ Strange state of being ! For ’tis still to be ; Senseless to feel and with closed eyes to see. “ Doubtless the majority of dreams are what Macnish asserts all to be, ‘ the resuscitation of thoughts which in some shape or other have previously occupied the mind.’ Expe- rience and revelation attest, however, that at times the struggles of the chained spirit to employ, and thus to enjoy itself amid the glories of its proper clime are not in vain. Such are the occasions when strange, beautiful pictures open out before our sleeping sight, rich in all the colours and reality of life. It will he said that these are creations of the imagina- tion. Probably so. But then what is this ‘ imagination ’? Barely to assign a phenomenon to the ‘ imagination ’ is to ge4- no nearer to its cause. It is to evade the question rather tha to resolve it. The ‘ imagination,’ as usually referred to in such matters, is just one of those useful entrenchments behind which perplexity is apt to shelter itself, and nothing more. The imagination belongs less to the material than to the spiritual world, it is the Janus bifrons of the Roman mythology, —provided with a twofold face and senses. What the popu- lace say about imagination presenting images that we mistake for realities, is like popular philosophy in general, pure non- sense. “ No man ever imagined, or can imagine, anything that has not reality somewhere, and this whether waJcing or sleeping. That which we call imagination in reference to dreams, is what in the daytime we call our poetic faculty—and probably the play of each is in definite ratio to the other,—the prime characteristic of the faculty being unswerving allegiance to truth and fact, and one of its chief privileges, insight into the spiritual world. In sleep we are conscious of beholding objects as distinctly, and hearing sounds as plainly, as in our waking state, yet with an eye and ear wholly different from the outward organs, and which can have reference accordingly only to a sphere of nature and mode of being likewise entirely different,—a sphere which can be no other than the spiritual world. Dreams, in a word, rank with the highest phenomena of the spiritual life. 4 Dreams,’ says Addison, 4 give us some idea of the great excellence of the human soul, and its inde- pendency of matter. They are an instance of that agility and perfection which is natural to the soul when disengaged from the body. 44 4 When the organs of sense want their due repose and necessary reparation, and the body is no longer able to keep pace with the spiritual substance to which it is united, the soul exalts herself in her several faculties, and continues in action until her partner is again qualified to bear her com- pany. Dreams look like the amusements and relaxations of the soul when she is disencumbered of her machine ; her sports and pastimes when she has laid her charge asleep.’ Bishop Newton’s remarks on dreams are little less than argu- mentative for the spiritual body. ‘ It is very evident,’ he writes, ‘ that the soul is in great measure independent of the body, even while she is in the body, since the deepest sleep that possesseth the one cannot affect the other, while the avenues of the bodies are closed, the soul is still endued with sense and perception, and the impressions are often stronger, and the images more lively, when we are asleep than when awake. There must necessarily be two distinct and different substances, whose nature and properties are so very different, that the one should sink under the burden and fatigue of the day, the other shall be fresh and active as the flame; while the one shall be dead to the world, the other shall be ranging the universe !’ “ Lord Brougham’s ‘ Discourse of Natural Theology ’ con- tains reasoning to the same effect, and almost in the same words. A clever and interesting little book on this subject and, one which nobody curious in the phenomena of man’s inner life, should fail to peruse, is Sheppard’s, ‘ On Dreams, in their Mental and Moral Aspects. 1847.’ “ But leaving aside such dreams as those alluded to, even the ordinary kind claim to originate in a spiritual activity, similarly concurrent with the ligation of external sense. For the resuscitation of thoughts which in some shape or other have previously occupied the mi id, is nothing more nor less than a prelude to what will unquestionably form the chief part of our intellectual experience of futurity, namely, the inalienable and irrepressible recollection of the deeds and feelings played forth while in the flesh, providing a beatitude or a misery for ever. Ordinarily, this resuscitation is of such a medley and jumbled character, that not only is the general product unintelligible,* but tbe particular incidents are them- selves too fragmentary, and dislocated to be recognized. But it is not always so. There must be few who have not expe- rienced in their sleep, with what peculiar vividness unknown in their waking hours, and with what minute exactitude of por- traiture, events long past and long lost sight of, will not infre- quently come back, showing that there is something within that never forgets, and which only waits the negation of the external world, to leap up and certify its powers. O wondrous Dreamland ! who hath not Threaded some mystic maze In its dim retreats, and lived again In the light of other days ? * * * * There the child is on its mother’s breast That long in the grave hath lain ; For in Dreamland all the loved and lost Are given us again. 44 In the whole compass of poetry, perhaps there is nothing more touching than the allusion in the 4 Exile of Erin — Erin! my country, though sad and forsaken. In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore; But alas ! in a far foreign land I am taken, And sigh for the friends I shall never see more! 44 That which so vividly remembers is the soul; and if in * “ Martineau carries out this view, in a piece of great power, in the * Endeavours after the Christian Life,’ vol. i. Coleridge, in the * Biographia Literaria,’ vol. i. p. 115. ed. 1817, suggests that the * books ’ which will be opened at the last day, are men’s own perfect memories of what they have thought and done during life. In relation to the quickening of the memory at death, it is full of solemn interest that persons so nearly drowned as to lose all consciousness and all sens( of physical pain, see during the moments preceding their restoration the whole of their past life in mental panorama. Of this there are manj well-known instances on record. Forgetting, absolute forgetting, asserts Quincey, is a thing not possible to the human mind.” sleep, which refreshes our organic nature, it utters its recollec- tions brokenly and indistinctly, it will abundantly compensate itself when the material vesture which clogs it shall be cast away. “Much of the indistinctness of dreams probably arises from physical unhealthiness. If a sound body be one of the first requirements to a sound mind, in relation to its waking employments, no less must it be needful to the sanity and pre- cision of its sleeping ones. Brilliant as are the powers and functions of the spiritual body, the performance of them, whether sleeping or waking, so long as it is invested with flesh and blood, is immensely, perhaps wholly, contingent on the health of the material body. If the material body be impro- perly fed, or the blood be insufficiently oxygenated, the brain and nerves are imperfectly nourished, and the spiritual body can but imperfectly enact its will. However little it may bo suspected, the great practical question of our day—the health of towns—thus involves, in a less or greater extent, the moral and intellectual interests of the community. For a soul that is debarred from acting freely and vigorously, through a defective or vitiated condition of its instruments, cannot be expected to act nobly or religiously.”—Life: its Nature, Varieties, and Phenomena. CONSPECTUS OF OPINIONS. “ A conspectus of the opinions held by those who have in- vestigated the psychical aspect of sleep, and in a philosophical spirit, may present it in the various lights of which it is sus- ceptible. Leibnitz argues that even when we sleep without dreaming, there is always present some faint perception. Sir W. Hamilton unfortunately attempts to prove the postulate by reference to somnambulism. Kant argued that we always dream when we sleep; that those who fancy they have not. dreamt, have only forgotten their dreams, and that to cease to dream would be to cease to live. Maine de Biran conceives that tbe soul sleeps, and that the senses are torpid. Jouffroy argues that the mind wakes, that certain of the senses trans- mit the sensations which they receive, and the mind awakes the senses by its own activity. Lelut controverts these opinions, and argues that there is neither suspension nor vigilance, but repose. Dugald Stewart, while holding unin- terrupted psychical action, affirmed that the activity and voli- tion of the spirit were suspended. Euler believed that the more the influence of the senses is suspended, the more regular and connected our dreams. He does not carry this theory so far as Democritus, who put his eyes out in order that he might philosophize the better ; or as Malebranche, who closed the shutters and excluded every ray of light, that he might think more intensely; or, as St. Anthony, who complained that the rising sun deprived him of the ‘greater interior light.’ “ Muller thought sleep the antagonism of the organic and animal functions. Burdach calls sleep the primordial state of the soul, where it finds itself when it awakes to life. Maury compares the condition of the sleeping man to that of the foetus ; and Macario, while admitting that dreams between sleeping and waking have demonstrated that the exercise of the faculties is not entirely suspended, designates sleep as the negation of the integrity of the moral and intellectual life.”— Medical Critic and Psychological Journal, vol. ii., April, 1862. CLARENCE’S DREAM. “ Shakespeare is almost always true to nature, and is so most particularly in Clarence’s dream of Richard III. It is a dream of drowning, not the reality; hence the phenomena are described as those of the inculnts, because the conservative instinct is aroused. Still there is the dreaming similarity between the reality and the illusion kept up with admirable tact and truth, to nature. Clarence is in prison, and dreams (jf escape:— Methought that I had broken from the tower, And was embarked to cross to Burgundy ; And in my company, my brother Glo’ster, Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches ; hence we look’d toward England, And cited up a thousand heavy times, During the wars of York and Lancaster, That had befallen us. As we paced along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Glo’ster stumbled; and in falling. Struck me, that thought to stay him, overboard Into the tumbling billows of the main. 0 Lord! methought what pain it was to drown l What dreadful noise of water in mine ears ! What sights of ugly death within mine eyes! Methought I saw a thousand fearful wrecks, A thousand men that fishes gnawed upon j Wedges of gold, great anchors, heaps of pearl. Inestimable stones, unvalued jewels, All scattered at the bottom of the sea. “Then when Brackenbury asked him if he were not awakened ‘with this sore agony,’ Clarence replies—and herein Shakespeare shows his matchless art and powers of observa- tion—in terms which indicate that there was the act of memory, like that described above, but dream-like, and not tinged with pleasure, but with pain, such as must necessarily attend the incubus in all its forms :— Oh no! my dream was lengthened after life; Oh then began the tempest of my soul! 1 passed, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim ferryman which poets write of. Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul Was my great father-in-law—renowned Warwick, Who cried aloud, “ What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence ?” POSSIBILITY OP OMNISCIENCE. 267 And so lie vanished. Then came wandering by, A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood, and he shrieked out aloud— “ Clarence is come—false, fleeting, perjured Clarence— That stabled me in the field by Tewlcesbury; Seize on him, furies ! take him to your torments /” With that, methought a legion of foul fiends Environed me, and howled in mine ears Such hideous cries, that with the very noise I, trembling, waked; and, for a season after, Could not believe but what I was in hell; Such terrible impression made my dream. “ This whole description is true to nature, even to the last line. The impressions of a vivid dream often dwell in the mind for some time after waking, and leave the individual in doubt whether they are phantoms or realities. “ This recall of past events to the memory in dreams and in morbid conditions of the brain, is a singularly suggestive fact. It indicates the power of mind, in the abstract, to comprehend, with a faculty little short of omniscience, the meaning and significance of those minute mysterious changes in the material organ which constitute the basis of dreams. It indicates, also, the immense capabilities of matter, in being rendered sub- servient to such remarkable spiritual phenomena. But when we pass from the creature to the Creator,—when we contem- plate the endowments of the Supreme Mind, of ‘the Father of the spirits of all flesh,’ as manifested in his offspring,—we find that we can almost understand how, just as the physical changes in the material organ, passing through their phases, in one moment reveal the doings of years, so also the doings of all created things, past and present, may be revealed to the glance of the Infinite, in virtue of the minute physical changes his will directs ; and so we get a glimpse at the possibility of Omniscience. “ On the other hand, the mind is struck with wonder, at the singular powers with which creative mind has endowed matter. 17 The microscopic—the infinitely minute—changes which it passes through in acts of thought, and especially in the acts of memory we have described, are more utterly beyond our comprehension, and, indeed, more grand, because more in- explicable, than the vast changes in the relations of the masses which roll through infinite space in £ cycle on epicycle.’ They reveal to us phenomena belonging to matter when it is con- joined with, and the instrument of the mind, which alter and decompose all our ordinary ideas of its properties, to the de- velopment of entirely new conceptions.”—The Journal of Psy- chological Medicine: Sleep, Dreaming and Insanity, vol. iv., Oct. 1851. CHAPTER IX. PHYSIOLOGY AND PATHOLOGY OP DREAMING. DREAMS CAUSED BY DISTEMPERS. * THOMAS HOBBES. “The imaginations of them that sleep are those we call dreams; and these also (as all other imaginations) have been before, either totally or by parcels, in the sense. And because in sense the brain and nerves, which are the necessary organs of sense, are so benumbed in sleep as not easily to be moved by the action of external objects, there can happen no sleep, no imagination, and therefore no dream, but what proceeds from the agitation of the inward parts of a man’s body; which inward parts, for the connection they have with the brain and other organs, when they be distempered, do keep the same in motion, whereby the imaginations there formerly made appear as if a man were waking. Saving that the organs of sense being now benumbed so as there is no new object which can master and obscure them with a more vigorous impression, a dream must needs be more clear, in this silence of sense, than are our waking thoughts; and hence it cometh to pass that it is a hard matter, and by many thought impossible, to distinguish exactly between sense and dreaming. For my part, when I consider that in dreams I do not often, nor constantly think of the same persons, places, objects, and actions that I do waking, nor remember so long a train of coherent thoughts dreaming as at other times, and "because waking I often observe the absurdity of dreams, but never dream of the absurdities of my waking thoughts, I am well satisfied that being awake I know I dream not, though when I dream I think myself awake. “ And seeing dreams are caused by the distemper of some of the inward parts of the body, divers distempers must cause different dreams. And hence it is that lying cold breedeth dreams of fear, and raiseth the thought and image of some fearful object (the motion from the brain to the inner parts, and from the inner parts to the brain, being reciprocal) ; and that, as anger causeth heat in some parts of the body when we are awake, so when we sleep, the overheating of the same parts causeth anger, and raiseth up in thfe brain the imagina- tion of an enemy. In the same manner, as natural kindness, when we are awake, causeth desire, and desire makes heat in certain other parts of the body, so also too much heat in those parts, while we sleep, raiseth in the brain an imagination of some kindness shown. In some our dreams are the reverse of our waking imaginations, the motion when we are awake beginning at one end, and when we dream at another.”— Leviathan; or the Matter, Form, and Power of a Commonwealth, jEcclesiastical and Civil. LODGING AT A CHEESEMONGER’S. “ On the sense of smell as a suggestive cause of dreaming, we cite the following, from many in our note book; it was furnished by the dreamer:—‘ On one occasion, during my residence at Birmingham, I had to attend many patients at Coventry, and for their accommodation I visited that place one day in every 'week. My temporary residence was at a druggist’s shop in the market-place. Having on one occasion, now to be mentioned, a more than usual number of engage- ments, I was obliged to remain overnight, and a bed was procured for me at the residence of a cheesemonger in the same locality. The house was very old, the rooms very low, and the street very narrow. It was summer-time, and during the day the cheesemonger had unpacked a box or barrel of strong old American cheese : the very street was impregnated with its odour. At night, jaded with my professional labours, I went to my dormitory, which seemed filled with a strong cheesy atmosphere, which affected my stomach greatly, and quite disturbed the biliary secretions. I tried to produce a more agreeable atmosphere to my olfactory sense by smoking cigars, but did not succeed. At length, worn out by fatigue, I tried to sleep, and should have succeeded, but for a time another source of annoyance prevented my doing so; for in an old wall behind my head, against which my ancient bed- stead stood, there were numerous rats gnawing away in real earnest. The crunching they made was, indeed, terrific ; and I resisted the drowsy god from a dread that these voracious animals would make a forcible entrance, and might take personal liberties with my flesh ! “ ‘But at length “tired nature” ultimately so overpowered me that I slept in a sort of fever. I was still breathing the cheesy atmosphere; and this, associated with the marauding rats, so powerfully affected my imagination, that a most horrid dream was the consequence. I fancied myself in some barbarous country, where, being charged with a political offence, I was doomed to be incarcerated in a large cheese. And although this curious prison-house seemed most oppres- sive, it formed but part of my sufferings: for scarcely had I become reconciled to my miserable fate, than, to my horror, an army of rats attacked the monster cheese, and soon they seemed to have effected an entrance, and began to fix them- selves in numbers upon my naked body. The agony I endured was increased by the seeming impossibility to drive them away, and, fortunately for my sanity, I awoke; but with a hot head and throbbing temples, and a sense of nausea from the extremely strong odour of the cheese.’ “ It is worthy of a passing reflection, that, although the drearu adventure was altogether improbable, yet it must bo remembered that all the auxiliaries were present to the waking thoughts of the dreamer; and hence the exaggerated and painful associations were induced, in all probability, from the odour and gnawing being still appreciated in some degree in the feverish and partial sleep.”—Journal of Psychological Medicine, vol. ix., July, 1856. On the Physiological and Psy- chological Phenomena of Dreams and Apparitions. A CAMISADO. “ There are many cases on record of heat and cold pro- ducing dreams, mentioned by writers as early as Macrobius, and some of our modern physiologists have made observations of a similar kind. A literary man, who had a most sensitive organization, related a rather amusing instance of the effects of cold, in suggesting a most annoying adventure to one of his thin-skinned tendency. He thus describes it:—‘The other morning my wife rose very early, and being unwell, I decided to take another turn, and soon fell asleep, but so imperfectly that a succession of dreams haunted my imagination. One of them I submit to you as an interpreter of these phantasmata. I thought that the butcher had sent a joint different from the one we required, and that I determined to go back with it myself, when, to my horror, a number of persons followed me, and seemed discussing the point whether or not I was demented. “Surely,” says one, “he must be so, to go out without stockings this bitterly cold, frosty morning!” “Has he been drinking?” said another; “for a more robust man than he is could not be guilty of such an act with impunity!” Great was the sense of shame which oppressed me, as I hurried on, not daring to face my censors, and thought to escape them, when I heard some little girls and great girls titter and then laugh most heartily as they exclaimed, “ What indelicacy!” etcetera. This second adventure pained me so much that I awoke, and found the bed-clothes off my legs, AN EXTRAORDINARY EPIDEMIC. ■which were almost painfully cold, having a tingling sensation from suppressed circulation.’ “ In this instance, and others we could cite, the predis- posing cause was the cold, worked up into an adventure by the half-waking mental faculties.”—Journal of Psychological Medicine, vol. ix., July, 1856. On Dreams and Apparitions. A SINGULAR EPIDEMIC. “ A lady of a highly sensitive temperament, with great susceptibility of both mind and body, and with such strong moral perceptions that she was one of those beings whom nature designed as sisters of mercy, bad on one occasion a most painful dream. She felt greatly distressed because there was a most extraordinary epidemic in the town, which curiously attacked the sufferers on the bridge of the nose, and soon destroyed that important feature. The agony she endured from seeing so many noseless persons affected her greatly, and, from her extreme sympathy at such a melancholy occurrence, she awoke. But for some time she could not disabuse her mind as to the reality of her painful vision; as she gradually gained more complete consciousness, she ascer- tained that her own hand rested on her nose, and had affected, temporarily the circulation, occasioning her much pain in the nasal organ. This circumstance had evidently been the pre- disposing cause of the dream.”—Journal of Psychological Medicine, vol. ix., October, 1856. THE MUSICAL ARTIST. “We are also tempted to give a case of muscular lassitude induced during sleep, by showing that long-sustained muscular exercise, even in a dream, may bring a similar amount of fatigue, as 'when actively performing an equal amount of labour in the waking state. This, wre apprehend, results from the fact that the muscular force put into requisition requires a similar amount of nervous power as if actively exercised, and that there is a corresponding demand made on the brain and spinal nerves for this purpose. “ Mr. S., a very superior musical artist, who was an organist of some celebrity at , told us an interesting dream which had occurred to him, and of which, from its effects being so marvellous, he asked us to explain the pheno- mena. He said that he had been practising, with great zeal and labour, some of Sebastian Bach’s most elaborate fugues, until he had acquired the most facile execution even with the most elaborate; and that he continued these exercises from finding the highest emotional gratification from them. One night, after his usual daily occupation of teaching music, he went to bed, but did not recollect whether he felt more than ordinarily fatigued. He dreamt that he had to play these fugues to a large congregation, but he found to his horror that the pedals would not move, and that it was utterly impossible to give any proper effect to these sublime compositions. That he tried to do so with great and intense anxiety, and with the most indomitable perseverance ; but the difficulties increased, and his chagrin and disappointment were great, as he had never anticipated the possibility of such a complete failure. Hence, he added that he made still greater efforts, trying, with all his energy and might, to make the pedals act. But, with all his additional labour, he could not succeed; and, under a sensation of despair, he awoke. He said that he was quite jaded and physically prostrated, particularly his legs and arms, vdiich were not only tired, but actually pained him just in the same degree as if his dreamy adventure had been an actual reality. “ There is not a doubt that if he had not actually used the muscles of his arms and feet, that he had expended a similar amount of nervous power as if the muscles of both legs and arms had been exercised under similar circumstances whilst under the perfect volition of consciousness.”—Journal of Psy- chological Medicine, vol. ix., October, 1856. PHYSIOLOGY OP SLEEP. A STUDY OP COMMON INTEREST. SIB HENRY HOLLAND, M.D., ETC. “ It concerns not less the physician than the metaphysical inquirer to learn all the conditions of this remarkable function of life, and the causes by which they are modified. Remark- able it may fitly be called; for what more singular than that nearly a third part of existence should be passed in a state thus far separate from the external world!—a state in which consciousness and sense of identity are scarcely maintained; where memory and reason are equally disturbed; and yet, with all this, where the fancy works variously and boldly, creating images and impressions which are earned forwards into waking life, and blending themselves deeply and strongly with every part of our mental existence.* It is the familiarity with this great function of our nature which prevents our feel- ing how vast is the mystery it involves; how closely linked with all the phenomena of mental derangement, whencesoever produced; and, yet further, how singularly shadowing forth to our conception the greater and more lasting changes the mind may undergo without loss of its individuality. “ I am not sure that the subject, in its medical relations, has even yet received all the notice it deserves. Much know- ledge,-indeed, has been gained of late by looking more closely into the physical connections of sleep with other actions of the body, and particularly with those functions of the nervous system to which it is most intimately allied. But there is still scope for a few remarks having reference, partly to the physiology of sleep, and partly to its connection with the various forms and treatment of disease. “ It is singular that in a state so familiar, and filling so * ‘“Ilalf our days we pass in the shadow of the earth, and the brothei of death extracteth a third part of our lives,’ saith Sir Thomas Browne ’ a writer whose genius and eloquence give him a high place in Engl is! literature, as well as in that of the profession to which he belonged.” 206 NO PROOF OF A NEGATIVE. large a portion of the term of life, it should yet be difficult to distinguish that which is the most perfect condition of sleep—• the furthest removed from the waking state. No certain proof can be had of this from our own recollections, nor from the feelings on awakening. Both depend more or less on the manner in which we are aroused from it. The best proofs, however ambiguous, are derived from the observation of those around. That may be presumed generally the soundest sleep in which there is most complete tranquillity of the bodily organs commonly dependent on the will. Sensation, the other great function of the brain involved, furnishes evidence to the same point in the varying effect of stimuli applied to the senses when thus closed. And this test might, perhaps, be most certain were it not that we have cause to believe the different senses to be unequally under this state even at the same moment of time. And further, there is ambiguity from the passage of sleep into coma, through gradations which cannot be defined by any limits we are competent to draw.* “ Evidence by ready tests as to the soundness of sleep is often of value in practice, both in reference to the point last mentioned, and because the physician is very liable to be misled by the error of the patient himself on the subject. The best proof which the latter can give is the absence of consciousness of having dreamed. This, however, does not render it certain that dreams have not existed. The observa- tion of others, and the recollections often suggested afterwards of those of which there has been no memory at the time, prove it to be wholly otherwise. The question as to this point, indeed, is one that has been much debated, and a decisive answer is very difficult. But I hold it as more probable that no part of sleep is without some condition of dreaming: that is, without images present to the individual * “ Aristotle, towards the end of his book, riepl ’Evinri/'uav, has some curious remarks on the subject, well illustrated by examples. All his writings on this and other intellectual collateral topics deserve much more intimate perusal than is given to them at the pi’esent day.” consciousness, and trains of thought founded thereon, however vague and unreal in themselves, and however slight or null the recollection they carry on to our waking existence. To believe it otherwise is to suppose two different states of sleep, more remote from each other than we can well conceive any two conditions of the same living being: one, in which sensations, thoughts, and emotions are present in activity and unceasing change; another, in which there is absence or nullity of every function of mind—annihilation, in fact, for the time, of all that is not merely organic life. Though we cannot disprove the latter, and must admit the difficulty of explaining the sleep of a new-born infant in any other sense, yet it is on the whole more reasonable to suppose that no state of sleep is utterly without dreaming, the diversity being testified chiefly (though imperfectly, as far as consciousness is concerned) by the varying recollections* of what has passed through the mind during the time in question. “ However this be, it is important in all our reasonings, practical and theoretical, upon sleep, to keep in mind that it is not a unity of state with which we are dealing, but a series of fluctuating conditions of which no two moments, perhaps, are strictly alike. It may be affirmed that these variations extend from complete wakefulness to the most perfect sleep of which we have cognisance, either by outward or inward signs. In the symptoms, as well as the treatment of disease, attention to this point is of material consequence; and it assists us, far beyond any other view, in explaining many of the seeming anomalies in this great function of life. “ Looking to what may be termed the passage between sleep and waking, it is singular with what rapidity and facility these states often alternate with each other. It is in * “ This question is noticed expressly by Aristotle. Lord Brougham, in his ‘ Discourse on Natural Theology,’ holds an opinion the reverse of that stated above; and vindicates, with his wonted power of argument, the belief that we dream during the time of transition into and out of sleep, when the two states are graduating into each other.” 2C8 PHYSICAL SUGGESTIVENESS. the act of transition that we may best authenticate our know- ledge of these phenomena; and the most ordinary incidents are full of instruction if the mind be directed to observe them. One familiar instance is that of being on horseback when much wearied from want of rest. Here, at every moment, the mind lapses into a dozing state, from which the loss of the balance of the body as frequently and suddenly arouses it. In this case, and in all of like kind, neither the sleep nor the waking consciousness is perfect; but the mind is kept close to an intermediate line, to each side of which it alternately passes. Ho such line, however, really exists; and it is merely a rapid shifting to and fro of conditions of imperfect sleep and imperfect waking, giving curious proof of the manner in which these states graduate into one another.”*—Medical Notes and Reflections: On Sleep. SENSATIONS IN DREAMS. “ A dream arises that we clutch a corpse that lies beside us. On resuscitation, we are in the act of grasping the left arm on which we are lying with the right hand. The blood- vessels and nerves of the limb have been compressed in the position occupied; it is benumbed, cold from exposure—in popular phraseology, dead. From it, at all events, no im- pressions are conveyed to the brain, and it is thus essentially separated from consciousness, while the sentient hand conveys the sensation of coldness. With a view to determine the extent of the instrumentality of the senses in the production of dreams, M. Maury submitted to a series of experiments in which the external organs were provoked, in a manner, and # “ Exact estimate of time is obviously difficult here; but I have frequently, when in a carnage, obtained proof that this alternation of the loss and recovery of waking consciousness must have occurred at least three times within a minute, by knowing the distance gone over while the observation was made.” by substances of which he was ignorant while he was asleep, and the succeeding dream immediately and carefully noted. The results of some of the significative observations may be detailed. “ 1. His lips and nose were tickled by his coadjutor with a feather. He dreamed that he was subjected to horrible tortures; that a pitch-plaster was applied to his face, which was then roughly withdrawn, denuding the bps and cheeks. “ 2. A pair of tweezers were struck close to his ears by scissors. He dreamed that he heard the ringing of bells, which speedily passed into the tocsin, and suggested June, 1848. “ 3. He was made to smell Eau de Cologne. He dreamed that he was in the shop of a perfumer, which led the fancy to the East, and to the shop of Jean Farina, in Cairo ! “ 4. He was made to feel the heat and smell of a burning match, and the wind at the time whistled through the shutters. He dreamed that he was at sea, and that the powder-room of the vessel blew up. “ 5. His neck was slightly pinched. He dreamed that a blister was applied; and then there arose the recollection of a physician who had treated him in youth. “ 6. A piece of red hot iron was held close to his face for such a length of time as to communicate a slight heat. He dreamed of bandits who got into houses and applied hot irons to the feet of the inhabitants, in order to extract money from them. This idea suggested that of the Duchess d’Abrantes, who he conceived had chosen him as secretary, in whose memoirs he had read of chauffeurs, or bandits who burned people. “ 7. The word ‘ parafaramus ’ was pronounced close to his ear. He heard nothing; but on a repetition of the attempt while in bed, the word ‘ maman ’ was followed only by a dream of the hum of bees. When the experiment was repeated some days subsequently, and when he was falling asleep, he dreamed of two of three words, ‘ Azor, Castor, Leonore,’ which were attributed to the interlocutors in his dream. The sound of ‘ chandelle, haridelle,’ awoke him while pronouncing the words 1 c’est elle,’ but with- out any recollection of the idea attached to the expres- sion. “8. A drop of water falling on the brow suggested a dream of Italy, great thirst, and a draught of orvietto. “ 9. A light, surrounded by a red paper, was repeatedly passed before his eyes. He dreamed of a storm of lightning, which reproduced a violent tempest which he had encountered between Morlaix and Havre. “ It is very doubtful whether a waking mind, emasculated by the deprivation or disease of several of the senses, could have arrived at more precise results.” “ M. Macario* divides physiological dreams into— 1. Sen- sorial or intracranial, where they apparently arise from the mind itself, and without the instigation of a sensation, as may be exemplified in the case of a woman hearing for three suc- cessive nights a voice exclaming, ‘ Kill thy daughter ! kill thy daughter! ’ and who immolates her child. 2. Into dream illusions, where an external impression stands in the relation of cause to the mental condition which follows. A dreamer hears an explosion, and immediately conceives that he is in the presence of conflicting armies ; he sees the blood flow, he hears the discharge of musketry and the cannon, the clash of arms, the cries of the combatants, and the groans of the wounded and dying; or the sound of a bell recalls the days and joys of infancy, or the gloomy pageantry of a funeral or religious solemnity, according to the sensibility of the individual. “ His second class of physiological dreams is the emotional which are described as those in which the affections and pas- sions concerned predominate, and which he traces to the * “ Du Sommeil, des Reves, et du Somnambulisme dans l’etat de Saute et de Maladie.” Lyons, 1857. ganglionic system. The exile, a prey to nostalgia, dreams of his native country, his home, the objects of his love ; and he hears the voices of his kindred. Love may suggest lascivious dreams; shame may present the dreamer exposed to the gaze of a multitude; crime may conjure up remorse and horror; hunger may spread a table with good cheer. “ The third class is the psychical, or intellectual, where in sleep the sphere of intellect extends and enlarges itself in a marvellous manner. The ideas are more vivacious and lucid ; the imagination is bolder; the memory more precise ; the judgment more prompt and assured. 1 It might be said,’ he breaks out poetically, ‘ that the spirit bursts the bonds which connect it with earth, and launches itself into the ethereal regions—into the dazzling domain of Truth. Many successful literary and scientific efforts have been inspired by an intellectual dream. Galen acknowledged that he owed a great part of his experience to the lights received in dreams. Hermas wrote his ‘ Pastor ’ to the dictation of a voice heard in sleep.’ “ Morbid dreams are classified as—1. Prodromic, or where certain well-marked mental conditions during sleep precede, and are supposed to signalize the approach and commence- ment of, remote bodily ailments. The soil is virgin; and even where isolated observations have been made it is not easy, in all cases, to connect the premonitory symptom. M. Teste, Minister of Justice, dreamed that he had suffered from apoplexy, and actually died of the disease in three days after- wards. A woman dreamed that she addressed a man who was mute, and awoke aphonic. Conflagrations and sanguinary spectacles are said to announce attacks of hcemorrhage. The origin of deep-seated and obscure affections of the abdominal and thoracic viscera may, in the absence of other signs, be indicated by dreams. Nightmare and disturbed dreams are premonitory of nervous diseases. “ 2. Symptomatic. The illusions of pretended sorcerers, of vampyres, may fairly be identified with their dreams. Esquirol has discovered in the revelations of a sleep-talking monomaniac, information which he had been foiled in obtaining during his waking moments. The dreams of the insane are generally characteristic of the nature of the aberration under which they labour; those of the typhomaniac are gloomy and frightful; of the general paralytic, gay and smiling; of the maniac, wild, disordered, pugnacious; in stupidity they are vague, obscure, and incoherent; in dementia, few and fleeting ; in hypochondria and hysteria the sleep, especially during digestion, is disturbed and painful. It is said that in persons affected with chorea the dreams chiefly refer to the sense of hearing; owing, it is imagined, to the state of the circulation, or the impoverished blood circulated. “ 3. Diseased dreams include ordinary, periodic, and epidemic nightmare, somnambulism, and various congeneric conditions. The first is characterized by visions of a frightful and painful nature, and by the feeling of fear; the second by the exercise of the muscular system, the external senses, and other organs during dreams, and under the direction of the mental powers then active.”—Medical Critic and Psychological Journal, vol. ii., April, 1862. Dream Thought and Dream Life. DISTURBANCE OF THE NERVES. JEAN HENRI SAMUEL FORMEY. “ When, closing all the avenues of our soul against objects of sense, we commit ourselves to the arms of sleep, whence arise those novel tableaux which offer themselves to us, and some- times with a vivacity which places our passions in a state little different from that of waking ? How can I see, hear, and feel in general, without making use of the organs of sensation ? “Let us here carefully distinguish between different things that are ordinarily confounded. In what way are the organs WAKING DREAMS, AND SLEEPING DREAMS. of feeling the cause of sensations ? Is it in virtue of an im- mediate principle ? Is it by the eye, by the ear, that the soul sees and hears immediately? Not at all. The eye or the ear is affected, but the soul knows nothing of it until the impression reaches the interior extremity of the optic nerve, or of the auditory nerve ; and if any obstacle arrest this impression on the way, so that it does not occasion any disturbance in the brain, the impression is lost to the soul. Thus—and this is a thing very necessary to be remarked, as one of the funda- mental principles of our explanation of dreams—it suffices that the interior extremity of the nerves should be dis- turbed in order that the soul should be alive to any repre- sentations. “ One can very readily understand that this interior extremity is the most easy to disturb, because the ramifica- tions in which it terminates are of an extreme tenuity, and are placed at the very source of that subtle fluid which irri- gates them, permeates them, rushing here, slowly winding there, and which must have an entirely different form of activity from what it has when it has accomplished the long Journey which conducts it to the surface of the body. Hence arise all the acts of imagination during our waking time; and nobody is ignorant that in persons of a particular temperament, in those who are given to deep meditations, or who are agitated by violent passions, these acts of imagination are equivalent to sensations, and even hinder the effects of these, although they affect us in a manner tolerably lively. Such are the dreams of waking men, which have a perfect analogy with those of men asleep, both being dependent upon that series of interior disturbances which pass to the extremity of the nerves that terminate in the brain. The only difference is that in our waking time we can arrest this series by break- ing the connection, by changing the direction, and making it follow the state of the sensations ; whereas dreams are inde- pendent of our will, and we are as unable to continue agreeable illusions as we are to dispel phantasmal horrors. 18 The imagination of the waking time is a commonwealth ordered and governed, where the voice of the magistrate keeps everything in its place; the imagination of dreams is the same commonwealth in a state of anarchy. And further, the passions are the perpetrators of frequent outrages against the authority of the legislator at the very time when his enact- ments are in full operation.”—Melanges Philosojphiques. Essai sur les Songes. PARTIAL ACTIVITY OF NERVOUS CENTRES. ARTHUR E. DURHAM. “ No essay upon sleep, however brief, is considered com- plete without some reference to those remarkable states of the mind (or of the brain) when the will is in abeyance and the consciousness is awake—not to material objects acting through the senses, but to mysterious processes of internal change; states in which the faded pictures, photographed, as it were, on the memory, are restored ; and, it may be, no hypothesis of the anatomy of sleep can be received which is inconsistent with what is known of dreams and dreaming. “Now, dreams indicate a partial or incomplete activity of the nervous centres, and are associated with those states of the cerebral circulation which have been mentioned as inter- mediate between the states which respectively characterize perfect repose and perfect activity or wakefulness of the brain. It has been repeatedly asserted that dreams occur only during imperfect sleep. It appears to my own mind that this must necessarily be true, for the following reasons : In the first place, dreaming indicates activity of, at any rate, certain portions of the brain; for consciousness is no longer entirely suspended, and impressions upon the organs of sense mani- festly affect the changes in the nervous centres. The psychological characteristics of perfect sleep, therefore, are no longer present. In the second place, the anatomical conditions are different during dreaming from what they are during perfect sleep. These are proved by the two facts, taken in conjunction, that ‘ dreams usually occur between sleeping and waking,’ and that between the state of the circulation which characterizes perfect activity and that which characterizes perfect repose there are intermediate conditions of the various faculties. Again, in some parts of the brain the circulation of function may prevail, while in other parts the circulation is of that kind which is most favourable to nutrition. Thirdly, we may conclude that an essential psychological difference must exist between the sleep of utter unconsciousness and the partial sleep disturbed by dreams, because the more con- tinuous and uninterrupted is our dreaming the less refreshing is our sleep; in other words, the less complete and perfect has been the repose of the brain, the less capable is it of vigor- ously reassuming the exercise of its various functions. This local or general activity of the cerebral circulation, greater than that which is associated with entire suspension of func- tion, characterizes that peculiar condition of the brain’s func- tional activity which we call dreaming. And since dreaming indicates a certain amount of cerebral activity, no sleep can be perfect in which dreaming occurs.”—The Physiology of Sleep. Guy’s Hospital Reports. Third Series, vol. vi., 1860. PHYSICAL ORGANISMS AND THE MIND. SIR BENJAMIN C. BRODIE, BART., D.C.L., ETC. “ During what may be called sound sleep, those impres- sions on the external senses of which we take cognizance while we are awake are altogether unnoticed. But it is not so with regard to the changes which are taking place in the brain itself; and that which constitutes the imagination dur- ing the day is the foundation of our dreams at night. There is, however, a great difference in the two cases. The imagina- tion, while we are awake, is regulated by the will. We can 27 G CROWDING OF EVENTS. arrest visions as they pass before us, compare them with each other, and dismiss them as we please. But it is not so with our dreams at night. Here the visions which arise, uninflu- enced by the will, succeed each other according to no rule with which we are acquainted, forming strange combinations, often wholly unlike anything that really occurs, and not less differing from reality in the rapidity with which they come and depart. You are called in the morning, and fall asleep again. Perhaps you have slept only one or two minutes; but you have had a long dream. The late Lord Holland was accustomed to relate the following anecdote of what had happened to himself. On one occasion, when he was much fatigued, while listening to a friend who was reading aloud, he fell asleep, and had a dream, the particulars of which it would have occupied him a quarter of an hour or longer in writing. After he awoke, he found that he remembered the beginning of one sentence, while he actually heard the latter part of the sentence immediately following it, so that probably the whole time during which he had slept did not occupy more than a few seconds. Mr. Babbage had a similar opportunity of measuring the real duration of a dream. While travelling with a friend in Italy, being much wearied, he fell asleep, and dreamed a succession of events as having occurred in England. When he awoke, he heard the concluding words of his friend’s answer to a question which he had just put to him. I men- tion these things, however, only in the way of illustration, and not as being of any very unusual occurrence. Similar instances are referred to by Lord Brougham in his ‘ Discourse on Natural Theology,’ and may, if we look for them, be found within the range of our individual experience. If we were to pursue this subject, it would lead us to some curious specula- tion as to our estimate of time, and the difference between the real and the apparent duration of life. The measure of time which we make by our own feelings is a very different matter from that which uncivilized man makes by the moon and stars, and which we now make by clocks and almanacks. The apparent duration of life is longer or shorter in proportion as a greater or smaller number of different states of mind follow each other in succession. To a child, whose imagination is constantly excited by new objects, and whose temper passes more easily from one passion to another, a year is a much longer time than to the grown-up man. As we advance in age, so do the years pass more rapidly. We may suppose the life of a butterfly, which exists only for a single season, to be appar- ently longer than that of the slowly-moving tortoise, whose existence is prolonged for one or two centuries ; and that there is a similar difference, though in a less degree, between the life of the enterprising man, whose progress is crowded with events, and Avith alternate hopes and fears, and that of another who, with more limited desires, keeps ‘ the even tenor of his way.’ “ During sleep ordinary impressions pass unnoticed. But impressions of a stronger kind rouse the attention, and in so doing put an end to sleep ; while those of an intermediate kind affect us in another way, by giving a peculiar character to our dreams. A remark was made in one of our former conversations, referring to acid in the stomach, and some other cases, as illustrating the subject. It occurs to me to add another example to those which have been adduced. It lately happened to myself to dream that some one had given me a shell-fish in a shell something like a muscle; that I ate it; and that, after it had been SAvallowed, I felt it to be very acid, and that it produced a pain in my throat. When I awoke, I found that I laboured under a sore throat, which must have suggested the dream. It is a curious fact that we may have a long dream in the act of awaking from our sleep. A military officer informed me that, while serving in the Peninsular war, he had frequently been roused from his sleep by the firing of a cannon near his tent; and that he had a dream, including a series of events which might be distinctly traced to the impression made on his senses by the explosion. Pacts of this kind have inclined Lord Brougham to the opinion that we never dream except while in the state of transition from being asleep to being awake. But I own that this seems to me to be a mistake. First, there is no sufficient proof of its being so; and secondly, we have a proof to the contrary in the fact that nothing is more common than for persons to moan, and even talk, in their sleep, without awaking from it. Even in the case of a dog, who is sleeping on the rug before the fire, if you watch him, you can scarcely doubt that he is sometimes dreaming, though he still remains asleep. I should be more inclined to doubt whether we ever sleep without some degree of dreaming. At any rate not to dream seems to be, not the rule, but the exception to the rule ; for it rarely hap- pens that we awake from sleep without being sensible of some time having elapsed since we fell asleep; which is in itself a proof that the mind has not been wholly unoccupied. That on such occasions we have no distinct recollection of our dreams proves nothing. Referring again to the instance of persons who talk in their sleep, we often find that they have not the smallest recollection of their having dreamed after- wards. It is only those dreams which affect us very strongly, and which occur immediately before wTe awake from sleep, that we really remember ; and even of these the impression is not in general sufficient for us to retain it for more than a very few minutes. If a dream be remembered longer, it is only because we have thought of it after it occurred, and have thus given it a place in our memory which it could not have obtained otherwise. And this leads me to observe that, although memory does so little as to dreams, dreams throw some light on this wondrous faculty. I know not, indeed, what has happened to others, but it certainly has happened to myself to dream of something that had occurred in my boy- ish days, and of which, as it had not been present to my thoughts for many years, it might well be supposed that it was wholly forgotten. On one occasion I imagined that I was a boy again, and that I was repeating to another boy a tale with which I had been familiar at that period of my life, though I had never read it nor thought of it since. I awoke, and repeated it to myself at the time, as I believe, accurately enough, but on the following day I had forgotten it again. We may conclude from this, and from other analogous facts, that many things which seem to be erased from our memory are not erased from it in reality; that the impression remains, and that, if we are not conscious of it, it is merely because the secret spring has not been touched which could bring it again under our observation.”—Psychological Inquiries; being a series of Essays intended to illustrate the mutual Relations of the Physical Organization and the Mental Faculties. DREAMS OF ANIMALS. VIVIPAROUS AND OVIPAROUS ANIMALS. AKISTOTLE. “ Concerning the sleep and watchfulness of animals :—It is quite manifest that all viviparous animals with feet both sleep and are awake; for all that have eyelids sleep with the eyes closed ; and not only men appear to dream, but horses, oxen, sheep, goats, dogs, and all viviparous quadrupeds. Dogs show this by barking in their sleep. It is not quite clear whether oviparous animals dream, but it is quite plain that they sleep. ***** “ Man sleeps the most of all animals. Infants and young children do not dream at all, but dreaming begins in most at about four or five years old. There have been men and women who have never dreamt at all; sometimes such persons, when they have advanced in age, begin to dream; this has preceded a change in their body, either for death or infirmity.” —History of Animals. UNDECIDED QUESTIONS. PLINY. “ Man, just after his birth, is hardly pressed by sleep for several months, after which he becomes more and more wakeful, day by day. Tlie infant dreams from the very first, for it will suddenly awake with every symptom of alarm, and while asleep will imitate the action of sucking. There are some persons, however, who never dream ; indeed, we find instances stated, where it has been a fatal sign for a person to dream who has never done so before. Here we find ourselves invited by a grand field of investigation, and one that is full of alleged proofs on both sides of the question, whether, when the mind is at rest in sleep, it has any foreknowledge of the future, or whether this is not altogether fortuitous, as most other things are ? If we were to attempt to decide the question by instances quoted, w~e should find as many on the one side as the other. “ It is pretty generally agreed that dreams, immediately after we have taken wine and food, and when we have just fallen asleep again after waking, have no signification whatever. Indeed, sleep is nothing else than the retiring of the mind into itself. It is quite evident that besides man, horses, dogs, oxen, sheep, and goats have dreams ; consequently the same is supposed to be the case with all animals that are viviparous. As to those which are oviparous, it is a matter of uncertainty, though it is equally certain that they do sleep.”— Natural History. DREAMS OF MEN AND OF ANIMALS. COUNT DE BUTTON. “ In dreams, one sees perfectly, hears rarely, reasons not at all, feels acutely ; images and sensations succeed each other without any comparison or hinging together on the part of the soul. Sensations are experienced, but not ideas, inasmuch as ideas are but the comparison of sensation ; dreams, there- fore, reside only in the interior material sense, and the soul has nothing to do with them. They partake only of the animal memory—of the material reminiscence. Memory, on the other hand, cannot exist without the idea of time—without the comparison of antecedent with present ideas; and seeing that these ideas do not enter into dreams, it appears to be demonstrated that they cannot be either a consequence, or an effect, or a proof of memory We remember our dreams for the same reason that we remember the sensations we have only just experienced; and the only difference there is between the animals and ourselves, is, that we perfectly distinguish what belongs to our dreams from what appertains to our ideas, or our real sensations—and this is a comparison, an operation of the memory, into which the idea of time enters. Animals, on the contrary, who are deprived of memory and of this power of comparing spaces of time, are unable to distinguish their dreams from their real sensa- tions, and they believe that what they have dreamed has really happened. “ I believe I have already proved, in what I have written upon the Nature of Man, that animals have not the power to reflect. Now the understanding is not only a faculty of this power of reflection, but is itself the exercise of this power—it is its result, and the means by which it is manifested ; only we ought to distinguish in the understanding two different operations, of which the first serves as a foundation for the second, and of necessity precedes it. This first action of the power of reflection is to compare sensations, and out of them to combine ideas; and the second is to compare the ideas themselves, and upon them to found arguments. By the first of these operations we acquire particular ideas, and such as suffice for our knowledge of all sensible objects; by the second, we raise ourselves to general ideas, which are necessary to enable us to arrive at the knowledge of abstractions. Animals have neither the one nor the other of these faculties, because they have not understanding ; and the understanding of most men appears to have been arrested at the first of these operations.”—Natural History. Treatise upon Animals. DREAMING A UNIVERSAL LAW. ROBERT MACNISH, M.D. “ Man is not the only animal subject to dreaming. We have every reason to believe that many of the lower animals do the same. Horses neigh and rear in their sleep ; and dogs bark and growl, and exhibit all their characteristic passions. Probably at such times the remembrance of the chase or the combat was passing through the minds of these creatures ; and they often manifest signs of kindness or playfulness, and of almost every other passion :— The stag-hounds, weary with the chase, Lay stretched upon the rushy floor. And urged in dreams the forest race From Teviot-stone to Eskdale Moor. Lay of the Last Minstrel. “ Ruminant animals, such as the sheep and cow, dream less ; but even they are sometimes so affected, especially at the period of rearing their young. If we descend still lower in the scale of life, we shall probably find the same phenomena to prevail; and judging from analogy, we should suppose dreaming to be almost a universal law, nearly as universal as sleep itself.”—Philosophy of Sleep. MEMORY THE TEST. WALTER C. DENDY, M.R.C.S. “ Creatures to whom the gift of intellect is not granted, in which innate ideas cannot arise, still evince the faculty of memory. It is, therefore, possible that fish and insects, posses- sing memory, dream. Of course, the doctrines of Pythagoras and Simonides, and the story of the interpretation of the lan- guage of birds by the Vizier of Sultan Mahmoud, are mere fables, and the cackling of the Roman geese was accidental; yet the bird does possess the memory of language and the faculty. “ Nightingales’ notes (as Bechstein has beautifully recorded them) seem to me like the Mexican language, and to express variety of sentiments of adoration and love. The parrot, magpie, jackdaw, jay, starling, and bulfinch are prattlers ; and the exquisite little canary, the pupil of my friend Mrs. H , the pet, indeed, not only of its mistress, but of statesmen and learned physiologists, warbled its words in purest melody. From Sir William Temple we learn the faculty of the won- derful parrot of Prince Maurice of Nassau, at the Hague, that responded almost rationally to promiscuous questions. Grant- ing, then, this faculty of memory, it is clear that the bird may dream; and I may add a quotation from the ‘ Domestic Habits of Birds,’ in proof of this. “‘We have, however, heard some of these night-songs which were manifestly uttered while the bird was asleep, in the same way as we sometimes talk in our sleep, a circumstance remarked by Dryden, who says— The little birds in dreams their songs repeat. We have often observed this in a wild bird. On the night of the 6th April, 1811, about ten o’clock, a dunnock (Accentor modularis) was heard in the garden to go through its usual song more than a dozen times very faintly, but distinctly enough for the species to be recognized.’ The night was cold and frosty, but might it not be that the little musician was dreaming of summer and sunshine ? Aristotle, indeed, pro- poses the question—whether animals hatched from eggs ever dream ? Macgrave, in reply, expressly says that his ‘ parrot, Laura, often rose in the night, and prattled while half asleep.’ ” —Philosophy of Mystery. lari III. ♦ DREAMS, ANCIENT AND MODERN. MODERN. ♦ DREAM OF ACHILLES. HOMER. He spoke; they hear him and the word obey» The rage of hunger and of thirst allay, Then ease in sleep the labours of the day. But great Pelides, stretched along the shore, Where, dashed on rocks, the broken billows roar. Lies inly groaning; while on either hand The martial myrmidons confusedly stand : Along the grass his languid members fall, Tired with his chase around the Trojan wall: Hushed by the murmurs of the rolling deep, At length he sinks in the soft arms of sleep. When lo! the shade before his closing eyes Of sad Patroclus rose, or seemed to rise ; In the same robe he living wore he came, In stature, voice, and pleasing look the same. The form familiar hovered o’er his head, “And sleeps Achilles!”—thus the phantom said— “ Sleeps my Achilles, his Patcrolus dead ? Living I seemed his dearest, tenderest care, But now, forgot, I wander in the air : Let my pale corse the rights of burial know, And give me entrance in the realms below; Till then the spirit finds no resting place, But here and there the unbodied spectres chase The vagrant dead around the dark abode, Forbid to cross th’ irremeable flood. Now give thy hand, for to the farther shore, When once we pass, the soul returns no more. When once the last funereal flames ascend No more shall meet Achilles and his friend; No more our thoughts to those we loved make known, Or quit the dearest to converse alone. Me fate has severed from the sons of earth, The fate fore-doomed that waited from my birth. Thee, too, it waits; before the Trojan wall Even great and godlike thou art doomed to fall. Hear, then, and as in fate and love we join, Ah, suffer that my bones may rest with thine ! Together have we lived, together bred, One house received us, and one table fed; That golden urn thy goddess mother gave May mix our ashes in one common grave.” “ And is it thou P” he answers, “ to my sight Once more return’st thou from the realms of night P Oh, more than brother! think each offer paid, Whate’er can rest a discontented shade ; But grant one last embrace, unhappy boy ! Afford at least that melancholy joy.” He said, and with his longing arms essayed In vain to grasp the visionary shade ; Like a thin smoke he sees the spirit fly, And hears a feeble lamentable cry. Confused he wakes ; amazement breaks the bands Of golden sleep, and starting from the sands, Pensive he muses with uplifted hands. “ ’Tis true, tis certain ; man, though dead, retains Part of himself; the immortal mind remains : The form subsists without the body’s aid, Aerial semblance and an empty shade! This night my friend, so late in battle lost, Stood at my side, a pensive plaintive ghost; Even now, familiar as in life he came; Alas, how different! yet how like the same !” Thus, while he spake, each eye grew big with tears.—Iliad. DREAM OF THE MOTHER OF ZARTUSHT. ZARTUSHT-BEHRAM. The following is the dream that heralded the birth of Zartusht, or Zoroaster, the great prophet and teacher of the Persians:— She dreamed she wondering marked in heaven’s clear skies A cloud like to an eagle’s pinion rise. So thick a gloom its gathering shadow spread, The sun is veiled, the day grows dark and dread ; And from that cloud no rain, but, strange to tell, Lions and tigers, wolves and dragons fell: The crocodile and panther of the waste, All that is horrible, misshapen, vast: The writhing serpent, and the bird obscene, All things detested that the eye has seen. Or fancy feigned, and still with gathering storm Fast falls each savage shape and grisly form. Sudden from forth that phantom train appears One who than all a ghastlier semblance wears. On Daghdu rushing, in her tender side, The direful monster tore an opening wide, And thence the infant Zartusht in his grasp Dragged forth to light—death seemed in every gasp. But on their prey, ere yet those jaws could close. Loud threatening shouts as those of men arose, And in that hour of seeming misery, While hapless Daghdu strove for aid to cry— “ Wail not,” her infant said, “ for not from these Shall harm approach me or destruction seize. God is my guardian and protection. He From every evil thing shall keep me free ; Then dread not, though you view assembled here These monsters grim, and loathsome forms of fear.” Cheered with these words the mother calms her care, When, lo ! a hill descends from upper air, And from its side beams forth refulgent light, Dispels the clouds and breaks the gloom of night. 19 Then comes a hurrying blast, before whose breath Fast fly those grim aspects and shapes of death. When nearer came that holy light, was seen An angel form—a youth of heavenly mien. Fair as the morn, a shepherd youth he seems. And Jamshid’s lustrous glory round him beams. In his right hand he holds a dazzling wand; Hell shinks aghast before his vengeful brand— His left supports the oracles of heaven— The written word for man’s instruction given. These when they see, back quail the demon crew. And, hid in air, are lost to human view, Three shapes alone of all the monster train— A wolf, a lion, and a pard, remain. The youth, advancing, in their savage gaze Bears his bright wand, and darts its dazzling blaze ; Vainly before his steps the fiends retire. And wrapt in fierce consuming flames expire. The infant Zartusht, rescued from the tomb, Again is sheltered in his mother’s womb. Her wound is healed by mercy from above, And hell’s fierce rage is foiled by heavenly love. To Daghdu then the heavenly stripling said— “ Arise, nor let thy heart grow faint with dread ; Comfort thee, for from thee a child shall spring On whom shall rest the favour of heaven’s King j The world beholds the glad event with joy And future ages hail the promised boy. A prophet of the truth, his pen shall trace To a lost world the mysteries of grace. Glad earth rejoices at his coming feet, The wolf and lamb in peace and union meet; Then let no anxious care thy breast alarm, Whom God protects is safe from every harm.” Thus spake the youth, and vanished from her sight, And with him fled the vision of the night. Daghdu is left alone, and busy thought Befalls the dream with strange forebodings fraught. A neighbouring sage there was, well skilled to read The circling stars, and tell the fates decreed. Nor of less worth, to him fair Daghdu speaks Her fears, and pity and instruction seeks. And asks what destiny prepares ? and how The sure event of future years to know ? Said then the man of age—“ But few, I ween, Such dream, such marvels of the night have seen. First be thy infant born, ere I relate To thy glad ear the oracles of fate. All that thy heart desires thy child shall give ; Through him to distant lands thy name shall live; His glory shall o’ershadow earth; his foes Shall quail before him, and in vain oppose. Go then, and when three days are past, return And the bright tidings of the future learn.” He said, and Daghdu seeks her home. Her breast Is filled with care ; nor food nor needful rest She takes till fail three suns, and the fourth day Casts o’er the earth its joy-inspiring ray. Again the seer she seeks; glad smiled the sage, And rising thoughts his labouring mind engage. With quadrant viewing then, he marks with care What signs and changes in the sun appear. And next the stars observing, he discerns The horoscope, and slow surveys by turns Bahram and Nahid, Tir and Kaiwan old, Each planet circling in its path of gold. He sees the moment of conjunction bright With fortunes fair and joy’s unfading light, And thus he speaks—“ I view a destiny Of hope sublime, and wondrous augury; Know that thy son, great, virtuous, and wise, High o’er his sires in glory’s path shall rise.” INTERPRETATION OF THE DREAM. The translator, completing his work in prose, thus pro- ceeds :— “ ‘ This night that thou hast seen'this dream, and beheld this suffering and woe, thou wert five months gone with child and twenty days and three. When thou art delivered of that holy thing, he shall grow up in righteousness and mercy : his name shall be the glorious Zartusht; all his actions shall be fulfilled in goodness. Every faith and sect opposed to him shall be brought low, through the excellence of his fortunes. At the first they shall struggle with him for the mastery, and shall endeavour much against him. Thou shalt experience much evil from the tyranny of the wicked, as thou didst dream of sustaining from the wild beasts. At the end thou shalt be prosperous and happy, and shalt rejoice in this child which is yet unborn. And what thou sawest in the latter part of thy dream, for that let thy spirit be raised above the sixth heaven. The bright branch thou sawest which brought the gladness is the glory of God manifested against the oppressors, which shall keep back from thy child every evil thing. And the writing which the youth held in his hand, with that he shall sow the seed of righteousness. That is the token of the pro- phethood, with which the wicked and the fiend shall be blinded. His name shall be perpetual in the world, and all his desire shall be accomplished. The three beasts which remained and were destroyed by that flaming brand, are three foes, the deadliest and worst. They shall endeavour, but shall not succeed; and at the last they shall be overthrown. He shall separate the truth and the right way from vanity. The bright sun is not hid by particles of dust, and those only shall doubt of thy son who are void of faith and understanding. In those days there shall arise a king who shall make known the true faith; he shall aid in celebrating the faith of Zartusht, and shall establish it in the sight of all. Blessed is the tree that God shall cause to bear such fruit; you shall be blest in this unblemished pearl, and by the holy child shall rise above the stars. Paradise shall reward those who obey him; the souls of his enemies shall descend to hell. Would that I might live to behold his day—my life and all I possess should be his sacrifice.’ When Daghdu heard these precious words she said, * O prophet of wisdom ! how knowest thou that this was my fifth month ?’ The seer replied, ‘ Let the days be reckoned, thou shalt know that I have spoken right; thy computation DREAM OP CRCESUS. is by the stars’ ordination, and tints it is written with dates of the past. Behold what God will bring to thee by thy son; the world shall be filled with his praise, and the righteous shall rejoice in him.’ When Daglidu heard the interpretation of her dream, she prepared to return to her home. She told the prediction to Purshasp, the son of Petarasp. When the ninth month arrived the chaste matron prepared all things for the event.”—Zartuslit-Nemail, or Life of Zoroaster. Trans- lated by E. B. Eastwiclc. A BUNDLE OF ANCIENT DREAMS. HERODOTUS. “ After the departure of Solon, the indignation of the gods fell heavy upon Crcesus (King of Lydia), probably because he thought himself the most happy of all men. A dream soon after visited him while sleeping, which pointed out to him the truth of the misfortunes that were to befall him in the person of one of his sons. For Crcesus had two sons, of whom one was grievously afflicted, for he was dumb; but the other, whose name was Atys, far surpassed all the young men of his age. Now, the dream intimated to Crcesus that he would lose this Atys by the point of an iron weapon. He, when he awoke, and had considered the matter with himself, dreading the dream, provided a wife for his son; and though he was accustomed to command the Lydian troops, he did not ever after send him out on that business; and causing all spears, lances, and such other weapons as men use in war, to be removed from the men’s apartments, he had them laid up in private chambers, that none of them, being suspended, might fall upon his son. About this time a Phrygian, named Adrastus, who had unwittingly slain his brother, repaired to the court of Sardis for purification, which Crcesus adminis- tered. At the same time a boar of enormous size appeared in Mysian Olympus, and rushing down from that mountain, ravaged the fields of tlie Mysians. Atys, impatient of the constrained effeminacy of his life, prevailed on his father, after long entreaty, to he permitted to join a hunting party in quest of the hoar. Croesus placed his son under the strict guardianship of Adrastus. When the party had come upon the wild beast and encircled him round, they hurled their javelins at him. Among the rest, Adrastus, throwing his javelin at the hoar, missed him, and struck the son of Croesus. Being thus mortally wounded by the point of the lance, Atys fulfilled the warning of his father’s dream.” “ The final departure of the Ethiopian Sabacon from Egypt is related to have occurred in the following manner:— That he, having seen a vision of the following kind in his sleep, fled away. It appeared to him that a man, standing by him, advised him to assemble all the priests in Egypt, and to cut them in two down the middle. But he, having seen this vision, said that he thought that the gods held this out as a pretext to him, in order that he, having been guilty of impiety in reference to sacred things, might draw down some evil on himself from gods or from men. He would not therefore do so; but as the time was expired during which it was foretold that he should reign over Egypt, he would depart from the country; for while he was yet in Ethiopia, the oracles which the Ethiopians have recourse to, answered that he was fated to reign over Egypt fifty years. Since, then, this period had elapsed, and the vision of the dream troubled him, Sabacon of his own accord withdrew from Egypt, and was succeeded by a blind king named Anysis, whom he had formerly dispossessed. “After him reigned the priest of Vulcan, whose name was Sethon. This man held in no account and despised the military caste of the Egyptians, as not having need of their services; and, accordingly, among other indignities, he took away their lands, to each of whom, under former kings, twelve chosen acres had been assigned. After this, Sennacherib, King DREAMS OP OTANES AND HIPPARCHUS. of the Arabians and Assyrians, marched a large army against Egypt, -whereupon the Egyptian warriors refused to assist him; and the priest, being reduced to a strait, entered the temple, and bewailed before the image the calamities he was in danger of suffering. While he was lamenting, sleep fell upon him, and it appeared to him in a vision that the god stood by and encouraged him, assuring him that he should suffer nothing disagreeable in meeting the Arabian army, for he would himself send assistants to him. Confiding in this vision, he took with him such of the Egyptians as were willing to follow him, and encamped in Pelusium, for here the entrance into Egypt was; but none of the military caste followed him, but tradesmen, mechanics, and sutlers. When they arrived there, a number of field mice, pouring in upon their enemies, devoured their quivers and their bows, and, moreover, the handles of their shields; so that on the next day, when they fled bereft of their arms, many of them fell. And to this day, in the temple of Vulcan, stands a stone statue of this king, with a mouse in his hand, and an inscrip- tion to the following effect:—‘ Whoever looks on me, let him revere the gods.’” “ Otanes, the Persian general, in consequence of a vision in a dream, repeopled Samos, which, contrary to the orders of Darius, his master, he had laid waste and left without inhabitants.” “ Hipparchus, one of the sons of Pisistratus, saw a vision in a dream, which manifestly showed him his own fate. On the night preceding the Panathenaic festival, Hipparchus dreamed that a tall and handsome man stood by him, and uttered these enigmatical words:—‘ Lion, endure with en- during mind to bear unendurable ills; no one among unjust men shall escape retribution.’ As soon as it was day, he laid these things before the interpreters of dreams; and after- wards, having attempted to avert the vision, he conducted the procession in which he perished at the hands of Harmodius and Aristogeiton, afterwards held in honour as the deliverers of Athens.” “ Artabanus, the uncle of Xerxes, was the only counselloi of that infatuated monarch, who had at once the wisdom and the faithfulness to dissuade him from that expedition into Greece which afterwards terminated so fatally to the Persian rule. The adverse opinion of Artabanus occasioned Xerxes considerable uneasiness; and deliberating with himself during the night, the latter came to the conclusion that it would not be to his interest to make war on Greece. Having thus changed his resolution, he fell asleep; and some time in the night, as is related by tlie Persians, he saw the following vision. Xerxes imagined that a tall and handsome man stood by him and said, ‘ Do you then change your mind, 0 Persian! and resolve not to lead an army against Greece, after having ordered the Persians to assemble their forces ? You do not well to change your resolution, nor is there any man who will agree with you. Therefore pursue that course which you resolved upon in the day.’ Xerxes thought that the man, having pronounced these words, flew away. “ When day dawned, he paid no attention to this dream, but having assembled those Persians whom he had before convened, he addressed them as follows: ‘ Pardon me, O Persians! that I suddenly change my plans; for I have not yet attained to the highest perfection of judgment, and they who persuade me to this enterprise are never absent from me. When, therefore, I heard the opinion of Artabanus, my youth immediately boiled with rage against him, so that I threw out words more unbecoming than I ought to a person of his years. But now, conscious of my error, I will follow his advice Since, therefore, I have changed my resolution, and deter mined not to make war against Greece, do you remain quiet.' The Persians, when they heard this, being transported with joy, did him homage. When night came, the same dream again standing by Xerxes as he slept, said: ‘ Son of Darius, you have then openly renounced, in the presence of the Persians, the intended expedition, and make no account of my words, as if you had not heard them from any one. Be well assured, however, of this, that unless you immediately under- take this expedition, this will be the consequence to you: as you have become great and powerful in a short time, so you shall become low again in an equally short space.’ Xerxes, being alarmed by this vision, rushed from his bed, and sent a messenger to call Artabanus; and when he came, Xerxes spoke to him as follows: ‘ Artabanus, I on the moment was not in my senses when I used hasty words to you in return for your good advice; however, after no long time I repented, and acknowledged that those measures which you suggested ought to be adopted by me. I am not, however, able to perform them, though desirous of doing so; for after I had altered my resolution, and acknowledged my error, a dream frequently presents itself to me by no means approving of my so doing, and it has just now vanished, after threatening me. If, then, it is a deity who sends this dream, and it is his pleasure that an expedition against Greece should at all events take place, this same dream will also flit before you, and give the same injunction as to me. This I think will happen, if you should take all my apparel, and having put it on, should afterwards sit on my throne, and then go to sleep in my bed.’ Xerxes thus addressed him; but Artabanus not obeying the first order, as he did not think himself worthy to sit on the royal throne, when he was at last compelled did as he was desired, after he had spoken as follows: * I deem it an equal merit, O king! to form good plans and to be willing to yield to one who gives good advice; and though both of these qualities attach to you, the converse of wicked men leads you astray, just as blasts of wind falling on the sea, which of all things is the most useful to mankind, do not suffer it to fulfil its proper nature. As for me, grief did not so much vex me at hearing your reproaches as that, when two opinions were proposed by the Persians, one tending to increase their arrogance, the other to check it, and to show how hurtful it is to teach the mind to be constantly seeking for more than we already possess—that when these two opinions were proposed, you should choose that which is more dangerous both to yourself and the Persians. Now, however, after you have changed to the better resolution, you say that since you have given up the expedition against the Greeks, a dream has come to you, sent by some god, which forbids you to abandon the enterprise. But these things, my son, are not divine, for dreams, which wander among men, are such as I will explain to you, being many years older than you are. Those visions of dreams most commonly hover around men respecting things which one has thought of during the day; and we, during the preceding days, have been very much busied about this expedition. If, therefore, this is not such as i I judge, but has something divine in it, you have correctly I summed up the whole in few words; then let it appear and I give to me the same injunction as to you. And it ought not i to appear to me any the more for my having your apparel than my own, nor the more because I go to sleep on your bed than on my own; if, indeed, it will appear at all. For that which has appeared to you in your sleep, whatever it be, can I never arrive to such a degree of simplicity as to suppose that I when it sees me, it is you, conjecturing from your apparel. 1 But if it shall hold me in contempt, and not deign to appear to me, whether I be clothed in your robes or in my own; and if it shall visit you again, this indeed would deserve consider- I ation; for if it should repeatedly visit you, I should myself I confess it to be divine. If, however, you have resolved that I so it should be, and it is not possible to avert this, but I must needs sleep in your bed, well, when this has been done, let it appear also to me; but, till that time, I shall persist in my present opinion.’ “ Artabanus having spoken thus, and hoping to show that Xerxes had said nothing of any moment, did what was a ordered; and having put on the apparel of Xerxes, and sat in the royal throne, when he afterwards went to bed, the same dream which had appeared to Xerxes came to him when lie was asleep, and standing over Artabanus, spoke as follows: —‘Art thou, then, the man who dissuadeth Xerxes from invading Greece, as if thou wert very anxious for him ? But neither hereafter nor at present shalt thou escape unpunished for endeavouring to avert what is fated to be. What Xerxes must suffer if he continues disobedient has been declared to him himself.’ Artabanus imagined that the dream uttered these threats, and was about to burn out his eyes with hot irons. He therefore, having uttered a loud shriek, leaped up, and seating himself by Xerxes, when he had related all the particulars of the vision in the dream, spoke to him in this manner:—*1, O king, being a man who have seen already many and great powers overthrown by inferior ones, would not suffer you to yield entirely to youth, knowing how mis- chievous it is to desire much, calling to mind the expedition of Cyrus against the Massagetoe, how it fared; and calling to mind also that of Cambyses against the Ethiopians; and having accompanied Darius in his invasion of Scythia— knowing all these things, I was of opinion, that if you remained quiet, you must be pronounced happy by all men. But since some divine impulse has sprung up, and, as it seems, some heaven-sent destruction impends over the Greeks, I myself am converted, and change my opinion. Do you then make known to the Persians the intimations sent by the deity, and command them to follow the orders first given by you for the preparations, and act so that, since the deity permits, nothing on your part may be wanting.’ When he had thus spoken, both being carried away by the vision, as soon as it was day, Xerxes acquainted the Persians with what had happened; and Artabanus, who before was the only man who greatly opposed the expedition, now as openly promoted it.” It need hardly be said that here the dream intimations were cruelly unreliable. DREAMS OF PHERECYDES AND SOCRATES. DIOGENES LAEETIUS. “ Pherecydes is said to have told the Lacedaemonians to honour neither gold nor silver, as Theopompus says in his ‘Marvels;’ and it is reported that Hercules laid this injunction on him in a dream, and that the same night he appeared also to the kings of Sparta, and enjoined them to be guided by Pherecydes. But some attribute these stories to Pythagoras.” —Life of Pherecydes. “ It is said that Socrates in a dream saw a cygnet on his knees, who immediately put forth feathers and flew up on high, uttering a sweet note; and that the next day Plato came to him, and that he pronounced him the bird which he had seen.”—Life of Plato. PRESAGES OF SUCCESS. XENOPHON. After the battle of Cunaxa, the death of Cyrus, and the treacherous murder or detention of the Grecian generals by the Persians, the “ten thousand” were in great perplexity and distress, at an immense distance from home or kindred, and pressed and environed by foes. On the night of the day when their trusted leaders were apprehended, the Greeks were plunged in affliction and surrounded with difficulties. Xenophon, who had not yet been called upon to assume responsibility and prominence, “ participated in the general grief; and though he retired to rest, yet was he unable to sleep. At last, fatigue overcoming anxiety, he forgot himself, and dreamed that he heard thunder accompanied with light- ning, which appeared to fall on his father’s house and destroy it. Starting up with fright, he began to regard his dream as happy, because, though surrounded with difficulties, yet did the immortal Jupiter visit him with a light from heaven. Looking at his dream, however, on the other side, he was filled with terror, from an apprehension that the fire, by blazing all around him, might portend that it would be im- possible for him to emerge from his difficulties. Subsequent events, however, solved the vision favourably.” Further on in the retreat the Greeks had, with much harass and considerable loss, fought their way through the country of the warlike mountaineers, the Carduchians, and were resting before attempting to cross the river Centrites, which formed the boundary of Carduchia and Armenia. Here they were suddenly dismayed by discovering a body of troops prepared to resist their passage across the Centrites: whilst in the rear, and occupying the site of their last encampment, a large body of Carduchians were threateningly collected. “ On observing this the army became much dejected; for in front of them was a river scarcely fordable, whose margin was lined with armed men, ready to attack them if they attempted to cross; whilst another army was waiting an opportunity to fall on their rear at the same moment. The Greeks were obliged, therefore, to remain encamped where they were the whole of that day and the following night, not knowing what to attempt. On this night Xenophon had the following dream:—It seemed to him that he was bound in chains, that they spontaneously burst asun- der and fell from him, on which he found himself at liberty to go where he pleased. Immediately, therefore, at daybreak he dressed himself and visited Cheirisophus, and related to him his dream, adding that he had great hopes therefrom that all would turn out well. Cheirisophus was also cheered on his relating it, and during the approach of morn all the generals offered sacrifice. The first victims were propitious. The oblation being ended, the generals and captains departed, and ordered the soldiers to take breakfast. While Xenophon was taking his, two young soldiers came to him—for he was always accessible, whether eating or sleeping, to those who hacl anything to communicate relative to the weal of the army or the operations of the war—who told him, ‘ that while they were collecting brushwood for fire they observed on the other side of the river, among the rocks that reached quite down to the margin, an old man and woman, with some female ser- vants, hiding something that had the appearance of bags filled with wearing apparel. On seeing which they thought of crossing the river, judging that by reason of this rock they would be secure from the enemy’s cavalry. They accordingly undressed themselves for that purpose, and taking their naked swords in their hands, plunged into the river, thinking to swim over, when they were astonished on finding themselves on the other side before the water had even reached their middles; they, therefore, had secured the clothes, and had repassed.’ “ On hearing this Xenophon made a libation himself, and commanded wine to be given to these young soldiers to do likewise, desiring them to offer their prayers to the gods who had sent him the vision, and had caused them to discover the fords to complete the happiness of the army. The libation being made, Xenophon immediately took the two young men to Cheirisophus, to whom they again related the circumstance, who also poured out libations to the gods for their goodness. He then commanded the army to get the baggage ready. A consultation of the generals followed, in order to devise the best plan of attacking their opposers in front and rear, and of crossing the river most securely.”—Anabasis. The passage of the Centrites was effected with great skill, dash, and gallantry. ALEXANDER AND THE HIGH PRIEST. JOSEPHUS. “ After Alexander (the Great) had taken Gaza, he made haste to go up to Jerusalem; and Jaddua, the high priest. tvlien lie heard this, was in an agony, and under terror, as not knowing how he should meet the Macedonians, since the king was displeased at his foregoing disobedience. He therefore ordained that the people should make supplications, and join with him in offering sacrifice to God, whom he besought to protect that nation, and to deliver them from the perils that were coming upon them; whereupon God warned him in a dream, which came upon him after he had offered sacrifice, that he should take courage, and adorn the city, and open the gates ; that the rest should appear in white garments, but that he and the priests should meet the king in the habits proper to their order, without the dread of any ill consequences, which the providence of God would prevent. Upon which, when he rose from his sleep, he greatly rejoiced, and declared to all the warning he had received from God. According to which dream he acted entirely, and so waited for the coming of the king. “ And when he understood that he was not far from the city, he went out in procession, with the priests and the multitude of the citizens. The procession was venerable, and the manner of it different from that of other nations. It reached to a place called Sapha; which name, translated into Greek, signifies a prospect, for you have thence a prospect both of Jerusalem and of the temple ; and when the Phoeni- cians and the Chaldeans that followed him thought they should have liberty to plunder the city, and torment the high priest to death, which the king’s displeasure fairly promised them, the very reverse of it happened ; for Alexander, when he saw the multitude at a distance, in white garments, while the priests stood clothed in fine linen, and the high priest in purple and scarlet clothing, with his mitre on his head, having the golden plate whereon the name of God was engraved, he approached by himself, and adored that name, and first saluted the high priest. The Jews, also, did altogether with one voice salute Alexander, and encompass him about; where- upon the kings of Syria and the rest were surprised at what Alexander had done, and supposed him disordered in his mind. However, Parmenio alone went up to him, and asked him, how it came to pass that, when all others adored him, he should adore the high priest of the Jews ? To whom he replied, ‘ I did not adore him, but that God who hath hon- oured him with this high priesthood; for I saw this very person in a dream, in this very habit, when I was at Dios, in Macedonia, who, when I was considering with myself how I might obtain the dominion of Asia, exhorted me to make no delay, but boldly to pass over the sea thither, for that he would conduct my army and give me the dominion over the Persians; whence it is, that having seen no other in that habit, and now seeing this person in it, and remembering that vision, and the exhortation which I had in my dream, I believe that I bring this army under the divine conduct, and shall therewith conquer Darius, and destroy the power of the Persians, and that all things will succeed according to what is in my own mind.’ And when he had said this to Parmenio, and had given the high priest his right hand, the priests ran along by him, and he came into the city ; and when he went up into the temple, he offered sacrifice to God, according to the high priest’s direction, and magnificently treated both the high priest and the priests ; and when the book of Daniel was showed him, wherein Daniel declared that one of the Greeks should destroy the empire of the Persians, he supposed that himself was the person intended; and as he was then glad, he dismissed the multitude for the present, but the next day he called them to him, and engaged himself to grant any favours that might be desired of him.” “ Alexander Janneus was hated by his father, Hyrcanus, as soon as he was born, and could never be permitted to come into his father’s sight till he died. The occasion of this hatred is thus reported : When Hyrcanus chiefly loved the two eldest of his sons, Antigonus and Aristobulus, God appeared to him in his sleep, of whom he inquired which of his sons should be TIIE IDES OF MARCH. 3 05 his successor. Upon God’s representing to him the counte- nance of Alexander, he was grieved that he was to he the heir of all his goods, and suffered him to he brought up in Galilee. However God did not deceive Hyrcanus, for, after the death of Aristohulus, he certainly took the kingdom ; and one of his brethren, who affected the kingdom, he slew; and the other, who chose to live a private and quiet life, he had in esteem.” —Ant iquities of the Jews. DREAM OF CALPURNIA. PLUTARCH. “We are told there were strong signs and presages of the death of Caesar. Many report that a certain soothsayer fore- warned him of a great danger wliich threatened him on the Ides of March; and that when the day was come, as he was going to the senate-house, he called to the soothsayer, and said, laughing, ‘ The Ides of March are come.’ To which he answered, softly, ‘ Yes ; but they are not gone.’ “ The evening before, he supped with Marcus Lepidus, and signed, according to custom, a number of letters as he sat at table. While he was so employed, there arose a question, ‘ What kind of death was the best ? ’ and Caesar, answering before them all, cried out, ‘ A sudden one.’ The same night, as he was in bed with his wife, the doors and windows of the room flew open at once. Disturbed, both with the noise and the light, he observed, by moonshine, Calpurnia in a deep sleep, uttering broken words and inarticulate groans. She dreamed that she was weeping over him, as she held him, murdered, in her arms. Be that as it may, next morning she conjured Caesar not to go out that day, if he could possibly avoid it, but to adjourn the Senate, and, if he paid no regard to her dreams, to have recourse to some other species of divination, or to sacrifice, for information as to his fate. This gave him some suspicion and alarm: for he had never known before, in 20 Calpurnia, anything of the weakness or superstition of her sex, though she was now so much affected. “ He therefore offered a number of sacrifices ; and as the diviners found no auspicious tokens in any of them, he sent Antony to dismiss the Senate. In the mean time Decius Brutus, surnamed Albums, came in. He was a person in whom Caesar placed such confidence that he had appointed him his second heir; yet he was engaged in the conspiracy with the other Brutus and Cassius. This man, fearing that if Caesar adjourned the Senate to another day, the affair might be discovered, laughed at the diviners, and told Caesar he would be highly to blame if, by such a slight, he gave the Senate an occasion of complaint against him. ‘ For they were met,’ he said, ‘ at his summons, and came prepared with one voice to honour him with the title of king in the pro- vinces, and to grant that he should wear the diadem, both by land and sea, everywhere out of Italy. But if any one go and tell them, now that they have taken their places, they must go home again, and return when Calpurnia happens to have better dreams, what room will your enemies have to launch out against you ! Or, who will hear your friends when they attempt to show that this is not an open servitude on the one hand, and tyranny on the other ? If you are absolutely persuaded that this is an unlucky day, it is certainly better to go yourself, and tell them you have strong reasons for putting off business till another time.’ So saying, he took Caesar by the hand, and led him out.”—Life of Julius Caesar. So far Plutarch. The issue of that meeting of the Senate every one can supply. ANOTHER BUNDLE OF ANCIENT DREAMS. CICERO. The following is the dream of Hecuba in reference to her son Paris, who caused the destruction of his native city:— Queen Hecuba dreamed—an ominous dream of fate— That she did bear no human child of flesh, But a fierce blazing torch. Priam, alarmed, Pondered with anxious fear the fatal dream j And sought the gods with smoking sacrifice. Then the diviner’s aid he did entreat, With many a prayer to the prophetic god, If haply he might learn the dream’s intent. Thus spake Apollo with all knowing mind :— “ The Queen shall have a son, who if he grow To man’s estate shall set all Troy in flames— The ruin of his city and his land.” “ What kind of dream,” asks Cicero (from whose work on “ Divination ” the present series is quoted), “ was that of Tarquin the Proud, which the poet Accius, in his tragedy of ‘ Brutus,’ puts in the mouth of Tarquin himself? ” Sleep closed my weary eyelids, when a shepherd Brought me two rams. The one I sacrificed; The other rushing at me with wild force Hurled me upon the ground. Prostrate, I gazed Upon the heavens, when a new prodigy Dazzled my eyes. The flashing orb of day Took a new course, diverging to the right, With all his kindling beams strangely transversed. “ Of this dream the diviners give the following interpreta- tion :— Dreams are in general reflex images Of things that men in waking hours have known ; But sometimes dreams of holier character Bise in the tranced soul inspired by Jove, Prophetic of the future. Then beware Of him who thou dost think as stupid as Tho ram thou drcamest of. For in his breast Dwelleth the manliest wisdom. He may yet expel Thee from thy kingdom. Mark the prophecy : That change in the sun’s course thou didst behold Betokened revolution in the state, And as tho sun did turn from left to right, we predict So shall that revolution meet success. “ Heraclides of Pontus, an intelligent man, who was one of Plato’s disciples and followers, writes that the mother of Phalaris fancied that she saw in a dream the statues of the gods whom Phalaris had consecrated in his house. Among them, it appeared to her that Mercury held a cup in his right hand, from which he poured blood, which, as soon as it touched the earth, gushed forth like a fresh fountain, and filled the house with streaming gore. The dream of the mother was too fatally realized by the cruelty of the son. “ Why need I relate also, out of the history of Persia, by Dinon, the interpretations which the Magi gave to the cele- brated prince, Cyrus ? For he dreamed that, beholding the sun at his feet, he thrice endeavoured to grasp it with his hands; but the sun rolled away and departed, and escaped from him. The Magi (who were accounted sages and teachers in Persia) thus interpreted the dream: saying the three attempts of Cyrus to catch the sun in his hands, signi- fied that he would reign thirty years. And what they pre- dicted really came to pass ; for he was forty years old when he began to reign, and he reached the age of seventy. “ Coelius relates that Hannibal, wishing to remove a golden column from the temple of Juno Lacinia, and not knowing whether it was gold or merely gilt, bored a hole in it; and as he had found it solid, he determined to take it away. But the following night Juno appeared to him in a dream, and warned him against doing so, and threatened him that if he did she would take care that he should lose an eye with which he could see well. He was too prudent a man to neglect this threat; and, therefore, of the gold which he had abstracted from the column in boring it, he made a little heifer, which he fixed on the capital. “And the same story is told in the Grecian history of Silenus, whom Coelius follows: and he was the author who was particularly diligent in relating the exploits of Hannibal. He says that when Hannibal had taken Saguntum, he dreamed in his sleep that he was summoned to a council of the gods; HAMILCAR AND PUBLIUS DECIUS. and that when he arrived at it Jupiter commanded him to carry the war into Italy; and one of the deities in the council was appointed to be his conductor in the enterprise. He therefore began his march under the direction of his divine protector, who enjoined him not to look behind him. Han- nibal, however, could not long keep in his obedience, but yielded to a great desire to look back, when he immediately beheld a huge and terrible monster, surrounded with serpents which, wherever it advanced, destroyed all the trees and shrubs and buildings. He then, marvelling at this, inquired of the god what this monster might mean; and the god replied it signified the desolation of Italy, and commanded him to advance without delay, and not concern himself with the evils that lay behind him and in his rear. “In the history of Agathocles, it is said that Hamilcar, the Carthaginian, when he was beseiging Syracuse, dreamed that he heard a voice announcing to him that he should sup on the succeeding day in Syracuse. When the morning dawned a great sedition arose in his camp, between the Carthaginian and Sicilian soldiers ; and when the Syracusans found this out they made a vigorous sally and attacked the camp unexpectedly, and succeeded in making Hamilcar prisoner while alive : and thus his dream was verified. All history is full of similar accounts ; and the experience of real life is equally rich in them. “ That illustrious man, Publius Decius, the first of the Decii who was a consul, being a military tribune in the con. sulship of Marcus Valerius and Aulus Cornelius, when our army was sore pressed by the Samnites, and being accustomed to expose himself to great personal danger in battle, was warned to take greater care of himself; on which he replied (as our annals report), that he had a dream, which had in- formed him that he should die with the greatest glory while engaged in the midst of the enemy. For that time he suc- ceeded in happily rescuing our army from the perils that surrounded it. But three years after, when he was consul, lie devoted liimself to death for his country, and threw him- self armed among the ranks of the Latins ; by which gallant action the Latins were defeated and destroyed. And his death was so glorious that his son desired a similar fate. “ But let us now come, if you please, to the dreams of philosophers. We read in Plato, that Socrates, when he was in the public prison at Athens, said to his friend Crito that he should die in three days, for that he had seen in a dream a woman of extreme beauty, who called him by his name, and quoted in his presence this verse of Homer :— * On tlie third day you’ll reach the fruitful Phthia.’ And it is said that it happened just as it had been foretold. “Again, what a man—and how great a man—is Xenophon, the pupil of Socrates ! He, too, in his account of that war in which he accompanied the younger Cyrus, relates the dreams which he saw, the accomplishment of which was marvellous. Shall we say, then, that Xenophon was a liar or a dotard P What shall we say, too, of Aristotle, a man of singular and almost divine genius ? Was he deceived himself, or does he wish others to be deceived, when he informs us that Eudemus of Cypras, on his way to Macedonia, came to Plierge, a cele- brated city of Thessaly, which was then under the cruel sway of the tyrant Alexander. In that town he was seized with a severe illness, so that he was given over by all the physicians, when he beheld in a dream a young man of extreme beauty, who informed him that in a short time he should recover, and also that the tyrant Alexander would die in a few days ; and that Eudemus himself would, after five years’ absence, at length return home. Aristotle relates that the two first predictions were immediately accomplished; for Eudemus quickly recovered, and the tyrant perished at the hands of his wife’s brother; and that towards the end of the fifth year, when, in consequence of that dream, there was hope that he would return into Cyprus from Sicily, they heard that he had been slain in a battle near Syracuse. From which it appears that his dream was susceptible of being interpreted as meaning, that when the soul of Eudemus quitted his body it would then appear to have signified the return home. “To the philosophers we may add the testimony of Sophocles, a most learned man, and a poet quite divine, who, when a golden goblet of great weight had been stolen from the Temple of Hercules, saw in a dream the god him- self appearing to him, and declaring who was the robber. Sophocles paid no attention to this vision, though it was repeated more than once. When it had presented itself several times, he proceeded up to the Court of Areopagus, and laid the matter before them. On this, the judges issued an order for the arrest of the offender nominated by Sophocles. On the application of the torture the criminal confessed his guilt, and restored the goblet; from which event this Temple of Hercules was afterwards called the Temple of Hercules the Indicator. “ But why do I continue to cite the Greeks ? when, some- how or other,, I feel more interest in the examples of my own countrymen ? All our historians, the Fabii, the Gellii, and, more recently, Ccelius, bear witness to similar facts. In the Latin war, when they first celebrated the votive games in honour of the gods, the city was suddenly roused to arms ; and the games being thus interrupted, it was necessary to appoint new ones. Before their commencement, however, just as the people had taken then’ places in the Circus, a slave who had been beaten with rods was led through the Circus, bearing a gibbet. After this event a certain Roman rustic had a dream, in which an apparition informed him that he had been displeased with the president of the games ; and the rustic was ordered to apprise the Senate of that fact. He, however, did not dare to do so; on which the apparition appeared a second time, and warned him not to provoke him to exert his power. Even then he could not summon courage to obey; and presently his son died. After this the same admonition was repeated in his dream for the third time. Then the peasant himself became extremely ill, and related the cause of his trouble to his friends, by whose advice he was carried on a litter to the senate-house. And as soon as he had related his dream to the Senate he recovered his health and strength, and returned home on foot perfectly cured. Thereupon, the truth of his dreams being admitted by the Senate, it is related that these games were repeated a second time. “ It is recorded in the history of the same Coelius, that Caius Gracchus informed many persons that during the time he was soliciting the quaestorship, his brother, Tiberius Grac- chus, appeared to him in a dream, and said to him that he might delay as much as he pleased, but that nevertheless he was fated to die by the same death which he himself had suffered. Coelius asserts that he heard this fact, and related it to many persons before Caius Gracchus had become tribune of the people. And what can be more certain than such a dream as this ? “ Who, again, can despise these two dreams, which are so frequently dwelt upon by the Stoics ?—one concerning Simonides, who, having found the dead body of a man who was a stranger to him, lying in the road, buried it. Having performed this office, he was about to embark in a ship, when the man whom he had buried appeared to him in a dream at night, and warned him not to undertake the voyage, for that if he did he would perish by shipwreck. Therefore he returned home again; but all the other people who sailed in that vessel were lost. “ The other dream which is a very celebrated one, is 'elated in the following manner :—Two Arcadians, who were intimate friends, were travelling together; and arriving at Megara, one of them took up his quarters at an inn, the other at a friend’s house. After supper, when they had both gone to bed, the Arcadian who was staying at his friend’s house saw an apparition of his fellow-traveller at the inn, wTho prayed him to come to his assistance immediately, as the innkeeper was going to murder him. Alarmed by this intima- tion, he started from his sleep ; but on recollection, thinking it nothing but an idle dream, he lay down again. Presently the apparition appeared to him again in his sleep, and en- treated him, though he would not come to his assistance while yet alive, at least not to leave his death unavenged. He told him further that the innkeeper had first murdered him, and then cast him into a dung-cart, where he lay covered with filth ; and begged him to go early to the gate of the town, before any cart could leave the town. Much excited by this second vison, he went early next morning to the gate of the town, and met with the driver of the cart, and asked him what he had got in it ? The driver, upon this question, ran away in a fright. The dead body was then discovered, and the innkeeper, the evidence being clear against him, was brought to punishment. “ What can be more akin to divination than such a dream as this ? “ But why do I relate any more ancient instances of similar things, when such dreams have occurred to ourselves ? For I have often told you mine, and I have as often heard you talk of yours. “ When I was proconsul in Asia, it appeared to me as I slept that I saw you riding on horseback till you reached the banks of a great river, and that you were suddenly thrown off and precipitated into the waters, and so disappeared. At this I trembled exceedingly, being overcome with fear and apprehension. But suddenly you reappeared before me with a joyful countenance, and, with the same horse, ascended the opposite bank ; and then we embraced each other. It is easy to conjecture the signification of such a dream as this ; and hence the learned interpreters of Asia predicted to me that those events would take place which afterwards did come to pass. “ I now come to your own dream, which I have solne- times heard from yourself, but more often from our friend Sallust. He used to say that in that flight and exile of yours —which was so glorious for you, so calamitous for your country—you stayed awhile in a certain villa of the territory of Atina; when, having sat up a great part of the night, you fell into a deep and heavy slumber towards the morning. And from this slumber your attendants would not awake you, as you had given 01 lers that you were not to be disturbed, although your journey was sufficiently urgent. “ When at length you awoke, about the second hour of the day, you related to Sallust the following dream:—That it had seemed to you that, as you were wandering sorrowfully through some solitary district, Caius Marius appeared to you with his fasces covered with laurel; and he asked you why you were so afflicted ? And when you informed him that you had been driven from your country by the violence of the dis- affected, he seized your right hand, and urged you to be of good cheer; and ordered the lictor nearest him to lead you to his monument, saying that there you should find security. Sallust told me that upon hearing this dream, he himself exclaimed at once that your return would be speedy and glorious; and that you also appeared delighted with your dream. A short time afterwards I was informed, as you well know, that it was in the monument of Marius that, on the instance of that excellent and famous consul Lentulus, that most honourable decree of the Senate was passed for your recall, which was applauded with shouts of incredible exulta- tion in a very full assembly ; so that, as you yourself ob- served, no dream could have a higher character of divination than this which occured to you at Atina.”—On Divination. IMPERIAL DREAMS. SUETONIUS. “ Augustus was a perfect slave to prodigies and portents. He neither slighted his own dreams nor those of other people relating to himself. At the battle of Philippi, although he had resolved not to stir out of liis tent, on account of his being indisposed, yet being warned by a dream of one of his friends, he changed his mind, and it was well he did so, for in the enemy’s attack his couch was pierced and cut to pieces on the supposition of his being in it. He had many frivolous and frightful dreams during the spring; but in the other parts of the year they were less frequent and more significa- tive. Upon his frequently visiting a temple near the Capitol, which he had dedicated to Jupiter Tonans, he dreamt that Jupiter Capitolinus complained that his worshippers were taken from him, and that to this he replied that he had only -given him the Thunderer for his porter. He, therefore, immediately suspended little bells round the summit of the temple, because such commonly hung at the gates of great houses. In consequence of a dream, too, he always, on a certain day of the year, begged alms of the people, reaching out his hand to receive the dole which they offered him.” “ Tiberius, amongst other warnings of his fate, had one by a dream. Upon his last birth-day, he had bought a full-sized statue of the Timenian Apollo from Syracuse, a work of exquisite art, intending to place it in the library of the new temple ; but he dreamt that the god appeared to him in the night, and assured him, 1 that his statue could not be erected by him.’ Nor was it.” “ Caligula, the day preceding his death, dreamt that he was standing in heaven, near the throne of Jupiter, who gave him a push with the great toe of his right foot, upon which he fell headlong upon the earth.” “ Claudius was an imbecile and a coward. No suspicion was too trifling, no person on whom it rested too contempti- ble, to throw him into a panic, and induce him to take precau- tions for his safety, and meditate revenge. A man, engaged in a litigation before his tribunal, having saluted him, drew him aside, and told him he had dreamed that lie saw him murdered; and shortly afterwards, when his adversary came to deliver his plea to the emperor, the plaintiff, pretending to have discovered the murderer, pointed to him as the man he had seen in his dream ; whereupon, as if he had been taken in the act, he was hurried away to execution. We are informed that Appius Silanus was got rid of in the same manner, by a contrivance betwixt Messalina and Narcissus, in which they had their several parts assigned them. Narcissus, therefore, burst into his lord’s room, and told him he had dreamt that Appius Silanus had murdered him. The empress, upon this, affected great surprise, and declared she had the like dream for several nights successively. Presently afterwards, word was brought, as had been agreed on, that Appius was come, he having, indeed, received orders the preceding day to be there at that time; and, as if the truth of the dream was sufficiently comfirmed by his appearance at that juncture, he was immediately ordered to be prosecuted, and put to death. The day following, Claudius related the whole affair to the Senate, and acknowledged his great obligation to his freed- men for watching over him even in sleep.” “ During his latter days, Nero was terrified with manifest warnings, both old and new, arising from dreams, auspices, and omens. He had never been used to dream before the murder of his mother. After that event, he fancied in his sleep that he was steering a ship, and that the rudder was forced from him; that he was dragged by his wife, Octavia, into a prodigiously dark place ; and was at one time covered with a vast swarm of winged ants; and at another, sur- rounded by the national images which were set up near Pompey’s theatre, and hindered from advancing further ; that a Spanish jennet he was fond of had his hinder parts so changed, as to resemble those of an ape, and having his head only left unaltered, neighed very harmoniously.” “Vespasian, while commanding in Achaia, dreamt that the good fortune of himself and his family would begin when Nero had a tooth drawn; and it happened that the day after, a surgeon coming into the hall, showed him a tooth which he had just extracted from Nero. “ It is said, likewise, that he once saw in a dream a balance in the middle of the palatine house, exactly poised; in one scale of which stood Claudius and Nero ; in the other, himself and his sons. The event corresponded to the symbol; for the reigns of the two parties were precisely of the same duration.” “Amongst other portents of the impending fate of Domi- tian, was a dream of his that Minerva, whom he worshipped even to a superstitious excess, was withdrawing from him her sanctuary, declaring she could protect him no longer, because she was disarmed by Jupiter. They say, likewise, that Domitian dreamed that a golden hump grew out of the back of his neck, which he considered as a certain sign of happy days for the empire after him. Such an auspicious change, indeed, shortly afterwards took place, through the justice and moderation of the succeeding emperors.”—Lives of the Ccesars. FATE LIMITS LITERATURE. PLINY THE YOUNGER. “ I am deeply afflicted,” says the younger Pliny, in one of his letters to Maximus, “ with the news I have received of the death of Fannius, not only as I have lost in him a friend whose eloquence and politeness I admired, but a guide whose judgment I pursued ; and, indeed, he possessed a most pene- trating genius, improved and quickened by great experience. There are some circumstances attending his death which aggravate my concern But what I particularly regret is, that he has left unfinished a very noble work in which he was engaged. Notwithstanding his full employment at the bar, he had undertaken a history of those persons who had been put to death or banished by Nero, of which he had per- fectecl three hooks. They are written with great delicacy and exactness; the style is pure, and preserves a proper medium between the plain narrative and the historical; and as they were very favourably received by the public, he was the more desirous of being able to complete the rest. The hand of death is ever, in my estimation, too severe and too sudden when it falls upon such as are employed in some immortal work Fannius, long before his death, had a strong presentiment of what has happened. Fie dreamed one night that, as he was in his study with his papers before him, Nero came in, and placing himself by his side, took up the first three books of this history, which he read through, and then went away. This dream greatly alarmed him, and he looked upon it as an intimation that he should not carry on this history any further than Nero had read; and so the event proved.”—Letters. THE INITIATIONS OF LUCIUS. APULEIUS. The following is a lively narrative—given by Apuleius, at the close of his valuable romance, “ The Metamorphoses ”—of a series of dream-revelations divinely vouchsafed to his hero Lucius, who, after long wanderings and sufferings in the form of an ass, the result of a bungled magical operation, had recovered his human shape. To save an explanatory break in the story, it may be stated here that Lucius had impover- ished himself to provide means wherewith to defray the ex- penses attendant upon his being enrolled as a priest of Isis, trusting to her care and providence that he should not suffer by his devotion. Whatever is wanting in particular authen- tication is compensated by the illustrative value of the details. “ The Metamorphoses ” of Apuleius, it may be added, is a romance of the second century. Lucius has already described one initiation, and proceeds:— “ Thenceforward it was my principal study and practice A WORSHIPPER OF ISIS. 31S to offer up my supplications every clay to the supreme divinity of Queen Isis, in a temple in the Campus Martius, called ‘ Campensis,’ which is frequented with the deepest veneration. There, a stranger to the temple, though indigenous with the religion, I became a constant worshipper. “ While in this manner I passed in succession all my days alike, the glorious sun, traversing the signbearing circle of the zodiac, had completed the period of a year, when another ex- ample of the vigilant care of the truly beneficent divinity was manifested to me in my sleep, and I was warned to undergo another initiation, and make preparation for the ceremonial. Naturally astonished and embarrassed at the thought of what was to be done, and what event was about to be developed, since I considered myself fully initiated already, I arrived at last at the solution of the wonderful fact, partly by revolving in my mind my own religious scruples, and partly by apply- ing to the priests for advice and information. I learned finally that my initiation related exclusively to the goddess Isis, and that, as yet, I was insufficiently illuminated in the mysteries of the great god, supreme parent of all the other gods, the invincible Osiris. For although there is a strict connection between the religions of both deities, and even the essence of both divinities is identical, the ceremonies of the respective initiations are considerably different. Wherefore I came to comprehend that it was as a servant of the great god Osiris that I was now called upon and admonished. My mind, how- ever, was not allowed to remain long in a state of uncertainty; for on the following night I had a dream, and thought that one of the religious functionaries, clad in linen garments, and bearing in his hands, thyrsi, ivy, and several other things I am not permitted to mention, entered my dwelling, and, after laying the articles at the feet of my household gods, seated himself in my chair, and recited all the things necessary to be prepared for a copious religious banquet. Then, as if for the express purpose of affording me an opportunity of recognizing him afterwards, he showed me, as he walked with a gentle hesitating step, that the ankle of one of his feet was a little twisted. Consequently, all manner of darkness and ambiguity was removed from the manifestation of the will of the gods; for the next morning, after performing the salutations to the goddess, as I was diligently scrutinizing the appearance of all the religious functionaries in order to compare their likeness with him whom I had seen in my vision, I beheld one of the Pastophori, who, not only with regard to his figure, but his ankle also, resembled the nocturnal image with extraordinary precision. Accordingly, without delay, addressing myself to this person, whose name I afterwards learned was Asinius Marcellus—a name (Asinius) bearing some degree of relation to my late metamorphose into the form of an ass—I found that he as well as myself had been warned in a dream and had received the necessary instructions relative to the com- ing ceremonial. For on the preceding night he had imagined in a vision, that while he was placing chaplets on the image of the great god Osiris, a voice proceeded from its mouth, whence the decrees of fate are proclaimed to all mankind, announcing to him that there would be sent to him an inhabitant of the city of Madaura, whom he must forth- with initiate in his mysteries—a person who would obtain glory through devotion to his religious exercises, while through the providence of the deity considerable profit would accrue to himself. “ These were the circumstances that caused me to be affianced to the holy ministry of Osiris, notwithstanding that the period of the ensuing ceremony was, contrary to my inclina- tion, retarded in consequence of want of money proceeding from the diminution that my patrimonial resources had suffered during a long journey, and owing to iny expenses in Rome greatly exceeding my disbursements in provincial cities. Urged, therefore, on the one hand by divine commands, and tormented on the other by rigid poverty, I was in a painful I dilemma, and, as says the ancient proverb, in a state between the stone and the covenant, while the admonitions of the deity continued none the less incessantly to urge and impel me. So frequently indeed were my nocturnal visions repeated, that stimulated at last to an excessive degree of perturbation of spirit, I took from my back the small garment that I wore, and, selling it, was thus enabled to complete the sum of money required. In doing so I complied with the precise terms of the precept announced to me; for, said the divinity, “ How canst thou, when a ceremonial so important is necessary to be undertaken, fear to commit thyself to a state of poverty which thou wilt never have reason to repent; or hesitate to dispose of garments which, long ago, hadst thou had occasion to pro- cure for thine own pleasures, thou wouldst readily have pro- vided ?” Having by the above means got all that was required, after abstaining from animal food for the space of ten days as before, I was not only admitted to the nocturnal orgies of the great god Osiris, but of Serapis also, and by divine permission fulfilled the kindred duties of the religion ever afterwards in full confidence ; from which event I derived, during my residence in a foreign country, a vast source of comfort; and it was, moreover, the means of affording me a better livelihood. For the favourable breath of the propitious deity Good Event wafted me to the Roman forum, where I pleaded causes in the Latin tongue. “ A short period of time only had elapsed when, behold, I was once more disturbed by the miraculous and unexpected mandate of the gods, and compelled to undergo a third initia- tion ; wherefore my mind was filled with much anxiety, and I remained in a grievous state of suspense while I diligently turned in my mind, over and over again, whither this new and unusual expression of the will of the gods was likely to lead me, or what possible supplemental particle of the twice repeated ceremony of initiation could remain to be performed. Either the priests, thought I to myself, have not expressed them- selves sufficiently explicitly, or the counsel they gave me was rash and inconsiderate; in short, by Hercules, I began to have serious doubts of their fidelity. At last, when my senses had 21 been borne by the fluctuating tide of thought to the verge of insanity, the figure of the benevolent deity appeared to me one night in a dream, and thus addressed me in a spirit ot divination : ‘ Let it not terrify thee, nor think that thou hast omitted aught in the repeated series of religious rites that thou hast had to go through. Rather shouldst thou rejoice at the reiterated marks of favour of the divinities, and exult to have obtained thrice what others seldom even once are permitted to receive. That number, confidently believe, will for ever render thee blessed. Besides, as thou wilt per- ceive upon reflection, the ensuing ceremonial is absolutely indispensable, for the sacerdotal garments of the goddess with which thou wast first invested in the province of Achaia, still remain there deposited in the temple at Cenchreae. Neither canst thou be ennobled by that auspicious apparel, when thou hast occasion to invest thyself here in Rome, dur- ing thy supplications, or on solemn festivals. Wherefore, that thou mayest for ever enjoy health, happiness, and pros- perity, under tutelage of all three powerful deities, submit thy- self with joyful heart to the third initiation.’ “ Thus far did the divine vision, in persuasive accents prescribe what was necessary to be done. Neither did I supinely suffer the business to remain in a state of postpone- ment and procrastination. On the contrary, immediately relating to the priest everything that had been announced to me, and having refrained from animal food as I had done twice before, nay, further extended the observance by a volun- tary vow of abstinence and chastity for the entire remaining period of my life, I purchased everything I had been instructed to provide for the ceremonial. Guided rather by the pious impulse of my heart, than by rule and measure, I had never- theless no reason to regret either trouble or expense ; for, by Hercules, not only, by the providence of the gods, was I now furnished with a liberal income by means of my forensic emoluments, but very few days afterwards, during the silence of the night, the god Osiris, chief of the great, highest among the greater, greatest among the highest, and ruler of the greatest, condescended, not under a different figure, but in his own venerable person, to announce to me that I should forth- with become glorious and renowned through my pleadings in the forum; at the same time, bidding me no longer fear the jealousies and slanders to which learning acquired by laborious study had hitherto rendered me liable, he nominated me a member of the college of Pastophori; and in order to raise me above the ordinary ranks of my holy profession, also en- rolled me among the number of his quinquennial decurions. Thenceforward I fulfilled my duty as a member of a most ancient college, that dates its origin from the days of Sylla, .and with a head newly and thoroughly shaven, joyfully ex- posed my bald pate to the gaze of the multitude whitherso- ever I went.”—Metamorphoses. PREMONITORY DREAMS AND VISIONS. SOZOMEN. After quoting a passage from Libanius, the Sophist, to the effect that Julian the apostate perished in battle against the Persians, by the hands of one of his own soldiers, Sozomen proceeds :— “ In the document above cited, Libanius clearly states that the emperor fell by the hand of a Christian ; and this, pro- bably, was the truth. It is not unlikely that some of the soldiers who then served in the Roman army might have conceived the idea of acting like the ancient slayers of tyrants, who exposed themselves to death in the cause of liberty, and fought in defence of their country, their families, and their friends, and whose names are held in universal admiration. Still less is he deserving of blame, who, for the sake of God and of religion, performed so bold a deed. But I know nothing farther concerning the death of Julian besides what I have related. All men, however, concur in receiving the account »vhich has been handed down to us, and which evidences his death to have been the result of Divine wrath. “ It appears that one of his friends had a vision, which I shall now proceed to describe. He had, it is related, travelled into Persia, with the intention of joining the emperor. While on the road, he found himself so far from any habitation that he was obliged one night to sleep in a church. He saw, dur- ing that night, either in a dream or a vision, all the apostles and prophets assembled together, and complaining of the injuries which the emperor had inflicted on the Church, and consulting concerning the best measures to he adopted. After much deliberation, two individuals arose in the midst of the assembly, desired the others to he of good cheer, and departed as if to deprive Julian of the Imperial power. He who saw this vision did not attempt to pursue his journey, but awaited, in horrible suspense, the conclusion of the revelation. He laid himself down to sleep again, in the same place, and again he saw the same assembly: the two individuals who had appeared to depart the preceding night, to effect their pur- pose against Julian, returned, and announced his death to the others. “On the same day, a vision was sent to Didymus, an ecclesiastical philosopher, who dwelt at Alexandria, and who, being deeply grieved at the apostacy of Julian, and his perse- cution of the churches, fasted and offered up supplications to God continually, on this account. From the effects of extreme vigilance and want of food, he feel asleep in his chair. Then being, as it were, in an ecstasy, he beheld white horses tra- versing the air, and heard a voice saying to those who were riding thereon:—£ Go, and tell Didymus that Julian has just been slain ; and let him arise and eat, and communicate this intelligence to Athanasius the bishop.’ I have been credibly informed that the friend of Julian and the philosopher beheld these things. Results prove that neither of them were far from having witnessed the truth.”—Ecclesiastical History. ST. AUGUSTINE. THE GENIUS OF THE EMPIRE. AMMIANUS MARCELLINUS. But premonitions of the apostate emperor’s deatli were not confined to either his friends or his foes. He himself was favoured with the following dream, which is given on the authority of a contemporary historian :— “ On the night before the death of the Emperor Julian, a genius appeared to fly from him in consternation. It was the genius of the empire; the image which everywhere met his sight—on his coin, on his standard, and probably in his tent. Disquieted by the scarcity which distressed his troops, aware that a religious faith contrary to his own existed in the heart of his army, and incited numerous enemies against him, and on the eve of a decisive battle, is it surprising that the sleep which overpowered him should be disturbed by sinister dreams ? Is it surprising that the enthusiastic disciple of the Theurgic philosophers, whose doctrine ascribed so much im- portance and power to genii, should see in a dream the genius of the empire mourning, and ready to abandon him, and should believe in its reality ?”—History. MONICA AND HER SON. ST. AUGUSTINE. Whilst Augustine was still involved in licentious vice, and m the Manichsean heresy, his mother had a dream prefiguring tie conversion of her son, which the latter thus relates :— “And Thou sentest Tldne hand from above, and drewest my s oul out of that profound darkness ; my mother, Thy faithful one, weeping to Thee for me more than mothers weep the bodily deaths of their children. For she by that faith and spirit which she had from Thee, discerned the death wherein I lay, and Thou heardest her, 0 Lord ; Thou heardest her, and despisedst not her tears, when, streaming down, they watered the ground under her eyes in every place where she prayed ; yea, Thou heardest her. For whence was that dream whereby Thou comfortedst her; so that she allowed me to live with her, and to eat at the same table in the house, which she had begun to shrink from, abhorring and detesting the blasphemies of my error ? For she saw herself standing on a certain wooden rule, and a shining youth coming towards her, cheerful and smiling upon her, herself grieving, and overwhelmed with grief. But he having (in order to instruct, as is their wont, not to be instructed) inquired of her the causes of her grief and daily tears, and she answering that she was bewailing my perdition, he bade her rest contented, and told her to look and observe, ‘ That where she was, there was I also.’ And when she looked, she saw me standing by her in the same rule. Whence was this, but that Thine ears were towards her heart ? 0 Thou God omnipotent, who so carest for every one of us, as if Thou caredst for him only; and so for all, as if they were but one ! Whence was this also, that when she had told me this vision, and I would fain bend it to mean, ‘ That she rather should not despair of being one day what I was,’ she presently, without any hesitation, replies, ‘No ; for it was not told me that ‘ where he, there thou also,’ but ‘ where thou, there he also.’ I confess to Thee, 0 Lord, that, to the best of my remembrance (and I have oft spoken of this), that Thy answer, through my waking mother—that she was not perplexed by the plausibility of my false interpretation, and so quickly saw what was to be seen, and which I certainly had not per- ceived before she spake—even then moved me more than the dream itself, by which a joy to the holy woman, to be fulfilled so long after, was, for the consolation of her present anguish, so long before foresignified. For almost nine years passed, in which I wallowed in the mire of that deep pit, and the dark- ness of falsehood, often essaying to rise, but dashed down the more grievously. All which time, that chaste, godly, and sober widow (such as Thou lovest), now more cheered with hope, yet no whit relaxing in her weeping and mourning, ceased not at all hours of her devotions to bewail my case unto Thee. And her prayers entered into Thy presence; and yet Thou sufferedst me to be yet involved and reinvolved in that darkness.’ ’— Confessions. ARGUMENT FROM A DREAM. BATTISTA FREGOSO. The following legend is delivered as having been told by St. Austin to Eradius :— “ There was a physician of Carthage, who was a sceptic regarding immortality and the soul’s separate existence. It chanced one night that this man, Genadius by name, dreamed of a beautiful city. On the second night, the youth who had been his guide reappeared, and asked if Genadius remembered him ; he answered yes, and also his dream. * And where,’ said the apparition, ‘ were you then lying ?’ * In my bed, sleeping.’ ‘And if your mind’s eye, Genadius, surveyed a city, even while your body slept, may not this pure and active spirit still live, and observe, and remember, even though the body may be shapeless and decayed within its sepulchre ?’ Genadius, convinced, abandoned his heresy, and ever after stood firm in the Catholic faith.”—Be Bictis et Factis Memorabilibus, TIIE BEAR AND THE DRAGON. GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH. “ When King Arthur refused to pay tribute to the Romans, Lucius Tiberius, by order of the Senate, published a decree for the Eastern kings to come with their forces, and assist in the conquest of Britain. “After the necessary dispositions were made, upon the kalends of August, they began their march towards Britain; which, when Arthur had intelligence of, he committed the government of his kingdom to his nephew Modred, and queen Guanhumara, and marched with his army to Hamos’ port, where the wind stood fair for him. But while he, surrounded with all his numerous fleet, was sailing joyfully with a brisk gale, it happened that about midnight he fell into a very sound sleep ; and in a dream saw a bear flying in the air, at the noise of which all the shores trembled ; also a terrible dragon flying from the west, which enlightened the country with the bright- ness of its eyes. When these two met, they began a dreadful fight; but the dragon with its fiery breath burned the bear, which often assaulted him, and threw him down scorched to the ground. Arthur, upon this awaking, related his dream to those that stood about him, who took upon them to interpret it, and told him that the dragon signified himself, but the bear, some giant that should encounter with him; and that the fight portended the duel that would be between them, and the dragon’s victory the same that would happen to himself. But Arthur conjectured it portended something else, and that the vision was applicable to himself and the emperor. As soon as the morning, after this night’s sail, appeared, they found them- selves arrived at the mouth of the river Barba. And there they pitched their tents, to await the arrival of the kings of the islands, and the generals of the other provinces. “ in the meantime, Arthur had news brought him that a giant of monstrous size was come from the shores of Spain, and had forcibly taken away Helena, the niece of Duke Hoel, from her guard, and fled with her to the top of that which is now called Michael’s Mount; and that the soldiers, of the country, who pursued him, were able to do nothing against him. “Arthur’s dream was fulfilled by the slaughter of the giant.”—British History. THE STORY OF CiEDMOH. BEDE. “There was, in the monastery of which St. Hilda was abbess, a certain brother, particularly remarkable for the grace of God, who was wont to make pious and religious verses, so that whatever was interpreted to him out of Scrip- ture, he soon after put the same into poetical expressions of much sweetness and humility, in English, which was his native language. By his verses the minds of many were often excited to despise the world, and to aspire to heaven. Others after him attempted, in the English nation, to compose religious poems; but none could ever compare with him, for he did not learn the art of poetry from men, but from God; for which reason he never could compose any trivial or vain poem, but only those which relate to religion suited his religious tongue; for, having lived in a secular habit till he was well advanced in years, he had never learned anything of versifying. For this reason, being sometimes at entertain- ments, when it was agreed for the sake of mirth that all present should sing in their turns, when he saw the instru- ment come towards him, he rose up from table, and returned home. “ Having done so at a certain time, and gone out of the house where the entertainment was, to the stable, where he had to take care of the horses that night, he there composed himself to rest at the proper time. A person appeared to him in his sleep, and, saluting him by his name, said, ‘ Caedmon, sing some song to me.’ He answered, ‘I cannot sing; for that was the reason why I left the entertainment, and retired to this place, because I could not sing.’ The other who talked to him replied, ‘However, y~ou shall sing.’ ‘What shall I sing?’ rejoined he. ‘Sing the beginning of created beings,’ said the other. Hereupon he presently began to sing verses to the praise of God, which he had never heard, the purport whereof was thus‘ We are now to praise the Maker of the heavenly Kingdom, the power of the Creator, and his counsel, the deeds of the Father of glory; how He, being the eternal God, became the author of all miracles, who first, as almighty Preserver of the human race, created heaven for the sons of men as the roof of the house, and next the earth.’ “ This is the sense, but not the words in order as he sang them in his sleep ; for verses, though never so well composed, cannot be literally translated out of one language into another, without losing much of their beauty and loftiness. Awaking from his sleep, he remembered all that he had sung in his dream, and soon added much more to the same effect in verse worthy of the Deity. “ In the morning he came to the steward, his superior, and, having acquainted him with the gift he had received, was conducted to the abbess, by whom he was ordered, in the presence of many learned men, to tell his dream, and repeat the verses, that they might all give their judgment what it was, and whence his verse proceeded. They all concluded that heavenly grace had been conferred on him by our Lord. They expounded to him a passage in Holy Writ, either histo- rical or doctrinal, ordering him, if he could, to put the same into verse. Having undertaken it, he went away, and, re- turning the next morning, gave it to them composed in most excellent verse; whereupon the abbess, embracing the grace of God in the man, instructed him to quit the secular habit, and take upon him the monastic life; which being accordingly done, she associated him to the rest of the brethren in her monastery, and ordered that he should be taught the whole series of sacred history. Thus Caedmon, keeping in mind all he heard, and, as it were, chewing the cud, converted the same into most harmonious verse; and, sweetly repeating the same, made his masters in their turn his hearers. He saner the creation of the world, the origin of man, and all the history of Genesis; and made many verses on the departure of the children of Israel out of Egypt, and their entering into the land of promise, with many other histories from Holy Writ; the incarnation, the passion, the resurrection of our Lord, and his ascension into heaven ; the coming of the Holy Ghost, and the preaching of the apostles; also the terror of the future judgment, the horror of the pains of hell, and the delights of heaven; besides many more about the Divine benefits and judgments, by which he endeavoured to turn away all men from the love of •vice, and to excite in them the love of and application to good actions. For he was a very religious man, humbly submissive to regular discipline, but full of zeal against those who behaved otherwise; for which reason he ended his life happily.”—Ecclesiastical History. DREAMS OF DUNSTAN AND ANSELM. MATTHEW OF WESTMINSTER. ‘fThe noble king, Edred, inferior in no respect to his predecessors, loved the blessed Dunstan with such ardent affection that he entrusted all his treasures to his guardian- ship. In the meantime the blessed iElfeg, bishop of the city of Winchester, who had invested Dunstan with the orders of monk and priest, departed this life; and the king, wishing to appoint Dunstan in his place, treated with him on the subject by the intervention of the queen, his mother. But Dunstan replied, ‘ I entreat you, my mistress, to give up entreaties of this kind, and to be assured that I will not be a pontiff in the days of your son.’ But the man of God said this because he loved the king, and was unwilling to be compelled to absent himself from his councils because of the duties of the pontifi- cate. But on the following night he had a vision, in which he seemed to himself to have gone to Rome, and, having adored the apostles, to have immediately returned home again; and when he had come to the Mount of Joy, behold, St. Peter met him, with the apostles Paul and Andrew, each of them holding a sword in his hand, and offering it to him with outstretched hands. On the sword of St. Peter was written, ‘In the beginning was the Word;’ and the swords of St. Paul and St. Andrew were inscribed with their own names. Then St. Peter, the apostle, sang to him in a sweet voice, ‘ Take my yoke upon you, and you shall find rest for your souls.’ Then, reproving him, he lifted up the rod wdiich he held in his- hand, and, striking him a slight blow on the hand, he said, ‘ Take this as a warning not to persist any longer in refusing the yoke of the Lord.’ On this the man of God woke, and in the morning related the vision to the king, who marvelled at it. And the king said to him, ‘ As the swords which you have received by the bounty of the apostles denote the armour of the Holy Spirit, you may know for certain by the sword of St. Peter, inscribed as it is with the Word of God, that you are to be presented, by heavenly invention, with the dignity of archbishop ; and by the sword of Paul, you may know that you will receive a simple bishopric; and by the sword of Andrew, that you will receive another bishopric, over which you are to exercise the rights of government.’ And after- wards, in accordance with the interpretation of his dream, he ruled the church of Canterbury, which was dedicated to the Holy Trinity; the church of London, which was dedicated in the name of Paul; and that of Rochester, which had been consecrated in the name of the blessed Andrew.” “ By the impiety and injustice of William Rufus, Anselm, the Archbishop of Canterbury, was driven into exile, and remained there till he saw in a vision of the night that all the saints of England were complaining to the Most High of the tyranny of King William, who was destroying his churches. And God said, ‘ Let Alban, the proto-martyr of the English, come hither;’ and He gave him an arrow which was on fire, saying, ‘ Behold the death of the man of whom you complain before me.’ And the blessed Alban, receiving the arrow, said, ‘ And I will give it to a wicked spirit, an avenger of sinsand saying this he threw it down to earth, and it flew through the DREAM OF A MONK. air like a comet. And immediately Archbishop Anselm per- ceived in the spirit that the king, having been shot by an arrow, died that night. And accordingly, at the first dawn of the morning, having celebrated mass, he brdered his vest- ments, and his books, and other movables, to be got in readiness, and immediately set ont on his journey to his church. And when he came near it, he heard that King William had been shot by an arrow that very night, and was dead.”—Flowers of History. PORTENTS OF THE FATE OF RUFUS. OB.DEKICUS VITALIS. “ A certain monk of good repute, and still better life, who belonged to the abbey of St. Peter at Gloucester, related that he had a dream in the visions of the night to this effect:—‘ I saw,’ he said, ‘ the Lord Jesus seated on a lofty throne, and the glorious host of heaven, with the company of the saints, standing round. But while, in my ecstasy, I was lost' in won- der, and my attention deeply fixed on such an extraordinary spectacle, I beheld a virgin resplendent with light cast herself at the feet of the Lord Jesus, and humbly address to Him this petition—“ 0 Lord Jesus Christ, the Saviour of mankind, for whom Thou didst shed Thy precious blood when hanging on the cross, look now in compassion on Thy people which now groans under the yoke of William. Thou avenger of wicked- i ness, and most just of all men, take vengeance, I beseech Thee, on my behalf, of this William, and deliver me out of his hands ; for, as far as lies in his power, he has polluted me, and grievously afflicted me.” The Lord replied, “Be patient and wait awhile, and soon you will be amply revenged of i him.” I trembled at hearing this, and doubt not that the Divine anger presently threatens the king; for I understood j that the cries of the holy virgin, our mother, the Church, bave reached the eai’s of the Almighty, by reason of the robberies, the foul adulteries, and the heinous crimes of all sorts, which the king and his courtiers cease not daily of committing against the Divine law.’* “ On being informed of this the venerable Abbot Serlo wrote letters, which he despatched in a friendly spirit from Gloucester, informing the king very distinctly of all that the monk had seen in his vision. “ Fulchered, a zealous monk, and an eloquent expositor of the Holy Scriptures, about this time, in the kalends of August, spoke prophetically of this matter. ‘ England,’ he said, ‘ is allowed to become a heritage trodden under foot by the profane, because the land is full of iniquity. Its whole body is spotted by the leprosy of an universal iniquity, and infected by the disease of sin from the crown of the head to the sole of the feet. . . . Dissolute lust pollutes not only vessels of clay, but vessels of gold; and insatiable avarice devours all that it can lay its hand on. But, lo ! a sudden change of affairs is threatened. The libertines shall not always bear rule; the Lord God will come to judgment of the open enemies of his spouse. . . . The anger of the Lord shall no longer spare the transgressors, and the wrath of Heaven shall rage against the unbelieving children. The bow of Divine vengeance is bent on the reprobate, and the swift arrow taken from the quiver is ready to wound. The blow *“A foreign monk related to Robert Fitzhamon a still more frightful dream, in which he saw William Rufus come into a church, with his usual menacing and insolent gestures looking contemptuously on the standers-by, and gnaw the legs and arms of Jesus Christ on the crucifix. The image bore this for some time, but at length struck the king with its foot in such a manner that he fell backwards. Then such volumes of flame burst from his mouth that the smoke darkened the sky. Robert " Fitzhamon thought it right to tell this dream to the king, who heard it with shouts of laughter. ‘ He is a monk,’ he exclaimed, ‘ and dreams for money—give him a hundred pence.’ Still he hesitated a long time before he decided on hunting, and did not go till after dinner, having taken a more than usual quantity of wine.”—William of Malmesbury. will soon be struck, but the man who is wise enough to correct his sins will avoid the infliction.’ “ Other discourses of a similar tendency were delivered on Wednesday, and suddenly the scourge began to be exhibited with full effect. The morning of the day following, the king, having dined with his minions, prepared after the meal was ended to go forth and hunt in the New Forest. Being in great spirits, he was joking with his attendants while his boots were being laced, when an armourer came and presented to him six arrows. The king immediately took them with great satisfaction, praising the work; and, unconscious of what was to happen, kept four of them himself, and held out the other two to Walter Tirel. ‘It is but right,’ he said, ‘ that the sharpest arrows should be given to him who knows best how to inflict mortal wounds with them.’ . . . The king’s words, on receiving the Abbot Serlo’s letter, concluded with, * Does he think I follow the example of the English, who will defer their journey or their business on account of the dreams of a parcel of wheezing old women ?’ ”—Ecclesi- astical History. HENRY WISER THAN RUFUS. RAPHAEL HOLINSHED. “King Henry (1st) passing once into Normandy, was troubled with certain strange dreams, or visions, in his sleep. For, as he thought, he saw a multitude of ploughmen with such tools as belong to their trade and occupation; after whom came a sort of soldiers with warlike weapons; and last «f all, bishops with their crosier staves, ready to fall upon him as if they meant to kill him. Now, when he awaked, he leaped forth of his bed, got his sword into his hand, and called his servants to help him. Nevertheless, repressing those perturbations, and somewhat better advising himself, partly by his own reason, and partly by the counsel of learned gentlemen, he was persuaded to put such fantasies away, and was admonished withal, that whilst he had time and space here on earth, he should redeem his past offences and sins committed against God, with repentance, almsdeeds, and ab- stinence; wherefore, being moved herewith, he began to practise an amendment of his former lewd life. . . . Thus we may see that two sons of the Conqueror had each been warned by dreams: the one disregarded the warning, and met his death; the other (as the learned do gather) improved the occasion, and reformed his life. Their rash opinion, therefore, is much to be checked, which contemn dreams as merely delusory, alleging by way of disproof, an old erroneous verse, ‘Somnia ne cures, nam fallunt plurima plures.’ ”—Chronicles of England, Ireland, and Scotland. DREAM OF A KING’S CHAMBERLAIN. GEOFFREY DE VINSAUF. “ Saladin, excited on one side by his ambition, and on the other moved with indignation at the outrage committed by Reginald, Prince of Antioch, raised all the strength of his kingdom, and assailed with power and impetuosity the terri- tories of Jerusalem. If the number of men, the variety of nations, and the diversity of religions, were fully described as the law of history demands, my plan of brevity would be interrupted by the ample details of such a narrative: Par- thians, Bedouins, Arabs, Medes, Cordians, and Egyptians, though differing in country, religion, and name, were all aroused with one accord to the destruction of the Holy Land. As our troops were marching to meet them, and the fatal day approached, a fearful vision was seen by the king’s chamber- lain, who dreamed that an eagle flew past the Christian army, bearing seven missiles and a balista in its talons, and crying, in a loud voice, ‘Woe to thee, Jerusalem!’ To explain the mystery of this vision, we need, I think, only take the words of Scripture: ‘ The Lord hath bent his bow, and in it pre- pared the vessels of death.’ What are the seven missiles, but a figure for the seven sins, by which that unhappy army was soon to perish ? By this number, seven, may also be under- stood the number of punishments that impended over the Christians, which was some time after fulfilled by the event, that too faithful and terrible interpreter of omens. The battle had not begun, when, the armies having been drawn out at a short distance from Tiberias, at a place called the Marescallia, the Lord hemmed in his people with the sword, and, as a punishment for the sins of men, gave over his in- heritance to slaughter and devastation.”—Itinerary of Richard I. and others to the Holy Land. A BOOK MIRACULOUSLY WRITTEN-. GIRALDUS CAMBRENSIS. “ Among all the miracles in Kildare, none appears to me more wonderful than that marvellous book which they say was written in the time of the virgin (St. Bridget), at the dictation of an angel. It contains the four gospels according to St. Jerome, and almost every page is illustrated by draw- ings, illuminated with a variety of brilliant colours. In one page you see the countenance of the Divine Majesty super- naturally pictured; in another, the mystic forms of the evangelists, with either six, four, or two wings; here are depicted the eagle; there the calf; here the face of a man; there of a lion, with other figures in almost endless variety. If you observe them superficially, and in the usual careless manner, you would imagine them to be daubs, rather than careful compositions; expecting to find nothing exquisite, where, in truth, there is nothing which is not exquisite. But if you apply yourself to a more close examination, and aro able to penetrate the secrets of the art displayed in these pictures, you will find them so delicate and exquisite—so finely drawn—and the work of interlacing so elaborate, while 22 the colours with which they are illuminated are so blended, and still so fresh, that you will be ready to assert that all this is the work of angelic, and not human, skill. The more often and closely I scrutinize them, the more I am surprised, and always find them new, discovering fresh causes for increased admiration. “ Early in the night before the morning on which the scribe was to begin the book, an angel stood before him in a dream, and showing him a picture drawn on a tablet, which he had in his hand, said to him, ‘ Do you think that you can draw this picture on the first page of the volume which you propose to copy ?’ The scribe, who doubted his skill in such exquisite art, in which he was uninstructed, and had no practice, replied that he could not. Upon this, the angel said, ‘ On the morrow entreat your Lady to offer prayers for you to the Lord, that He would vouchsafe to open your bodily eyes, and give you spiritual vision, which may enable you to see more clearly, and understand with more intelligence, and employ your hands in drawing with accuracy.’ The scribe having done as he was commanded, the night following the angel came to him again, and presented to him the same picture, with a number of others. All these, aided by Divine grace, the scribe made himself master of, and faithfully com- mitting them to his memory, exactly copied in his book in their proper places. In this manner the book was composed: an angel furnishing the designs, St. Bridget praying, and the scribe copying.”—The Topography of Ireland. A VISION AND ITS EXPLANATION. GIRALDUS CAMBRENSIS. “ I think it not irrelevant that I should here relate a vision, which, during the misery of these times, and the insults paid to the cross of Christ, He who sometimes maketh known to the simple what He concealeth from the wise, revealed to me, tie vilest and least of His servants, whom yet the Lord vouchsafed to visit in this vision. In that civil and most detestable discord which broke out between the King of England (Henry the Second) and the Earl of Poitou, I was in attendance upon the king at the castle of Cliinon, when, on the night of the 10th of May, being asleep, about the first cock-crowing, methought I saw a great crowd of people look- ing up into heaven, and wrondering at some new appearance. So, lifting up my eyes to see what it was, I beheld flashes of brilliant light breaking through the thick canopy of the clouds, which suddenly parted, and the lower heaven being as it were thus opened, and my eyesight penetrating through that window, even into the empyrean, or heaven of heavens, the celestial courts, thronged with multitudes, were exposed to view. There appeared armed hosts around, engaged in the work of destruction, and, as it were, arrayed for the slaughter of their enemies. You might see there a head struck off from one, an arm from another; some were pierced with arrows launched from afar, others with spears close at hand, and others thrust through with swords. Many of the beholders, dazzled by the excessive brightness, or moved to terror or devotion by the awful scene, fell on their faces to the earth; but methought that I, wishing to see the end of the matter, continued to observe what was passing much longer and more closely than the rest. “ And now the murderous crew, having quickly triumphed over all the rest, united their forces to assault the Prince of the heavenly host sitting in the midst, on the throne of his majesty, as He is wont to be painted, and dragging Him from his throne on the right hand, and having laid bare his breast, they thrust a spear into his right side. Thereupon a terrible voice was immediately heard, crying, ‘ Woch, woch! O Father and Son! Woch, woch! 0 Holy Ghost!’ But whether it came from above, or was uttered by the people who were around me, I cannot tell; and then the terror of the voice and the vision awoke me from my sleep. “ I call Him here to witness, to whom all things are naked and open, that as I sat on my bed and reflected on what I had seen, I was in such horror, both in mind and body, for more than half an hour, that I feared that I was beside myself, and was become demented. But having recourse without delay to that best source of human safety, I repeatedly made the sign of the cross on my forehead and breast with great devotion; and thus fortified, I passed the rest of the night till the dawn of day without sleep, and so, by God’s grace, recovering my senses, I was at length restored to a full sense of security. But never to this day can I recall to mind that vision, but with the utmost horror. For what can be more terrible than for a creature to behold his Creator pierced with a sword ? Who can bear to see the citizens of heaven, the servants of God, and the patrons of mankind, dragged to slaughter, without being overwhelmed with grief? Who can see the Lord of Nature and Maker of the universe suffer, and not suffer with Him ? “What the vision meant, and what it portended, I will now briefly show without any prejudice. He who once suf- fered in his own person on behalf of his people, show's us that He suffers now again, but in his servants; and having triumphed by the Cross, and, ascending to the right hand of his Father, taken possession of his victorious kingdom, his enemies now strive to drag Him from his throne, dim his majesty, and subvert his Church, which He hath purchased to Himself by shedding his blood. "Wherefore, as I suppose, this vision did not represent his passion on the cross, but in his majesty above; as though the cross being now taken away, his enemies attempted to deprive Him of the glory of that majesty which He gained by the cross. Or rather, it may be supposed, that as his servants are now suffering in that Holy Land, which He, after so many miraculous signs of his corporal presence, consecrated by his own blood,—suf- ferings, indeed, not on the cross, but in arms and the conflicts of war,—so He willed that the passion which He now in some sort suffers in the persons of his servants, should he set forth where He reigns above in co-equal majesty with the Father, and not on the cross. For He Himself testified that He should suffer with Peter the same sort of punishment which he was about to undergo at Rome, when He said, ‘ I am come to Rome to be crucified again.’ “ As concerning the words uttered by the voice, beginning in a barbarous language and ending in Latin, I will mention what I think. Woch, woch, in the German tongue, is a sort of interjection repeated, and signifying woe. It means the same as if it were said, ‘ Alas ! alas ! Father and Son ! Alas ! alas ! Holy Ghost! ’ And by that woful moan, beginning in German and ending in Latin, it may signify that the nations who use those tongues are the only people who, with their princes, take this affliction of our Saviour seriously to heart, as is evident from their being the most forward in their pre- parations to avenge it. God forbid that the passion or lamen- tations should be understood as referring to any slaughter of the faithful which may hereafter happen, and more especially to the nations engaged in this expedition.” “My brother, Walter de Barri, a man of condition and a gallant soldier, having made preparations for an expedition against the enemy, the night before he was to set forward, my own mother, who had died long before, appeared to him in a dream, and earnestly admonished him, as he valued his life, to find some means of not joining in the expedition intended on the morrow. I should mention that she was not his mother, but his step-mother ; but she loved him as much as if he were her own son. He related what had occurred to his father, who was mine also, we being his sons by different mothers, and, therefore, half-brothers, and our father gave him the same advice. However, disregarding these admonitions, with the presumption natural to man, and being ashamed of appear- ing to be frightened by an idle dream, the next morning he went out on the expedition, and was slain by the enemy the same day.” “ Again, shortly before our own times, it happened in the district called Kemmeis, in the province of Demetia, in Wales, that a certain wealthy man, whose mansion stood on the north side of the mountains of Presseli, had dreamt for three succes- sive nights, in which he was admonished that if he went to a fountain in the neighbourhood, called St. Berner’s well, and put his hand down to the stone which lay over the spring, he would draw out a collar of gold. On the third day, the man did as he was bidden, and putting his hand into the hole, a viper bit his finger, and he died in consequence. “ From these and various other examples, whatever others may think of dreams, my opinion is, that, like rumours, they may be sometimes credited, and sometimes ought to be treated as idle tales. But of visions, such as those which are wont to be revealed by angels to men gifted with prophecy, the case is very different, for we know the events following them prove their truth on undoubted authority.”—The Vatioinal History of the Conquest of Ireland. HAWKING IN A DREAM. SIR JOHN FROISSART. “ It fortuned while the king (Charles VI. of France) lay at Saint Lyse (Senlis), on a night, as he lay in his bed asleep, he had a vision. It seemed to him properly that he was in the city of Arras, where he had never been before, and with him all the chivalry of France. And he thought that thither came to him the Earl of Flanders, and did set on his fist a fair falcon, pelerin, saying to him thus : ‘ Sir, I give you this falcon, for the best that over I saw, the best flying, and beater down of fowls.’ Of which present the king thought he had great joy, and said, ‘ Fair cousin, I thank you ; ’ and therewith he HAWKING. tliought he regarded the Constable of Trance, Sir Oliver Clysson, and said to him, ‘ Sir Oliver, let us two go into the fields to prove this gentle falcon, that my cousin of Flanders hath given me.’ So they two alone took their horses, and went into the fields, and soon found plenty of herons to fly at. Then the king said, ‘ Constable, let the falcon fly, and we will see how she will chase her game.’ Then the constable cast off the falcon, and she mounted so high into the air that they could scarce see her, and the king thought she took her way straight to Flanders. Then the king said, ‘ Let us ride after my bird, I would not lose her ; ’ and so he thought they rode after, till they came to a great marsh and a thick wood. Then the king said, ‘ Let us alight afoot, for we cannot pass this wood on horseback.’ . * . . . And so the king and the consta- ble entered in the wood with great pain, and travelled so long that they came to a fair great land; and there the king thought he saw his falcon chasing herons, and fighting with them, and they with him He thought he said to the constable, 1 Ah, I fear me I shall lose my falcon, whereof I am sorry, and I have no lure nor anything else wherewith to call her again.’ At this point the king thought that there appeared suddenly before him a great hart with wings, and inclined himself be- fore him, whereof he had great joy, and said to the constable, ‘ Sir, abide you here, and I will mount on this hart and follow my falcon.’ And the king thought that the hart did bear him over all the great woods and trees ; and there he did see how his falcon did beat down many fowls and herons, and he called her, and in contentment the falcon came and set her down on his fist, and the hart flew again over the woods and brought the king to where he had left the constable; and the hart departed, and he never saw him after. And therewith it seemed that his valets came to them and brought them their horses, and they took the highway and came again to Arras. And therewith the king awmke, and had great marvel at that vision ; and he remembered everything right well, and showed it to them of his children that were about him ; and the figure of this hart pleased him so much, that all his imagination was set thereon. And this was one of the first incidents that when he went into Flanders to fight with the Flemings, he took to his device to bear the flying hart.”—Chronicles of England, France, etc. DEFERRED BUT SATISFACTORY. INGULPHU8. “ I spent a night in the church, before the shrines of the saints there buried, namely: Wandragesil the abbot, and Wulfran and Ausbert the bishops, and there I poured forth my heart, and with becoming devotedness entreated that the Lord would deign to guide my steps, through the merits and prayers of my said patrons. It was the vigil of Saint Andrew the apostle, and in its course midnight had now nearly passed; and after the repetition of many prayers, and after reading the victorious passion of the said holy apostle, sleep suddenly creeping upon me, I reclined on my left side against the lec- tern which was standing before me. “ And now behold I saw a certain abbot of remarkably handsome features, attended by two most reverend bishops, one on either side, proceed from the altar behind, and meet in the middle of the choir ; the same number of saints, of whom two were refulgent with priests’ stoles, while the third, whom they escorted between them, with the greatest veneration, appeared to be an earl, most gorgeously arrayed, who wore a tore of gold on his neck. When they had saluted each other, and had finished the Lord’s Prayer, one of the bishops addressed me, and anxiously requested and ordered me to lead his guests to the hostrey, and diligently minister to their wants, while at the same time, I was most carefully to watch the fire of the hostrey until such time as they should send for me; the rest of the holy men making similar requests of me. While I was hesitating for some little time to comply with their requests, the holy bishop added these words: ‘ Go thy way, and, of a truth, my right hand shall always be with thee ; ’ upon which the vision disappeared, and the morning vigils to be paid to the apostle beforenamed now approaching, our sacrist rang the bell to awake the brethren. “ Now of the interpretation of this vision I was for many years utterly ignorant, until coming into these parts, and reflecting upon the said vision, I gathered from it the follow- ing prognostics :—The two bishops were the two patrons of the convent of Fontenelle, Wulfran and Ausbert, while the abbot in the middle was Saint Wandragesil, the abbot and founder of that place, and the first inhabitant thereof; they proceeded from the altar behind me, because there their holy bodies repose. The two who met them, clad in priests’ robes, were Saint Guthlac and Saint Neot, both most holy priests of God, and special patrons of Croyland; while the earl in the middle, who was decorated with a golden tore around his neck, was the most holy martyr, Earl Waldev, who, though most innocent, was beheaded, and entombed in that monastery. To the service of those I was appointed, when I assumed the charge of the pastoral office in this convent of Croyland. The hand of the holy bishop, Wulfran, still remains with me, be- cause I brought away with me the bone of his right arm, which, as a present from the whole convent, I had received as a lasting memorial thereof.”—Chronicle of the Abbey of Croyland. ST. THOMAS THE MAETYB. MATTHEW PARIS. “ About this time (a.d. 1241) a vision appeared by night to a certain priest, a wise and holy man, wherein an arch- prelate, dressed in pontifical robes, and carrying a cross in his hand, came to the walls which the king had at that time built near the Tower of London, and, after regarding them with a scowling look, struck them strongly and violently with the cross, saying, ‘Why do ye rebuild them?’ whereupon the newly-erected walls suddenly fell to the ground, as if thrown down by an earthquake. The priest, frightened at this sight, said to a clerk, who appeared following the archprelate, ‘ Who is this archbishop ?’ To which the clerk replied, ‘ It is St. Thomas the Martyr, a Londoner by birth, who considered that these walls were built as an insult, and to the prejudice of the Londoners, and has, therefore, irreparably destroyed them.’ The priest then said, ‘ What expense and labour have they not cost?’ The clerk replied, ‘If poor artificers, who seek after and have need of pay, had obtained food for them- selves by the work, that would be endurable; but inasmuch as they have been built, not for the defence of the kingdom, but only to oppress harmless citizens, if St. Thomas had not destroyed them, St. Edmund the Confessor, his successor, would still more relentlessly have overthrown them from their foundations.’ The priest, after having seen these things, awoke from his sleep, rose from his bed, and in the dead silence of the night, told his vision to all who were in the house. Early in the morning a report spread through the city of London, that the walls built round the Tower, on the construction of which the king had expended more than twelve thousand marks, had fallen to pieces, to the wonder of many who proclaimed it a bad omen, because the year before, on the same night, which was that of St. George’s Day, and at the same hour of the night, the said walls had fallen down, together with their bastions.”—The Greater Eisto'ry. THE “NONNES PEEESTES TALE.” GEOFFREY CHAUCER. In the “Nonnes Preestes Tale,” the ever-green Chaucer has argued the question, for and against, of the worth of dreams. His interlocutors are Chaunteclere and his favourite wife of seven, the “faire damoselle Pertelote.” Rather CHAUNTECLERE AND PERTELOTE. 847 strangely, it is the gentleman who advocates trust, and the lady who is contemptuously sceptical. A poor widow with her two daughters lived in a little cottage near a grove, and amongst her easily-told live stock she counted the handsomest cock and the fairest hen in the country. Besides these, she possessed six other hens, sisters of the before-mentioned. The action of the poem takes place in the well-known time when birds and beasts could speak and sing; a time which, by internal evidence, is seen to have been long posterior to the days of Boethius, or Launcelot of the Lake. It so befell, that in a dawening, As Chaunteclere among his wives alle Sate on his perche, that was in the halle, And next him sate his faire Pertelote, This Chaunteclere gan gronen in his throte, As man that in his dreme is dretched1 sore j And whan that Pertelote thus herd him rore, She was agast, and saide, “ herte dere, What aileth you to grone in this manere ? Ye ben a veray sleper, fy for shame.” And he answered and sayde thus : “ Madame, I pray you, that ye take it not agrefe: By God me mette, I was in swiche mischefe, Eight now, that yet min herte is sore afright. Now God (quod he) my sweven recche aright,2 And kepe my body out of foule prisoun. “ Me mette, how that I romed up and doun Within our yerde, wher as I saw a beste Was like an hound, and wold han made areste Upon my body, and han had me ded. His colour was betwix yelwe and red, And tipped was his tail, and both his eres With black, unlike the remenant of his heres. His snout was smal, with glowing eyen twev, Yet for his loke almost for fere I dey; 1 Troubled. 2 Make my dream have a good issue. This caused me my groning douteles.” “ Avoy,” quod she, “fy on you herteles.8 Alas !” quod she, “ for by that God above, Now han ye lost myn herte and all my love; I cannot love a coward, by my faith, For certes, what so any woman saith, We all desiren, if it mighte be, To have an husbond hardy, wise and tree, And secre, and now niggard ne no fool, Ne him that is agast of every tool, Ne non avantour3 4 * by that God above. Now dursten ye for shame say to your love, That any thing might maken you aferde ? Han ye no mannes herte, and han a berde P Alas ! and con ye ben agast of swevenis ?s Nothing but vanitee, God wote, in sweven is. “ Swevenes6 engendren of repletions, And oft of fume, and of complexions,7 * 9 When humours ben to habundant in a wight. Certes this dreme, which ye han met to-night, Cometh of the grete superfluitee Of your rede colera parde, Which causeth folk to dreden in hir dremes Of arwes, and of fire with rede lemes8 Of rede bestes, that they wol hem bite, Of conteke,9 and of waspes gret and lite $ Eight as the humour of melancolie Causeth ful many a man in slepe to crie, For fere of bolles, and of beres blake,10 Or elles that blake devils wol hem take. “ Of other humours coud I telle also That werken many a man in slepe moch wo; 3 Faint-hearted. 4 Boaster. 5 Dreaming. 6 Dreams. 7 Hir dremes shul not now be told for me j Full were hir hedes of fumositee, That causeth dreme, of which ther is no charge. The Squiere's Tale. 9 Flames. 9 Contention. i° Bulls and black bears. But I wol passe, as lightly as I can. “ Lo, Caton, which that was so wise a man, Said he not thus ? Ne do no force11 of dremes. “ Now, sire,” quod she, “ whan we flee fro the bemes, For Goddes love, as take som laxatif: Up peril of my soule, and of my lif, I conseil you the best, I wol not lie, That both of coler and of melancolie Ye purge you; and for ye shul not tarie, Though in this toun be non apotecarie, I shal myself two herbes techen you. That shal be for your hele, and for your prow; And in our yerde, the herbes shal I finde, The which han of hir propretee by kinde To purgen you benethe, and eke above. Sire, forgete not this for Goddes love j Ye ben ful colerike of complexion; Ware that the sonne in his ascention Ne finde you not replete of humours hote: And if it do, I dare wel lay a grote, That ye shal han a fever tertiane. Or elles an ague, that may be your bane. A day or two ye shul han digestives Of wormes, or ye take your laxatives, Of laureole, centaurie, and fumetere, Or elles of ellebor, that groweth there. Of catapuce,12 or of gaitre-beries,13 Or herbe ive growing in our yerd, that mery14 is: Picke hem right as they grow, and ete hem in. Beth mery husbond, for your fader kin Dredeth no dreme; I can say you no more.” “ Madame,” quod he, “ grand mercy of your lore. But natheles, as touching dan Caton, That hath of wisdom swiche a gret renoun, Though that he bade no dremes for to drede, By God, men moun in olde bookes rede, Of many a man, more of auctoritee Than ever Caton was, so mote I the,15 u Have no care. 12 A species of spurge. 13 Berries of the dogwood-tree. 14 Pleasant. 15 So may I thrive. That all the revers16 sayn of his sentence, And han well founden by experience, That dremes ben significations As wel of joye as tribulations, That folk enduren in this lif present. Ther nedeth make of this non argument j The verey preve sheweth it indede.” Cliaunteclere here learnedly runs over the stock instances of antiquity as preserved by Cicero, Valerius Maximus, Macrobius, and others. He proceeds to state his inference:— “ And, therfore, faire Pertelote so dere, By swiche ensamples olde maist thou lere. That no man shulde be to reccheles Of dremes, for I say17 thee douteles. That many a dreme ful sore is for to drear.” To heap satisfaction on satisfaction in the mind of Perte- lote, Cliaunteclere goes to monkish, then to Biblical dreams, and the dreams of classical fiction. Having commenced the story of Andromache’s dream, he breaks off:— “ But thilke tale is al to long to telle, And eke it is nigh day, I may not dwelle. Shortly I say, as for conclusion. That I shal han of this avision Adversitee : and I say forthermore, That I ne tell of laxatives no store, For they ben venimous, I wot it wel: I hem deffie, I love hem never a del. “But let us speke of mirthe, and stinte all this; Madame Pertelote, so have I blis, Of o thing God hath sent me large grace. For whan I see the beautee of your face, Ye ben so scarlet red about your eyen, It maketh all my drede for to dien, For, all so siker as In principio, Mulier est hominum confusio. 16 The contrary, reverse. 17 Tell. (Madame, the sentence of this Latin is, Woman is mannes joye and mannes blis). For when I fele a-night your softe side I am so ful of joye and eke of pride, That I deffie both sweven and dreme.” And with that word he flew donn fro the beme, For it was day, and eke his hennes alle; And with a chuk he gan hem for to calle, For he had found a com, lay in the yerd. Real18 he was, he was no more aferd. * * * # But sodenly him fell a sorweful cas; For ever the latter ende of joye is wo: God wote that worldly joye is sone ago s And if a rethor conde faire endite, He in a chronicle might it saufly write, As for a soveraine notabilitee. Now every wise man let him herken me: This story is al so trewe, I undertake, As is the booke of Launcelot du lake, That women holde in ful gret reverence, Now wol I turne agen to my sentence. A col fox, ful of sleigh iniquitee, That in the grove had wonned yeres three, By high imagination forecast, The same night thurghout the hegges brast1* Into the yerd, ther Chaunteclere the faire Was wont, and eke his wives, to repaire: And in a bedde of wortes stille he lay, Till it was passed undem20 of the day, Waiting his time on Chaunteclere to falle: As gladly don thise homicides alle, That in await liggen to mordre men. 0 false morderour, racking in thy den; 0 newe Scariot, newe Genelon! 0 false dissimulour; O Greek Sinon, That broughtest Troye al utterly to sorwe ! 0 Chaunteclere, accursed be the morae, 18 Royal. 18 Burst. 20 The third hour, nine o’clock. That thou into thy yerd flew fro the bemes: Thou were ful wel ywamed by thy dremes, That thilke day was perilous to thee. But what that God foremote21 most nedes be, After the opinion of certain clerkes. In the course of his foraging Chaunteclere espies the fox, and all his pride at once vanishes with his courage. The fox, however, wishing to take him at a disadvantage, flatters him so successfully as to prevail upon him to sing. This Chaunteclere his winges gan to bete As man that coud not his treson espie, So was he ravished with his flaterie. Alas, ye lordes! many a false flatour Is in your courts, and many a losengeour,22 That pleseth you wel more, by my faith, Than he that sothfastness23 unto you saith. Redeth Ecclesiast of flaterie, Beth ware, ye lordes, of hire trecherie. This Chaunteclere stood high upon his toos, Stretching his necke, and held his eyen cloos, And gan to crowen loude for the nones: And dan Russel,24 the fox, stert up at ones, And by the garget hente25 Chaunteclere, And on his back toward the wood him bere, For yet ne was ther no man that him sued. 0 destinee, that maist not ben eschued! Alas, that Chaunteclere flew fro the bemes! Alas, his wif ne raughte not of dremes! And on a Friday fell all this meschance. The widow and her two daughters, and her neighbours, joined to chase “dan Russel” for the recovery of Chaunteclere, who happily escaped by a stratagem in which he successfully used against the fox the very weapon of flattery which had been so nearly fatally employed against himself. The next 21 Foreknew, predestined. 22 Flatterer. 23 The plain truth. 24 So called from his red colour. 25 Seized by the gorget, or throat. time Chaunteclere was favoured with a dream of forewarning, he would probably act more upon his own pious judgment, and less upon the unfeminine incredulity of Dame Pertelote. —Canterbury Tales. A SON’S GREATNESS FORETOLD. NICHOLAS HAKPSFIELD (?). “ Sir Thomas More’s mother, sawe in her sleepe the number of children she should have, written as it were in her marriage ring ; and the forms, shapes, and countenances of them all. One was very dim and obscure, and could skarcelie be discerned; for of one she suffered by an untimelie byrth— an aborsement. Another she saw full bright and beautiful, and fairer than all the rest; whereby, no doubt, was this lampe of England prefigured.”—Life of Sir Thomas More. HOW DR. FAUSTUS DREAMED OF HELL IN HIS SLEEP, AND WHAT HE SAW THERE. “After Faustus had a long conference with the spirits concerning the fall of Lucifer, and the state and condition of all the fallen angels, he, in a vision or dream, saw hell, and all the devils and souls that were tormented there. He also saw hell divided into several cells or deep holes; and for every cell or deep ward there was a devil appointed to punish those that were under his charge. Having seen this sight, he much marvelled at it; and having Mephistophiles with him, he asked him what sort of people they were that lay in the first dark pit. Mephistophiles told him they were those who pretended to be physicians, and had poisoned many thousands to try practice; and now (saith the spirit) they have the same administered to them as they did to others, though not with the same effect, for they never die there. Over their 23 heads was a shelf, laden with gallipots full of poison. Having passed them, he came to a long entry (very dark), where there was a mighty crowd. He asked them what they were ? The spirit told him they were pickpockets, who joyed to be in a crowd when they were in the other world, and to content them they were put into a crowd there; amongst them were some padders on the highway, and those of that function. Walking farther, he saw many thousands of vintners and tailors, insomuch that they could not tell where to get stowage for them; and a great number of pastrycooks, with peels on their heads. Walking farther, the spirit opened a great cellar-door, from which arose a terrible noise. He asked what they were P The spirit told him they were witches, and those that had been pretended saints in the other world; but now they did squabble, fight, and tear one another. Hot far from them lay the whoremongers and adulterers, who made such a hideous noise that he was very much startled. Walking down a few steps, he espied an almost incredible number almost hid with smoke. He asked what they were ? The spirit told him they were millers and bakers : but, good lack, what a noise was there among them: the millers crying to the bakers and the bakers to the millers for help ; but all was in vain, for there was none to help them. Passing on farther, he saw thousands of shop-keepers—some of whom he knew—who were tormented for defrauding and cheating their customers. Having taken this prospect of hell, the spirit Mephistophiles took him in his arms and carried him home to his own house, where he, awaking, was surprised at what he had seen in his dream. Being come to himself, he asked the spirit in what place hell was, and who made it. Mephistophiles answered, ‘ Knowest thou that before the fall of Lucifer there was no hell; but upon his fall hell was ordained. As for the substance of hell, we devils don’t know; it is the wrath of God that makes hell so furious, and what we procured by our fall. But where hell is, or how it is governed, and whatsoever thou desirest to know, when thou comest there thou shalt be satisfied as far as we know our- selves.’ ”—The History of the Wicked Life and Horrid Death of Dr. John Faustus; showing how he sold himself to the Devil. THE ELECTOR’S DREAM. J. H. MERLE n’AUBIGNE, D.D. During the heat of the quarrel between Luther and Tezel, about the value of indulgences and the manner of their dispensation, the Elector Frederick of Saxony is said to have had a dream, which is thus narrated by Dr. Merle D’Aubigne:— “ The feast of All Saints drew near. The chronicles of that day here relate a circumstance, which, though not im- portant to the history of the period, may, however, serve to characterize it. It is a dream of the Elector, which, in substance, is unquestionably authentic, though several cir- cumstances may have been added by those who have related it. It is mentioned by Seckendorf, who observes that the fear of giving their adversaries ground to say that the doctrine of Luther was founded upon dreams, has, perhaps, prevented several historians from speaking of it. “ The Elector Frederick of Saxony (say the chronicles of the times) was at his Castle of Schweinitz, six leagues from Wittenburg. On the morning of the 31st October, being in company with his brother Duke John (who was then Co- Regent, and became sole Elector after his death) and with his Chancellor, the Elector said to the Duke— “ ‘ Brother, I must tell you a dream which I had last night, and the meaning of which I should much like to know. It is so deeply impressed on my mind that I shall never forget it were I to live a thousand years; for I dreamed it thrice, and each time with new circumstances.’ “ Duke John. ‘ Is it a good or a bad dream ?’ “ The Elector. 11 know not; God knows.’ “ Duke John. 1 Don’t be uneasy at it; but be so good as tell it to me.’ “ The Elector. ‘ Having gone to bed last night, fatigued and out of spirits, I fell asleep shortly after my prayer, and slept quietly for about two hours and a half. I then awoke, and continued awake till midnight, all sorts of thoughts pass- ing through my mind. Among other things, I thought how I was to observe the feast of All Saints; I prayed for the poor souls in purgatory, and supplicated God to guide me, my counsels, and my people according to truth. I again fell asleep, and dreamed that Almighty God sent me a monk, who was a true son of the Apostle Paul. All the saints accom- panied him by the order of God, in order to bear testimony before me, and to declare that he did not come to contrive any plot, but that all he did was according to the will of God. They asked me to have the goodness graciously to permit him to write something on the door of the church of the Castle of Wittenburg. This I granted through my Chancellor. There- upon the monk went to the church, and began to write in such large characters that I could read the writing at Schweinitz. The pen which he used was so large that its end reached as far as Rome, where it pierced the ears of a lion that was couching there, and caused the triple crown upon the head of the Pope to shake. All the cardinals and princes, running hastily up, tried to prevent it from falling. You and I, brother, wished also to assist, and I stretched out my arm ; but at this moment I awoke, with my arm in the air, quite amazed, and very much enraged at the monk for not managing his pen better. I recollected myself a little: it was only a dream. “ ‘ I was still half asleep, and once more closed my eyes. The dream returned. The lion, still annoyed by the pen, began to roar with all his might, so that the whole city of Rome and all the states of the Roman empire ran to see what the matter was. The Pope requested them to oppose this monk, and applied particularly to me, on account of his being in my country. I again woke, repeated the Lord’s Prayer, entreated God to preserve his Holiness, and once more fell asleep. “ * Then I dreamed that all the princes of the empire, and we among them, hastened to Rome, and strove one after another to break the pen; but the more we tried the stiffer it became, sounding as if it had been made of iron. We at length desisted. I then asked the monk (for I was sometimes at Rome and sometimes at Wittenburg) where he got this pen, and why it was so strong? “The pen,” replied he, “ belonged to an old goose of Bohemia, a hundred years old. I got it from my old schoolmasters. As to its strength, it is owing to the impossibility of depriving it of its pith or marrow, and I am quite astonished at it myself.” Suddenly I heard a loud noise: a large number of other pens had sprung out of the long pen of the monk. ... I awoke a third time; it was daylight.’ “ Duke John. 1 Chancellor, what is your opinion ? Would we had a Joseph or a Daniel enlightened by God.’ “ Chancellor. ‘ Tour highness knows the common proverb,, that the dreams of young girls, learned men, and great lords have usually some hidden meaning. The meaning of this dream, however, we shall not be able to know for some time— not till the things to which it relates have taken place. Where- fore, leave the accomplishment to God, and place it wholly in his hand.’ “Duke John. ‘I am of your opinion, Chancellor. ’Tis not fit for us to annoy ourselves in attempting to discover the meaning ; God will overrule all for His glory.’ “ Elector. 1 May our faithful God do so. Yet I shall never forget this dream. I have indeed thought of an inter- pretation ; but I keep it to myself. Time, perhaps, will show if I have been a good diviner.’ “ Thus the morning of the 31st October, 1517, was spent at Schweinitz. At Wittenburg, six leagues distant, Luther, in the course of the day, posted up his celebrated propositions about indulgences. Tbis step, it is to be observed, was taken by bim without having informed either the Elector, or Stau- pitz, Spalatin, or any, even the most intimate, of his friends of his intention.” DREAM OF ZUINGLIUS. “ On the 11th April, 1525, the three pastors of Zurich presented themselves, with Megander and Oswald Myconius, before the great council, and petitioned for the re-establish- ment of the Lord’s Supper. The petition was granted, but not without argument and opposition. Zuinglius insisted that in the Greek language, ecm (is) is the only word to express signifies ; and he was eagerly occupied with searching for instances to this effect. “ At night, after he closed his eyes, he continued seeking out arguments to oppose his adversaries. The subject which had occupied him so much during the day again presented itself in sleep. He dreamt that he was disputing with Am, Griit, who had maintained that the words This is My body, irresistibly proved that the bread was the body of Christ Him- self; and could not answer his leading objection. Suddenly a person appeared, and said, ‘ Why do you not quote Exodus xii. 11, He shall eat it in haste ; it is the Lord's passover ?' “ The next day, Zuinglius selected this passage for his text5 and spoke so forcibly that he removed all doubts. “ This circumstance, which is so naturally explained, and the expression used by Zuinglius, when he said that he did not remember the appearance of the person whom he saw in his dream, has given rise to the charge that the Reformer learned his doctrine of the devil.”-—History of the Reformation in the Sixteenth Century. THE DREAMING DEACON. JOANNES CUSPINIANUS. “ Basilius Macedo, ■who afterwards obtained tbe empire of Constantinople, when be was a child, lost his father. His mother, much afflicted with poverty, resolved, by her labour in service, to maintain herself and her son. She came to Mega- lopolis at night; and because, poor woman, she wanted where- withal to defray her expenses at an inn, she went to the church of St. Diomedes, and being weary with her j ourney, fell asleep. The holy martyr that night appeared to a certain deacon of that house—who had not yet taken the orders of a priest—in a dream, and commanded that he should take into the house the Icing, who lay out of doors, in a ditch close to the porch of the temple. The deacon awakened with his dream, and went out and found Basilius, a stripling, asleep ; and think- ing it a sleepy phantasm, returned into the temple. Falling asleep again, however, he was again and again awakened with the same vision, wherein he was strictly admonished that he should fetch in their king. At length, therefore, he went to Basilius, and rousing him from his sleep, courteously invited and led him into the temple, and helped him to all necessary accommodation, whereof he then stood in need. This deacon had a friend and kinsman at that time, a servant to Theo- philiza, who, in virtue of affinity, was familiar with the Emperor Michael and Barda Caesar, his maternal uncle. This deacon declared to his brother the vision he had seen, and desired him that he would help this Basil—whom, according to the command he had in his vision, he had entertained—into the service of some prince ; and the brother preferred him to his lord Theophiliza. After a time, the two brothers tell the dream to Basil, and bind him by oath to requite what kind- ness he had received from them, when he should enjoy his kingdom.”—De CcesariMts et Imperatoribus Xtomanorum. THE BENEVOLENT IMPRISONMENT. IZAAK. WALTON, “ In the year of our redemption, 1553, Nicholas "Wotton, Dean of Canterbury, being then ambassador in France, dreamed that bis nephew, Thomas Wotton, was inclined to be a party to such a project, as, if he were not suddenly prevented, would turn both to the loss of his life and ruin of his family. “ Doubtless the good dean did well know that common dreams are but a senseless paraphrase on our waking thoughts, or of the business of the day past, or are the result of our over- engaged affections when we betake ourselves to rest; and knew that the observation of them may turn to silly superstition, as they too often do : but though he might know all this, and might also believe that prophecies are ceased, yet, doubtless, he could not but consider that all dreams are not to be neglected or cast away without all consideration, and did therefore rather lay this dream aside than intend totally to lose it; and, dreaming the same again the night following, when it became a double dream, like that of Pharaoh (of which double dreams the learned have'made many observations), and considering that it had no dependence on his waking thoughts, much less on the desires of his heart, then he did more seriously consider it, and remembered that Almighty God was pleased to reveal and to assure Monica, the mother of St. Austin, that he, her son, for whom she wept so bitterly and prayed for so much, should at last become a Christian. This I believe the good dean considered; and considering also, that Almighty God (though the causes of dreams be often unknown) hath even in these latter times also, by a certain illumination of the soul in sleep, discovered many things that human wisdom could not foresee;—upon these considerations he resolved to use so pru- dent a remedy, by way of prevention, as might introduce no great inconvenience to himself or his nephew. And to that end he wrote to the queen (it was Mary) and besought her, ‘ That she would cause his nephew, Thomas Wotton, to be sent for out of Kent : and that the lords of her council might interrogate him in such feigned questions as might give a colour for his commitment into a favourable prison ; declar- ing that he would acquaint her Majesty with the true reason of his request, when he should next become so happy as to see and speak to her Majesty.’ “ It was done as the dean desired; and in prison I must leave Mr. Wotton till I have told the reader what followed. “ At this time, a marriage was concluded betwixt our Queen Mary and Philip, King of Spain ; and though this was concluded with the advice, if not by the persuasion, of the privy council, as having many probabilities of advantage to this nation, yet divers persons of a contrary persuasion did not only declare against it, but also raise forces to oppose it; believing (as they said) it would be a means to bring England to be under a subjection to Spain, and make those of this nation slaves to strangers. “ And of this number, Sir Thomas Wyat, of Boxley Abbey in Kent (betwixt whose family, and the family of the Wottons, there had been an ancient and entire friendship) was the principal actor; who having persuaded many of the nobility and gentry (especially in Kent) to side with him, and he being defeated and taken prisoner was legally arraigned, and lost his life; so did the Duke of Suffolk, and divers others, especially of the gentry of Kent, who were there in several places executed as Wyat’s assistants. “ And of this number, in all probability, had Mr. Wotton been, if he had not been confined; for, though he could not be ignorant that another man’s treason makes it mine by con- cealing it, yet he durst confess to his uncle, when he returned into England, and then came to visit him in prison, that he had more than an intimation of Wyat’s intentions, and thought he had not continued actually innocent if his uncle had not so happily dreamed him into a prison ; out of which place, when lie was delivered by the same hand that caused his commit- ment, they both considered the dream more seriously, and then both joined in praising God for it,—that God who ties himself to no rules, either in preventing of evil, or in showing mercy to those whom, of his good pleasure, he hath chosen to love. “ And this dream was the more remarkable because that God, who in days of old did use to speak to his people in visions, did seem to speak to many of this family in dreams; of which I will also give the reader one short particular of this Thomas Wotton, whose dreams did usually prove true, both in foretelling things to come, and discover- ing things past; and the particular is this:—This Thomas, a little before his death, dreamed that the university treasury was robbed by townsmen and poor scholars; and that the number was five; and being that day to write to his son Henry at Oxford, he thought it worth so much pains as by a postscript in his letter to make a slight inquiry of it. The letter) which was writ out of Kent, and dated three days before (came to his son’s hands the very morning after the night in which the robbery was committed; and when the city and university were both in a perplexed inquest of the thieves, then did Sir Henry Wotton show his father’s letter, and by it such light was given of this work of darkness, that the five guilty persons were presently discovered and appre- hended, without putting the university to so much trouble as the casting of a figure.”—Life of Sir Henry Wotton. PREMONITIONS. JEROME CARDAN (GIROLAMO CARDANO). “ Joannes Maria Maurocenus, a Venetian senator, and the writer’s particular friend, while governor in Dalmatia, saw in a dream one of his brothers, to whom he was much attached ; the brother embraced him, and bade him farewell, because he was going into the other world. Maurocenus, haying followed him a long way weeping, awoke at last in tears, and expe- rienced much anxiety on account of his brother, who was at Venice. On the third day he received letters from Venice, signifying that his brother Donatus, of whom he had dreamed, died on the night and hour of his dream, after an attack of a pestilential fever, which carried him off in three days. “ Ludovicus Madius, one of our senators, sleeping in the same room with a soldier, was awakened by his calling out in his sleep ; when, asking what was the matter with him, he said he dreamed that he had received a severe wound in the head, and that he was dying. As his master, Madius, was attached to him, he ordered him not to stir out of doors; but his com- rades urging him to pay a visit to the enemy, he forgot his dream, and accompanied them ; when, unfortunately for him, the enemy appearing, his companions ignobly fled, and he was killed, his head being cloven asunder.”—Somniorum Synesiorv/m omnis generis insomnia explicantes} libri iv. THE SWAFFHAM TINKER. There is a remarkable dream, of which the hero was a tinker of Swaffham, two or three hundred years ago. This dream is both traditional and historical, being well known, in its first form, in the place where it occurred, and having been recorded in the legendary histories of former ages :— “There lived at Swaffham, in Norfolk, a hardworking, industrious man, who followed the trade of a tinker. This man dreamed one night, that if he took a journey to London, and placed himself on a certain part of London Bridge, he should there meet with a person who would communicate some- thing to him of great importance to his future prospects in life. This dream made a great impression on the tinker’s mind, and he related it very circumstantially to his wife in the morning. She, however, half laughed and half scolded at him 3G4 PILGRIMAGE IN SEARCH OF AN ORACLE. for his folly in paying attention to such idle fancies, and told him he had better get np and go to work. The next night he dreamed the same again, and likewise the third night, when the impression was so powerful on his mind that he deter- mined, in spite of the remonstrances of his wife, and the ridicule of his neighbours, to ‘ go to London and see the up- shot of it.’ Accordingly, having made the requisite arrange- ments, a9 to the management of his business during his absence, he furnished himself with a sum of money, and set out on foot for the metropolis, distant about ninety miles. He reached the end of his journey late on the third day, and hav- ing refreshed himself with a night’s rest, he took his station the next morning on a part of the bridge which corresponded with the description in his dream. There he stood all day, without any communication as to the purpose of his journey. The next day it was the same—and the third ; so that, towards night, his confidence in his dream, as well as his patience, began to be considerably shaken; and he inwardly cursed him- self for his folly in not yielding to his wife’s advice, and resolved that next day he would leave London, and make the best of his way home again. However, he kept his station till late in the evening ; when, just as he was about to leave it, a stranger, who had noticed him standing doggedly and with anxious looks on the same spot for some days, accosted him, and asked him what he was waiting there for. After some hesitation, the tinker told him his errand, without, however, acquainting him with the place he come from. The stranger smiled at his simplicity, and advised him to go home, and in future to pay no attention to dreams. ‘ I myself,’ said he, ‘ if I were disposed to put faith in such things, might now go a hundred miles into the country upon a similar errand. I dreamed three nights this week, that if I went to a place called SwafFham, in Norfolk, and dug under an apple-tree in a cer- tain garden, on the north side of the town, I should find a box of money; but I have something else to do than to run after such idle fancies ! No, no, my friend, go home and work well at your calling, and you will find there the riches you are seeking here.’ The tinker was astonished. This, he doubted not, was the information he was seeking ; but he said nothing further to the stranger than to thank him for his advice, and to declare his determination to follow it. He imme- diately went to his lodging, and the next day set off for his home, which he reached safe. He said but little to his wife on the subject of his journey, but rose early the next morning, and commenced digging on the spot supposed to be pointed out by the stranger. After proceeding with his work a few feet downwards, the spade struck against a hard substance, which, upon clearing the mould from the top of it, proved to be an iron chest. He quickly removed it to his house, and having with some difficulty broken off the lid, to his great joy found it full of money. After securing his treasure, he dis- covered, upon the outside of the chest, an inscription, which, being no scholar, he was unable to decipher. He therefore hit upon the following expedient to ascertain its meaning :— There was in the town a grammar school, several of the pupils of which were constantly in the habit of passing his smithy in the way to and from school. The tinker judged that by placing the chest at the door, it would excite the attention of the boys, and thus he should be able to obtain the object in • view, without exciting any suspicion among his neighbours. He had soon the opportunity he sought. A number of the I boys being gathered round, as was their custom, to witness the operations of the forge, he took occasion to challenge their scholastic skill in the translation of the inscription. Some shook their heads : others, after conning over it awhile, said it was not legible. At length one older than the rest, anxious 1 to display his superior learning, after scraping and breaking off the rust, gave the following solution of it— ‘ Where this stood Is another twice as good.’ Overjoyed at this information, the tinker next morning resumed his labour; and a little below the ground already cleared, he found a second chest, double the size of the first, and, like it, filled with gold and silver coin. The account goes on to state that, becoming thus a wealthy man, the tinker showed his gratitude to Providence by building a new chancel to the church, the old one being out of repair. And whatever fiction the marvellous taste of those ages may have mixed up with the tale, certain it is that there is shown at this day a monument in Swaffham Church, having an effigy in marble, said to be that of the tinker, with his dog at his side, and his tools and implements of trade lying about him.”—Mirror, Saturday, May 4, 1833. A DREAM OF COMFORT. BISHOP HALL. “ My mother, Winifride, was a woman of rare sanctity. She was continually exercised with the affliction of a weak body, and oft of a wounded spirit, the agonies whereof as she would oft recount with much passion, professing that the greatest bodily sicknesses were but flea-bites to those scorpions, so from them all at last she found a happy and comfortable deliverance, and that not without a more than ordinary hand of God. For on a time, being in great distress of conscience, she thought in her dream, there stood by her a grave personage, in the gown and other habits of a physician, who inquiring of her estate, and re- ceiving a sad and querulous answer from her, took her by the hand, and bade her be of good comfort, for this should be the last fit that ever she should feel of this kind; whereto she seemed to answer, that upon that condition she could well be content for the time, with that, or any other torment. Reply was made to her, as she thought, with a redoubled assurance of that happy issue of this her last trial; whereat she began to conceive an unspeakable joy; which yet upon her awaking left her more disconsolate, as then conceiting her happiness A VERIFIED PREDICTION. imaginary, her misery real; when the very same day she was visited by the reverend and (in his time) famous divine, Mr. Anthony Gilby, under whose ministry she lived; who, upon the relation of this her pleasing vision, and the contrary effects it had in her, began to persuade her that dream was no other than Divine, and that she had good reason to think that gracious premonition was sent her from God Himself, who, though ordinarily He keeps the common road of his proceed- ings, yet sometimes in the distresses of his servants, He goes unusual ways to their relief. Hereupon she began to take heart, and by good counsel and her fervent prayers, found that happy prediction verified to her: and upon all occasions in the remainder of her life, was ready to magnify the merey of her God in so sensible a deliverance.”—The Shaking of the Olive Tree. COMPARATIVE DREAMING. JUAN DE LUNA. “ Three companions, of whom two were tradesmen and townsmen, and the third a villager, on the score of devotion, went on pilgrimage to a noted sanctuary; and as they went on their way, their provision began to fail them, inso- much that they had nothing to eat but a little flour, barely sufficient to make of it a very small loaf of bread. The trick- ing townsmen seeing this, said between themselves: ‘We have but little bread, and this companion of ours is a great eater, on which account it is necessary we should think how we may eat this little bread without him.’ When they had made it and set it to bake, the tradesmen seeing in what manner to cheat the countryman, said ; ‘ Let us all sleep, and let him that shall have the most marvellous dream betwixt all three of us, eat the bread.’ This bargain being agreed upon, and settled between them, they lay down to sleep. The countryman, discovering the trick of his companions, drew out the bread half-baked, ate it by himself, and turned again to sleep. In a little while, one of the tradesmen, as if frightened by a marvellous dream, began to get up, and was asked by his companion why he was so frightened ? He answered, ‘ I am frightened and dreadfully surprised by a marvellous dream: It seemed to me that two angels, opening the gates of heaven, carried me before the throne of God with great joy.’ His companion said : ‘ This is a marvellous dream, but I have seen another more marvellous, for I saw two angels who carried me over the earth to hell.’ The countryman hearing this, made as if he slept; but the townsmen, desirous of finishing their trick, awoke him; and the countryman, artfully as one surprised, answered: ‘Who are these that call me?’ They told him: ‘We are thy companions.’ He asked them: ‘How did you return?’ They answered: ‘We never went hence; why do you talk of our return ?’ The countryman replied : ‘ It appeared to me that two angels, opening the gates of heaven, carried one of you before our Lord God, and dragged the other over the earth to hell; and I thought you never would return hither, as I have never heard of any one coming back from Paradise or from hell; and so I arose and ate the bread by myself.’ ”—Life of Lazarillo de Tonnes. PRESERVATION AND ASSASSINATION. J. C. F. VON SCHILLER. The following is a dramatic account of a warning dream that saved the life of Wallenstein, the celebrated generalissimo of the Catholic forces in the great religious war of the seven- teenth century:— Wallenstein. I fell into a slumber} Then midmost in the battle was I led In spirit. Great the pressure and the tumult! Then was my horse killed under me: I sank; Wallenstein’s dream. 869 And over me away, all unconcernedly, Drove horse and rider—and thus, trod to pieces I lay, and panted like a dying man. Then seized me suddenly a saviour arm;— It was Octavio’s. I awoke at once; ’Twas broad day, and Octavio stood before me. “ My brother,” said he, “ do not ride to-day The dapple, as you’re wont; but mount the horse Which I have chosen for thee. Do it, brother, In love to me! a strong dream warned me so.” It was the swiftness of that horse that snatched me From the hot pursuit of Baumer’s dragoons. My cousin rode the dapple on that day, And never more saw I or horse or rider. Il/o. That was a chance. Wallenstein ('significantly). There’s no such thing as chance. In brief, ’tis signed and sealed that this Octavio Is my good angel—and now no word more. The Piccolomini. The next, also from Schiller, exhibits the dream-warnings that immediately preceded the great Duke of Friedland’s assassination:— Wallenstein. ’Tis midnight. Leave me, sister! Countess. 0 ’tis so hard to me this night to leave thee. A boding fear possesses me ! Wallenstein. Fear! Wherefore ? Countess. Shouldst thou depart this night, and we at waking Never more find thee! Wallenstein. Fancies! Countess. 0, my soul Has long been weighed down by these dark forebodings, And if I combat and repel them waking, They will crush down upon my heart in dreams. I saw thee yesternight, with thy first wife, Sit at a banquet gorgeously attired. Wallenstein. This was a dream of favourable omen, That marriage being the founder of my fortunes. Countess. To-day I dreamt that I was seeking thee In thine own chamber. As I entered, lo! It was no more a chamber: the Chartreuse 24 At Gitschin ’twas. which thou thyself hast founded, And where it is thy will that thou shouldst be Interred. Wallenstein. Thy soul is busy with these thoughts. Countess. What! dost thou not believe that oft in dreams A voice of warning speaks prophetic to us F Wallenstein. There is no doubt that there exist such voices, Yet I would not call them Voices of warning that announce to us Only the inevitable. As the sun, Ere it has risen, sometimes paints its image In the atmosphere, so often do the spirits Of great events stride on before the events, And in to-day already walks to-morrow. That which we read of the fourth Henry’s death Did ever vex and haunt me like a tale Of my own future destiny. The king Felt in his breast the phantom of the knife, Long ere Ravaillac armed himself therewith j His quiet mind forsook him: the phantasma Started him in the Louvre, chased him forth Into the open air: like funeral knells Sounded that coronation festival; And still with boding sense he heard the tread Of those feet that even then were seeking him Throughout the streets of Paris. Countess. And to thee The voice within thy soul availeth nothing ? Wallenstein. Nothing. Be wholly tranquil. Countess. And another time I hasted after thee, and thou rann’st from me Through a long suite, through many a spacious hall, There seemed no end of it: doors creaked and clapped j I followed, panting, but could not o’ertake thee; When on a sudden did I feel myself Grasped from behind—the hand was cold that grasped me— ’Twas thou, and thou didst kiss me, and there seemed A crimson covering to envelope us. Wallenstein. That is the crimson tapestry of my chamber. Countess. (gazing on him). If it should come to that—If I should see thee.. Who standest now before me in the fulness Of life—{she falls on his hr east and weeps]. Wallenstein. The emperor’s proclamation weighs upon thee— Alphabets wound not—and he finds no hands. Countess. If he should find them, my resolve is taken} I bear about me my support and refuge. Death of Wallenstein. A DREAM IN AN UNKNOWN TONGUE. HUGO GROTIUS. “ A certain person at Landrecies, engaged in works there, and lodging very near the town, being warned in a dream that he should beware of a mine of the enemy, rose, and scarcely had he gone out before the roof fell in and destroyed his resting-place. “ But if you see Salmasius, he will relate to you a history which he received from his father. A person came to him entirely ignorant of the Greek language, but who had heard in a dream these Greek words—‘ amOc ovk 6<jcf>paivrj rr/v crrjv a^pv^Lav, (which mean literally—Begone : dost thou not smell, or scent, thy lifelessness ?), and on waking had written down the sound of these words in French letters. As, however, he understood nothing at all of them, he requested the Senator Salmasius to translate the words for him, for he is the learned father of a most learned son. The man quitted his house : on the following night it fell to the ground.”—JEjoistola Gulielmo Grotio, Juris cons ulto. DREAMS OF FATE. GONZALO. “ Catherine de Medicis, Queen of France, wife to Henry the Second, dreamed the very same day before the said king was wounded to death, that she saw him very sickly holding down liis head as he walked down the streets of Paris, being followed by an infinite company of his people that lamented for him. Hereupon she most earnestly entreated him (and as is said) with wringing hands upon her knees, not to adventure into the rank of tilters on that day; but he giving the last day of the feasting for the marriage of Madam Margaret, sister to Emanuel Phillibert, Duke of Savoy, for her honour, and turning to break a lance against a bold and valiant knight (to wit) the Count of Montgomery, happened to be wounded; for in the lances’ breaking on both sides, a shiver or splinter entered by the sight of his helmet, and struck very far into his head. The king died soon after of this wound, aged about forty years, leaving his kingdom lamenting his loss. We may observe the dream of this great princess, and how it happened, whereof doubtless God gave premonitions by his good angel, both for her good, and the whole realm of France; but the king, being more desirous to follow the vanities of the world than the good advertisements of his wife, by his decease the people of France suffered many calamities. His son, Henry III., three days before he wTas murdered at St. Cloud, beheld in a dream all his royal ornaments, to wit, his linen vesture, sandals, Dalmatium robe, mantle of azure satin, crown and sceptre, bloody and made foul with the feet of religious men, and other people, and that he himself was angry with the sexton of the Abbey of St. Dennis; and albeit all good advice was given him, and he, according to the danger of his dream, stood securely upon his guard, yet so it fell out as a thing permitted by Heaven, that he could not avoid that fatal chance, but was slain, whatsoever strong guard was around him.” “I shall relate,” continues Gonzalo, “a dream of a young gentleman which of late happened, premonitory of the death of the Earl of Strafford, the truth of which is fresh in my memory. This gentleman, being disquieted with the thunder- ing of pieces, which his imagination told him were in the SHOCK OP AERIAL ARMIES. air, and not npon earth, looking towards the heavens, he did conceive that he saw a great army ready to encounter with another; and observing the leaders, he perceived one to be a tall black man, the other low of stature. The tall black man ran with his rapier against the same, and transported thus with fury, he stumbled and fell, and as he fell divers arrows were shot, some out of the North, some out of the South, some out of the West, some out of the East, as if all the four quarters had blown none other blasts. After this appeared divers like ghosts, walking with crosier staves, who seemed to harden and encourage the soldiers, yet their arguments could not win them to give battle. These in the twinkling of an eye lost their pure whiteness, and showed themselves in black, with mitres falling from their heads; next to these followed a troop of shavelings, some carrying crosses, others praying with beads; but on a sudden a pillar of fire appeared, and they vanished, and all the heavens seemed to be disturbed. Looking downward he saw a grave old man sitting in a chair of state, upon the top of a mountain, having a sceptre in his hand, with a triple crown on his head, having with him divers habited in long robes and red hats, that seemed to hold the chair; whilst his eye was busied with the view of them, a thunderbolt fell and cleft the mountain, which swallowed them up. Then he seemed to pass through pleasant fields, and the first he met with was a young Cavalero. * * * * The next he met withal was a poor soldier. Now thought the young gallant that he should learn what was the variance between these troops; but before the gentleman could speak to him, the soldier made towards him, and like a bold ruffian demanded his purse, who was a little unwilling; yet having no remedy to prevent the taking thereof, did deliver it, and in requital, the soldier said, ‘ Come you to hear news ? In brief it is this, our General being dead, our armies were disbanded.’ Having uttered the words he vanished, and in his room entered a poor countryman, who was very desirous to know whether he had met with any soldiers that had driven away his cattle. He pitied this poor man, but could give him no comfort in regard, his money was taken away from him. The gentleman passing on came to a great house that was fortified with bulwarks, trenches, and well manned, and on the side of it was an arm of the sea, but in regard he could not give the word, he was not admitted. As he passed by he perceived one that was looking under a tree to take the true height of a star; falling into conversation with him, he told him what a vision he had seen, and would needs know what this black man was that fell from heaven. The astronomer told him if he would have a little patience till he had laid aside his mathematical instruments he would show him his full propor- tion. Whereupon drawing forth a small glass out of a box that expressed such curiosity, as if many artists had assembled together to compose it; no sooner was the box opened, but the beauty of that which was contained therein, made the young gentleman stand and admire whether that which his eye beheld was the work of art or nature, or both. “ Having taken a small ribbon, which was of a skin colour, from the sides of the box, he drew forth a glass in an oval frame, set round with diamonds and rubies; the middle thereof was made of topaz, and so exactly cut, as it sufficiently expressed the skill of the lapidary. On one side of the glass he could perceive this tall man habited like a prince, on the other side like a mourner, and by him an executioner, with this inscription over his head in great letters—‘ worser rul’d not, tray tor’s head must off.’ How, sir, said the astrologer, cast up each letter of this inscription, and you shall find out his name and title, the which he presently and readily under- took, by transplacing the letters, and found it to be Sir Thomas Wentworth, Lord Strafford.* It was no small wonder to him to see that his lordship’s name and title should so truly divine his nature and fortune. Ho sooner had this astronomer showed his glass, but he vanished, and * There is still a little inexactness about this anagram, even after it has been accommodated with the use of Gonzalo’s orthography. LIGHT OP ONE'S OWN SOUL. making a horrible noise at his departure, the gentleman awaked, and fell again into a sweet slumber, and soon after gave this relation to divers.”—The Divine Dreamer. THE TALKING BOTTLE. J. B. VAN HELHONT. Yan Helmont tells us, in the “ Confessio Authoris ” prefixed to his works, that “ he had two dreams, persuading him to abandon the philosophy of the Stoics, and to direct his attention to Divine wisdom.” “ Being much fatigued,” he relates, “ with deep thinking, during which I had endeavoured to acquire some knowledge of my soul, I slept. I was soon raised above the fetters of reason : and it appeared to me that I was in a dark room; on the left hand side I saw a table, and on it a bottle containing a liquid, which thus addressed me : ‘ Dost thou wish for honours and riches ?’ I was stupefied at hearing these words. I paced up and down, endeavouring to find what this could mean. On the right hand appeared a slit in the wall through which shone a light, the brightness of which made me forget the voice and the liquid, and changed the current of my thoughts, for I con- templated things surpassing the power of speech. This light lasted but an instant. In despair I returned to the bottle, which I carried away with me. I wished to taste the liquid it contained. With great exertion I uncorked it, but experienced a sensation of horror, and awoke. Still my desire to com- prehend the nature of the soul continued. This desire lasted for twenty-three years, that is to say, until 1633, when I had a vision, during which my own soul was exhibited to my astonished sight. It was a perfectly homogeneous light, com- posed of a spiritual substance, crystalline and brilliant. It was shut up like a pea in its shell, and I heard a voice saying to me Here is what thou sawest through the chink in the wall!’ It is in the sonl that the vision operated ; he who sees his own soul with his earthly eyes shall become blind.”—Ortus Aledi- cmce ; id est, Initia Fhysicce Inaudita. AN IMPORTANT DIFFERENCE. SAMUEL BUTLER. “ Peter Sterry dreamed ”—we quote a foot-note from Dr. Treadway Nash’s scholarly edition of “ Hudibras,”—“ that Oliver Cromwell was to be placed in heaven, which he foolishly imagined to be the true and real heaven above ; but it happened to be the false, carnal heaven at the end of Westminster Hall, where his head was fixed after the Restoration. There were, at that time, two victualling-houses at the end of Westminster Hall, under the Exchequer, the one called Heaven and the other Hell. Near to the former Oliver’s head was fixed, January 30, 1660-1.” It is to this dream of the enthusiastic “ minister and chap- lain to the Highness the Lord Protector,” that Butler refers in the second Canto of the third part of “ Hudibras — Tossed in a furious hurricane, Did Oliver give up his reign ; And was believed as well by saints As moral men and miscreants, To founder in the Stygian ferry. Until he was relieved by Sterry; Who in a false erroneous dream, Mistook the New Jerusalem Profanely for the apocryphal False heaven at the end o’ the hall; Whither it was decreed by fate Ilis precious reliques to translate. So Romulus was seen before B’ as orthodox a senator, From whose divine illumination He stole the pagan revelation. A GOLDEN DREAM. 3 77 SONNET ON HIS DECEASED WIFE. JOHN MILTON. Methought I saw my late espoused saint Brought to me, like Aleestis, from the grave. Whom Jove’s great son to her glad husband gavo Rescued from death by force, though pale and faint. Mine, as whom washed from spot of child-bed taint Purification in the old law did save ; And such, as yet once more I trust to have Full sight of her in heaven without restraint, Came vested all in white, pure as her mind : Her face was veiled ; yet to my fancied sight Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined So clear, as in no face with more delight. But oh! as to embrace me she inclined, I waked ; she fled—and day brought back my night. DREAM OF A NUMISMATOLOGIST. MOSES AMYKALDUS. “A conncillor of the parliament of Provence, Monsieur Peirese by name, going from Montpellier to Rismes, lay all night at an inn which is midway betwixt those two places ; he had in his company one James Rainier, citizen of Aix, who in that journey lodged in the same chamber with him. As that great man slept, Rainier observed that he talked and muttered something in his sleep otherwise than was usual with him; whereupon he awakened him, and asked him what was the matter. ‘ Oh !’ said he, ‘ you have made me lose a most ex- cellent and pleasant dream ; for I was dreaming that I was at Nismes, and that a goldsmith showed me a golden medal of Julius Caesar, which he would sell me for four crowns ; and as I was ready to give him them, both my goldsmith and my medal vanished away together by your awakening of me.’ Being arrived at Nisines, and having not forgot his dream, he went to walk in the city till suck time as dinner was ready, and passing up and down, ke went into a goldsmitli’s skop, to ask him wlietker ke kad any rarity to skow kim, wkereupon tke goldsmitk answered tkat ke kad a Julius Cassar of gold. M. de Pemese asking tke price of it, ke answered, four crowns. Tliis ckcumstance filled tke mind of tkat great person botk witk joy and admiration, as well for tkat ke kad found a rarity wliick ke kad long very muck sougkt for, as also for tke surprising and strange manner wkereky it came into kis kands.”—Discourse concerning Divine Dreams. “ IF SHE WILL, SHE WILL.” SAMUEL PEPYS, F.R.S. “ January 8,1663-4.—By appointment, took Luellin, Mount, and W. Symons, and Mr. Pierce, tke surgeon, kome to dinner witk me, and were merry. We spent all tke afternoon togetker and tken to cards witk my wife, wko tins day put on ker Indian blue gown, wkick is very pretty. We kad great plea- sure tkis afternoon, among otker tkings, to talk of our old passages togetker in Cromwell’s time ; and kow W. Symons did make me laugk and wonder to-day wken ke told me kow he kad made skift to keep in, in good esteem and employ- ment, tkrougk eigkt governments in one year, tke year 1659, wkick were indeed, and ke did name tkem all; and tken failed unkappy in tke nintk, viz., tkat of tke king’s coming in. He made good to me tke story wkick Luellin did tell me tke otker day, of kis wife upon ker deatk-bed ; kow ske dreamed of ker uncle Scobell, and did foretell from some discourse ske kad witk kim, tkat ske skould die four days tkence, and not sooner, and did all along say so, and did so.”—Diary and Correspon- dence. LADY WARRE’S CHAPLAIN. BISHOP BURNET. “ Lord Rochester told me of an odd presage that one had of his approaching death in the Lady Warre, his mother-in-law’s honse. The chaplain had dreamt that such a day he should die ; hut being by all the family put out of the belief of it, he had almost forgot it till the evening before at supper, there being thirteen at table, according to a fond conceit that one of these must soon die, one of the young ladies pointed to him that he was to die. He remembering his dream, fell into some dis- order, and the Lady Warre reproving him for his superstition, he said he was confident he was to die before morning:: hut he being in perfect health, it was not much minded. It was Saturday night, and he was to preach the next day. He went to his chamber and sat up late, as appeared by the burn- ing of his candle, and he had been preparing his notes for his sermon ; but he was found dead in his bed the next morning:. These things, he said, made him inclined to believe the soul was a substance distinct from matter; and this often returned into his thoughts.”—Some Passages of the Life and Death of the Light Honourable John, Earl of Rochester, who died July 26, 1680. Written by his own direction on his death-bed. AN ISLAND OP THE BLESSED. THOMAS C. UPHAM. The following is a sleep reverie of one who, in a sense, passed her life in a dream, was persecuted by a dream, and died a martyr for a dream :— “ I had a dream which left a sweet impression on my mind. I seemed to see the wide ocean spread out before me. 3S0 THE DREAM AND ITS ANALYSIS. Many were its shoals and breakers, and its stormy waters roared. In the midst there arose an island, lofty and difficult of access where it touched the water; hut in the interior, where it rose again to a lofty summit, it was full of beauty. To this I was in some way mysteriously conveyed. They said it was called Lebanon, forests of cedars and all beautiful trees grew there. In the wood there were lodges, where those might enter who chose, and couches of repose were spread for them. Here, in this place of Divine beauty, all things were changed from what we see in the natural world. All was full of purity, innocence, truth. The birds sang and sported among the branches, without fear that insidious foes would watch and destroy them. The lamb and the wolf were there together in peace; so that I was reminded of that beautiful prophecy of Isaiah, ‘ The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the kid; and they shall not hurt nor destroy in all my holy mountain.’ As I thus con- templated, who should appear but that beloved One, the Spouse of holy souls, the Saviour of men! He condescended to come near me, to take my hand, and to speak to me. When we had looked round upon this divine work, this new Paradise, He directed my attention to the wide waters which surrounded us, to its rocks and fountains, and pointed out to me here and there one who was struggling onwards with more or less courage and hope to this island and mountain of God. Some appeared to be entirely overwhelmed by the waves, but not yet wholly gone, and the Saviour directed that such in particular should receive from me whatever sympathy and aid I could give them. The sweet impression which this dream left upon my spirit continued many days,”—Life and Religious Opinions of Madame de la Motile Guy on. The author of “ Dream-thought and Dream-life,” in the Medical Critic and Psychological Journal, April, 1862, supplies an analysis of the foregoing :— “ The congruity and continuity of this dream, and its resemblance to those moral apologues with which every nursery is familiar, at once arrest attention. It occurred before the seer attained that climax of quietism which resisted and successfully excluded the suggestions of the external senses and intellectual powers, and kept consciousness con- centrated in the inner life and on the being: of God. In the first place, this creation is not merely in harmony with the pietist’s character and habitual thoughts, but it is a sequence of these—it imparts present gratification, it consoled her spirit for many days. She saw beautiful trees, she heard the song of birds. The spectacle of ‘ forests of cedars ’ illustrates a total impression of which we are not conscious. She had before her ideas of geographical relation in the ocean and the island, of motion in the foaming waves, of size and colour. She experienced emotions of beauty, and purity, and innocence, and sympathy, and wonder. She compared the wolf and the lamb—the struggles of the different swimmers in their agony. She drew inferences as to the absence of fear in the birds, as to the abrogation of the natural instincts of the wolf and the lamb. She manifested the intense and never-dying faith of her nature, and the realization of the very object of her daily devotion and abstraction, of seeing and being with God.” A NONCHALANT DREAMER. “ The last proof which I can give on the vanity of dreams is my surviving after one that I experienced on the 22nd of September, 1679. I awoke on that day at five o’clock in the morning, and having fallen asleep again half an hour after, I dreamt that I was in my bed, and that the curtain of it was un- drawn at the foot (two circumstances which were true), and that I saw one of my relations, who had died several years before, enter the room, with a countenance as sorrowful as it had formerly been joyous. She seated herself at the foot of my bed, and looked at me with pity. As I knew her to be dead, as well in the dream as in reality, I judged by her sorrow that she was going to announce some bad news to me, and perhaps death ; and foreseeing it with sufficient indifference— ‘ Ah well! ’ said I to her, ‘ I must die then ? ’ She replied to me, ‘ It is true.’ £ And when ? ’ retorted I, ‘ immediately P * £ To-day,’ replied she. “ I confess the time appeared short; but, without being concerned, I interrogated her further, and asked her, ‘ in what manner P ’ She murmured some words which I did not understand, and at that moment I awoke. The importance of a dream so precise made me take notice of my situation ; and I remarked that I had lain down upon my right side, my body extended, and both hands resting upon my stomach. I rose to commit my dream to writing, for fear of forgetting any part of it; and, finding it accompanied by all the circumstances which are attributed to mysterious and Divine visions, I was no sooner dressed than I went to tell my sister-in-law that, if serious dreams were infallible warnings, she would have no brother-in-law in twenty-four hours. I told her after- wards all that had happened to me, and likewise informed some of my friends, but without betraying the least alarm, and without changing in any respect my usual conduct, resign- ing myself to the entire disposal of Providence. “ Now, if I had been weak enough to give up my mind to the idea that I was going to die, perhaps I should have died, and it would have happened to me, as to those men of whom Procopius, the Greek historian, has spoken, who, when the plague prevailed, were struck with this scourge from God, for having only dreamt that demons touched them, or said to them that they would be soon in the tomb. I likewise should have paid by the shortening of my days for yielding up my belief to these dreams, and violating the law of God, which forbids such a superstition. At least it is certain that a Cana- dian would not have escaped ; for he would have even had recourse to precipices, or to his own hands, in order that his dream might not be a futile one. For the people of that country are absolutely persuaded that they cannot dream of anything which ought not to happen as a matter of course."— Le Hercure Gallant, January, 1690. VARIOUS EXAMPLES. JOEN AUBREY, E.R.S. “ When Archbishop Abbot’s mother (a poor cloth-worker’s wife in Gilford) was with child of him, she did long for a jack, and she dreamt that if she should eat a jack, the son who was about to be born would be a great man. She rose early the next morning, and went with her pail to the river-side (which runneth by the house, now [1696] an alehouse, the sign of the 1 Three Mariners ’) to take up some water, and in the water in the pail she found a good jack, which she dressed, and ate it all, or very near. Several of the best inhabitants of Gilford were invited (or invited themselves) to the christen- ing of the child. It was bred up a scholar in the town, and by degrees came to be Archbishop of Canterbury.” “ When Doctor Harvey, one of the Physicians’ College in London,* being a young man, went to travel towards Padua, he went to Dover, with several others, and showed his pass, as the rest did, to the Governor there. The Governor told him that he must not go, but he must keep him prisoner. The Doctor desired to know ‘ for what reason ? how he had trans- gressed ? ’ ‘ Well, it was his will to have it so.’ The pacquet- boat hoisted sail in the evening, which was very clear, and the Doctor’s companions in it. There ensued a terrible storm, and the pacquet-boat and all the passengers were drowned. The next day the sad news was brought to Dover. The Doc- tor was unknown to the Governor, both by name and face; but the night before the Governor had a perfect vision in a * But better known to us as the discoverer of the circulation of the blood. dream of Doctor Harvey, who came to pass over to Calais ; and that he had a warning to stop him. This the Governor told to the Doctor the next day. The Doctor was a pious, good man, and has several times directed this story to some of my acquaintance.” “ My Lady Seymour dreamed that she saw a nest, with nine finches in it. And so many children she had by the Earl of Winchelsey, whose name is Finch.” “ The Countess of Cork (now Burlington) being at Dublin, dreamed that her father, the Earl of Cumberland, who was then at York, was dead. He died at that time.” “ ’Tis certain that several had monitory dreams of the conflagration of London.” “ Sir Roger L’Estrange was wont to divert himself with cocking in his father’s (Sir Hammond L’Estrange’s) park. He dreamed that there came to him in such a place of the park, a servant, who brought him news that his father, who had been sick a good while, was departed. The next day, going to his usual recreation, he was resolved for this dream’s sake to avoid the way ; but his game led him to it, and in that very place the servant brought him the ill news according to his dream.” “ Anno 1690, one in Ireland dreamed of a brother, or near relation of his, who lived at Amesbury, in Wiltshire, that he saw him riding on the downs, and that two thieves robbed him and murthered him : the dream awaked him ; he fell asleep ag-ain, and had the like dream. He wrote to his relation an account of it, and described the thieves, complexion, stature, and clothes, and advised him to take care of himself. Hot long after he had received the monitory letter, he rode towards Salisbury, and was robbed and murthered : and the murtherers were discovered by this letter, and were executed. They hang in chains on the road to London. “ There are millions of such dreams too little taken notice of; but they have the truest dreams, whose IXth house is well dignified; which mine is not. But most have some moni- tory dreams. The Germans are great observers of them.” “ Sir Thomas White, Alderman of London, was a very rich man, charitable, and public spirited. He dreamed that he had founded a college at a place where three elms grow out of one root. He went to Oxford, probably with that inten- tion, and discovering some such tree near Gloucester Hall, he began to repair it, with a design to endow it. But walking afterwards by the convent where the Bernardines formerly lived, he plainly saw an elm with three large bodies rising out of the same root; he forthwith purchased the ground, and endowed his college there, as it is at this day, except the ad- ditions which Archbishop Laud made, near the outside of which building, in the garden belonging to the president, the tree is still to be seen. He made this discovery about the year 1557.” “ William Penn, proprietor of Pennsylvania, told me that he went with his mother on a visit to Admiral Dean’s wife, who lived then in Petty-France. The Admiral was then at sea. She told them that the night before she had a perfect dream of her husband, whom she saw walking on the deck, and giving directions, and that a cannon bullet struck his arm into his side. This dream did much discompose her, and within forty-eight hours she received news of the fight at sea, and that her husband was killed in the very manner afore- said.’ ’—Miscellanies. 25 CASE OP MR. STOCKDEN. JOHN BEAUMONT. “ Mr. William Smythies, curate of St. Giles’s, Cripplegate, an. 1698, published an account of the robbery and murder of John Stockden, victualler in Grub Street, within the said parish, and of the discovery of the murderers by several dreams of Elizabeth, the wife of Thomas Greenwood, a neigh- bour of the said Stockden; an abstract of which account I give you as follows :— “ Mr. Smythies, first telling us that none can doubt but great discoveries have been made by dreams who read the life of Sir Henry Wotton, and our English chronicles—particularly the murder of Waters, and the discovery of it by a dream, recorded by Sir Richard Baker, in his ‘ Chapters on Casualties,’ in the reignof James the First—and other histories, says that Mr. Stockden was robbed and murdered by three men, in his own house, on the 23rd of December, 1695, about midnight. A little after the murder there came a woman into the street, and said she believed one Maynard to be one of the murderers, because she was informed he was full of money, both silver and gold; upon which there was a warrant taken against him, but he could not be found. Soon after this Stockden appeared to Elizabeth Greenwood in a dream, and showed her a house in Thomas street, near 1 The George,’ and told her that one of the murderers was there. She went the next morning, and took one Mary Buggas, an honest woman, who lived near her, to go with her to the place to which her dreams directed, and asking for Maynard, was informed that he lodged there, but was gone abroad. After that, Stockden appeared again to Mrs. Greenwood, and then representing Maynard’s face, with a flat mole on the side of his nose (whom she had never seen), signified to her that a wire-drawer must take him, and that he should be carried to Newgate in a coach. Upon inquiry, they found that one of that trade who was his great intimate, and who, for a reward of ten pounds, promised him on his taking, undertook it, and effected it. He sent to Maynard to meet him upon extraordinary business at a public house near Hockley in the Hole, where he played with him till a constable came, who apprehended him before a magistrate, who com- mitted him to Newgate, and he was carried thither in a coach. “ Maynard, being in prison, confessed the horrid fact, and discovered his accomplices, who were one Marsh, Bevel, and Mercer, and said that Marsh was the setter on, being a near neighbour to Stockden, who knew he was well furnished with money and plate ; and although Marsh was not present at the robbery, yet he met to have a share of the booty. Marsh, knowing or suspecting that Maynard had discovered him, left his habitation. Stockden appeared soon after to Mrs. Green- wood, and seemed by his countenance to be displeased. He carried her to a house in Old Street, where she had never been, and showed her a pair of stairs, and told her that one of the men lodged there ; and the next morning she took Mary Buggas with her to the house, according to the direction of the dream, where she asked a woman if one Marsh did not live there P To which the woman replied that he often came thither. This Marsh was taken soon in another place. “ After this, Mrs. Greenwood dreamed that Stockden carried her over the bridge, up the Borough, and into a yard, where she saw Bevel, the first criminal (whom she had never seen before), and his wife. Upon her relating this dream, it was believed that this was one of the prison yards, and there- upon she went with Mrs. Footman (who was Stockden’s kins- woman and his housekeeper, and was gagged in the house when he was murdered) to the Marshalsea, where they in- quired for Bevel, and were informed that he was lately brought thither for coining, and that he was taken near the Bankside, according to a dream which Mrs. Greenwood had before of his being there. They desired to see him, and when he came, he said to Mrs. Footman, 4 Do you know me ?’ She replied, ‘ I do not.’ Whereupon lie went from them. Mrs. Greenwood then told Mrs. Footman that she was sure of his being the man whom she saw in her sleep. They then went into the cellar, where Mrs. Greenwood saw a lusty woman, and privately said to Mrs. Footman, ‘ That’s Bevel’s wife, whom I saw in my sleep.’ They desired that Bevel might come to them, and first put on his periwig, which was not on the time before. The lusty woman said, 4 Why should you speak to my husband again, since you said you did not know him ?’ He came a second time, and said, 1 Do you know me now ? ’ Mrs. Foot- man replied, ‘ No ; ’ but it proceeded from a sudden fear that some mischief might be done to her, who had very narrowly escaped death from him when she was gagged, and as soon as she was out of the cellar, she told Mrs. Greenwood that she then remembered him to be the man. They went soon after to the Clerk of the Peace, and procured his removal to New- gate, where he confessed the fact, and said, ‘ To the grief of my heart, I killed him.’ 44 Mrs Greenwood did not dream anything concerning Mercer, who was a party concerned, but would not consent to the murder of Stockden, and preserved Mrs. Footman’s life; nor has there been any discovery of him since, but he is escaped, and the three others were hanged. 44 After the murderers were taken, Mrs. Greenwood dreamt that Stockden came to her in the street, and said, 4 Elizabeth, I thank thee ; the God of Heaven reward thee for what thou hast done !’ Since which she has been at quiet from those frights which had so much tormented her, and caused an alteration considerable in her countenance. 44 This relation is certified by the Lord Bishop of Gloucester, who, with the then Dean of York, the Master of the Charter- house, and Dr. Alix, had the particulars of the foregoing narrative from Mrs. Greenwood and Mrs. Buggas.”—An Historical, Physiological, and Theological Treatise of Spirits. JOHANN HpjINRiCH JUNG STILLING. A remarkable presentiment, by means of a dream, is related in the second section of the first volume of the “ Museum ot "Wonders,” and is to the following effect:— “ A short time before the Princess Nagotsky, of Warsaw, travelled to Paris, she had the following dream :—She dreamed that she found herself in an unknown apartment, when a man, who was likewise unknown to her, came to her with a cup, and presented it to her to drink out of. She replied that she was not thirsty, and thanked him for his offer. The unknown individual repeated his request, and added that she ought not to refuse it any longer, for it would be the last she would ever drink in her life. At this she was greatly terrified, and awoke. “ In October, 1720, the princess arrived at Paris in good health and spirits, and occupied a furnished hotel, where, soon after her arrival, she was seized with a violent fever. She immediately sent for the king’s celebrated physician, the father of Helvetius. The physician came, and the princess showed striking marks of astonishment. She was asked the reason of it, and gave for answer that the physician perfectly resembled the man whom she had seen at Warsaw in a dream; ‘ but,’ added she, ‘ I shall not die this time, for this is not the same apartment which I saw on that occasion in my dream.’ “ The princess was soon after completely restored, and appeared to have completely forgotten her dream, when a new incident reminded her of it in a most forcible manner. She was dissatisfied with her lodgings at the hotel, and therefore requested that a dwelling might be prepared for her in a convent at Paris, which was accordingly done. The princess removed to the convent, but scarcely had she entered the apartment destined for her, than she began to exclaim aloud : ‘ It is all over with me ; I shall not come out of this room again alive, for it is the same that I saw at Warsaw in my dream !’ She died in reality not long afterward in the same room, in the beginning of tbe year 1721, of an ulcer in the throat, occasioned by the drawing of a tooth.” “ This dream,” observes Jung Stilling, from whose work we have transcribed the account of it, “proceeded from a good angel, who wished to attract the attention of the princess to her approaching end.”—Theorie der Grister-Kunde; or, The Theory of Pneumatology. EFFORT OF WILL IN DREAMS. THOMAS REID, D.D., F.R.S.E. “ About the age of fourteen I was almost every night un- happy in my sleep from frightful dreams. Sometimes hang- ing over a frightful precipice, and just ready to drop down; sometimes pursued for my life, and stopped by a wall, or by a sudden loss of all strength • sometimes ready to be devoured by a wild beast. How long I was plagued with such dreams I do not now recollect. I believe it was for a year or two at least; and I think they had not quite left me before I was sixteen. In those days I was much given to what Mr. Addison, in one of his ‘ Spectators,’ calls ‘ castle-building and in my evening solitary walk, which was generally all the exercise I took) my thoughts would hurry me into some active scene, where I generally acquitted myself much to my own satisfaction; and in these scenes of imagination I performed many a gallant exploit. At the same time in my dreams I found myself the most arrant coward that ever was. Hot only my courage, but my strength failed me in every danger : and I often rose from my bed in the morning in such a panic, that it took some time to get the better of it. I wished very much to get rid of these uneasy dreams, which not only made me very unhappy in sleep, but often left a disagreeable impression on my mind for some part of the following day. I thought it was worth trying whether it was possible to recollect that it was all a AN INTERMEDIATE STATE. dream, and that I was in no real danger. I often went to sleep with my mind as strongly impressed as I could with this thought, that I never in my lifetime was in any real danger, and that every fright I had was a dream. After many fruitless endeavours to recollect this when the danger appeared, I effected it at last, and have often, when. I was sliding over a precipice into the abyss, recollected that it was all a dream, and boldly jumped down. The effect of this commonly was, that I immediately awoke. But I awoke calm and intrepid, which I thought a great acquisition. After this my dreams were never uneasy, and in a short time I dreamed not at all. “ During all this time I was in perfect health; hut whether my ceasing to dream was the effect of the recollection above- mentioned, or of any change in the habit of my body, which is usual about that period of life, I cannot tell. I think it may more probably be imputed to the last. However, the fact was, that for forty years after I dreamed none, to the best of my remembrance ; and finding from the testimony of others that this is somewhat uncommon, I have often, as soon as I awoke, endeavoured to recollect, without being able to recollect any- thing that passed in my sleep. For some years past I can sometimes recollect some kind of dreaming thoughts, but sc incoherent that I can make noticing of them. “ The only distinct dream I ever had since I was about sixteen, as far as I remember, was about two years ago. I had got my head blistered for a fall. A plaster which was put upon it after the blister pained me excessively for a whole night. In the morning I slept a Little, and dreamed very distinctly that I had fallen into the hands of a party of Indians, and was scalped. “ I am apt to think that as there is a state of sleep, and a state wherein we are awake, so there is an intermediate state, which partakes of the other two. If a man peremptorily resolves to rise at an early hour for some interesting purpose, he will of himself awake at that hour. A sick-nurse gets the habit of sleeping in such a manner that she hears the least whisper of the sick person, and yet is refreshed by this kind of half sleep. The same is the case of a nurse who sleeps with a child in her arms. I have slept on horseback, but so as to preserve my balance ; and if the horse stumbled I could make the exertion necessary for saving me from a fall, as if I was awake.”—Letter lo llev. William Gregory, January, 1779. A PRESERVING DREAM. LADY CLERK. “Being in company the other day, when the conversation turned upon dreams, I related one, which, as it happened to my own father, I can answer for the perfect truth of it. About the year 1731, my father, Joseph D’Acre, Esq., of Kirk- linton, in the county of Cumberland, came to Edinburgh to attend the classes, having the advantage of an uncle in the regiment then in the castle, and remained under the protection of his uncle and aunt, Major and Mrs. Griffiths, during the winter. When spring arrived, Mr. D’Acre and three or four young gentlemen from England (his intimates), made parties to visit all the neighbouring places about Edinburgh—Roslin, Arthur’s Seat, Craigmillar, etc., etc. Coming home one even- ing from some of these places, Mr. D’Acre said, ‘We have made a party to go a-fishing to Inchkeith to-morrow, if the morning is fine, and have bespoke our boat; we shall be off at six.’ No objection being made, they separated for the night. “ Mrs. Griffiths had not been long asleep till siie screamed out in the most violent, agitated manner, ‘ The boat is sinking ; save, oh save them !’ The Major awakened her, and said, ‘ Were you uneasy about the fishing party ?’ * Oh! no,’ she said, ‘ I had not once thought of it.’ She then composed her- self, and soon fell asleep again. In about another hour she cried out, in a dreadful fright, ‘I see the boat is going down!’ The Major again awoke her, and she said, ‘ It has been owing to the other dream I had, for I feel no uneasiness about it.’ EMANUEL SWEDENBORG. 394 After some conversation they both fell sound asleep, but no rest could be obtained for her. In the most extreme agony she again screamed, ‘ They are gone, the boat is sunk !’ When the Major awakened her, she said, ‘ Now I cannot rest; Mr. D’Acre must not go ; for I feel, should he go, I should be miserable till his return ; the thoughts of it would almost kill me.’ “ She instantly arose, threw on her wrapping gown, went to his bedside, for his room was next their own, and with great difficulty she got his promise to remain at home. ‘ But what am I to say to my young friends whom I was to meet at Leith at six o’clock?’ ‘With great truth you may say your aunt is ill, for I am so at present. Consider you are an only son, under our protection ; and should anything happen to you it would be my death.’ Mr. D’Acre immediately wrote a note to his friends, saying he was prevented joining them, and sent his servant with it to Leith. The morning came in most beautifully, and continued so till three o’clock, when a violent storm arose, and in an instant, the boat and all that were in it went to the bottom, and were never more heard of, nor was any part of it ever seen. “ I often heard the story from my father, who always added, ‘ It has not made me superstitious; but with awful gratitude, I never can forget my life, by Providence, was saved by a dream.’ ”—Blackwood’s Magazine, 1826. [In Chambers’s “ Book of Days,” vol. ii. p. 188, the writer of the above letter is identified as Lady Clerk, of Penicuick, nee Mary D’Acre]. DREAMS OP EMANUEL SWEDENBORG. “ In the whole range of modern biography, thci’e is no life of greater interest to the psychologist than that of Emanuel Swedenborg. His writings constitute a splendid monument of the extraordinary mental powers, the untiring assiduity, and (apart from all considerations of the ultimate results to which this fervour led him) the lofty religious fervour of the man. As a philosopher, he will always occupy a conspicuous and honourable position in the history of modern philosophy ;* and as a theologian, he gave birth to one of the most remark- able developments of Christianity in recent times. From the beginning, his religious feelings entered largely into his philo- sophical speculations, and constituted an essential portion of them. He held, indeed, that religion was necessary to the perfection of philosophy, and that philosophy divorced from rehgion was a dead letter. With him, philosophy and reve- lation -were fundamentally one and the same. “ The merits of Swedenborg as a philosopher are too apt, perhaps, to be overlooked at a time when, as at the present day, his opinions are chiefly known through the medium of those works of his, for which he claimed the authority of Divine revelation. ‘I have,’ he wrote in 1769, ‘been called to a holy office by the Lord Himself, who most graciously manifested Himself in person to me, his servant, in the year 1743, and then opened my sight into the spiritual world, and endowed me with the gift of conversing with spirits and angels, which has been continued to me to this day.’f “ This claim is by no means so obvious that it could be received without strong confirmatory evidence. Now many think that this is afforded by the intrinsic character of the so-called revelation made to Swedenborg and recorded by him, and their faith in this view is sufficiently evidenced by a * “ Writing of Swedenborg’s ‘ Philosophy,’ Morell remarks that it is ‘ perhaps the only attempt the world has seen (with the exception of the unsuccessful effort of Comte) at rising upwards to purely philosophical ideas from positive and concrete facts.’ ”—History of Modern Philosophy, vol. ii. p. 321. f “ Answer to a letter from a friend prefacing ' A Treatise concern- ing Heaven and its Wonders, and also concerning Hell.’ ” London : IS 17. distinct branch of the Christian Chnrch, founded upon the doctrines taught by him. On the other hand, it is contended that there is nothing in the evidence derived from the sup- posed divinely illumined writings of Swedenborg which might not have pre-existed in his mind, and which is not consistent with, and a possible consequence of, his habits of thought. Hence it is argued that the hypothesis of spiritual prompting is neither necessary nor probable, and that Swedenborg had unfortunately, in common with many mystics, become subject to hallucinations which were characteristic of his dominant ideas and feelings. This is the simplest and most natural conclusion; and it derives strong confirmation, if it is not actually demonstrated, by a work of rare interest which has recently come to light. “ In 1858, there was discovered among the papers of a Professor Scheringsson, of Westeras, who had died in 1849, and among whose literary remains the document had been overlooked for nearly ten years, a singularly interesting and previously unknown manuscript of Swedenborg's. In what manner this manuscript had come into the possession of Professor Scheringsson, how long it had been in his hands, and what motives could have induced him to keep its exist- ence a profound secret, are questions concerning which no information has been ascertained. No doubt would appear to be entertained as to the genuineness of the manuscript, which is a species of ‘ Spiritual Diary ’ of the author for the year 1744, written in old Swedish ; and it was purchased for, and is now deposited in, the Royal Library of Stockholm. “In 18G0 this diary was published under the following title:—‘Swedenborg’s Drommar, 1744, Jemte andra bans anteckningar. Efter Original-Handskrifter. Ita provisum est a Domino, ut phantasise iis appareant prorsus sicut realiter forent. Diarium Spirituale, 4360.’ (Stockholm, J. och A Riis, 1860, 8vo, pp. 94.) (Swedenborg’s Dreams, 1744, with other notes of the Author, from original MSS.) Appended to the pamphlet is an introduction by the editors, entitled, ‘ Reflexioner ofver de nyligen uppdagade Swedenborg’s Drom- mar, 1744’ (Reflections on the Recently Discovered Dreams of Swedenborg, 1744, pp. xxiv.) “ The ‘ Dreams ’ appear to have been noted down for the purpose of refreshing the author’s memory, as to his past psychical and spiritual condition, and thfey were probably intended for no other eyes but his own. For convenience of description, the dreams recorded may be divided into six categories:— “ 1. The common-place, comprising by far the greater number. From many of these—although they differ but little, if at all, from the strange ideas which float through the minds of most people in their sleeping moments—the author derives indications of his own sinfulness and helpless- ness, of the mercy of God exhibited towards him, of forgive- ness of sins, and acceptance with the Deity. “ 2. The amatory. Some of this class are lascivious and obscene. They are generally followed by expressions of re- pentance and of ‘ a sense of forgiveness of sins,’ etc. “ 3. The horrible, or those characterized by hideous apparitions. Several of these are evidently of the nature of nightmare. “4. The ambitious, or those in which the dreamer con- verses with kings and emperors. “5. The penitential or devotional. “ 6. The acstatical, or those in which the author supposes he has been favoured with manifestations of the Divine presence. “ Before citing any illustrations of the ‘ dreams,’ it is necessary to premise that it is by no means an easy task to ascertain the precise meaning of the old Swedish in which Swedenborg has noted them. Not only does the language itself appear to have undergone a considerable change within the past century, but an additional source of obscurity is found in the mystical signification attached to the facts re- corded. ‘ A certain class of so-called cultivated people,’ say the editors—and it must be added, the apologists—of the ‘ Dreams,’ in explanation of the somewhat corrupt language in which they are written, and of their occasional obscurity, ‘ little knows what change the Swedish tongue has undergone within the last century, and still less do such people under- stand the imagery, the sublimely symbolical form through which a spiritual world, by means of dreams and visions, under certain circumstances, and for definite objects, reveals itself and condescends to a natural world.’ When a sentence is doubtful, or, so far as we can discover, unmeaning, we have placed it within brackets. “ The first detailed dream bears date 24-25 (night between these two days) March, 1744: previously to this are some notes commencing on the day of Swedenborg’s departure from Stockholm, the 21st July, 1743. These notes contain certain heads of dreams apparently taken down before Swedenborg began to write out his dreams at length, and they ran in this manner :— “ ‘ 1. In youth, and the Gustavian family. “ * 2. In Venice, and about the beautiful palace. “ * 3. In Sweden, about heaven’s white cloud. “ ‘ 8. About my enjoyments in the night. ‘“11. How my inclination for woman so hastily termi- nated, which had been my ruling passion. “ ‘ How I set myself against the Holy Spirit’s power, and what happened thereupon. How I saw hideous apparitions; without life, horribly involved, and therein had to do with an animal, which attacked me and not the child. “ ‘ I seemed to lie on a hill, under which was an abyss. There were knobs: I lay there—would help myself up—was held in a knob without foot-liold. “ ‘ How a woman lay down at my side, so when I was awake I would know what it was ; she spoke gently, but said she is pure, but I smell ill, which was my guardian angel, as I believe, for then the temptation began ! ’ “Of the detailed dreams, as well as of the psychical condition of Swedenborg at the time wben they occurred, a few quotations will suffice “‘1744, March 24-25.—Spoke with our successor in Sweden, who was turned into a woman, yet was also familiar, afterwards with Carl Brokman. I know not what this sig- nifies if not from the following :— “ ‘ Came into a magnificent chamber, and spoke with a woman who was a governess; she would inform me of something: then came the queen in and passed into another chamber; she seemed to have been the same who represented our successor. I went out, for I was very meanly clad— having come from my journey—a long old surtout, without hat or periwig. I wondered that she deigned to come after me; she told me that one had given her mistress all the jewels, but she got them back by saying that he had not given the best. Then she threw away the jewels; she told me to go in again, but I excused myself because I was so ill- clad and had no periwig—I should first go home; she said it did not signify. It concerns that I should then write, and begin the epilogue of the second part. [This I would sit down to, but it was not necessary, which also happened; what she stated about the jewels are truths which are disclosed, but have been taken back, because she was angry not to get all. I afterwards saw the jewels in her hands, and a great ruby amongst them.’] “Swedenborg’s ‘firstrevelation,’ according to the ‘Dreams,’ occurred at the Hague, 6-7 April, 1744, and not in 1743, as stated in one of his letters, and is thus described:— “ ‘ In the evening I fell into another sort of temptation, namely, between eight and nine o’clock, when I read God’s miracles, performed through Moses; I thought that somewhat of my understanding was mixed up therewith, that I could not have the strong faith I ought; I believed and did not believe, thought that before God and the angels manifested themselves to shepherds, and not to the philosopher who THE TEMPTER AND HIS DEPARTURE. appeals to his reason, asking why God made nse of the wind to bring np the locusts ? why He hardened Pharaoh ? I looked at the fire, and said within myself, “ So should I also not believe that the fire exists, as the outward senses are more fallacious than what God says, who is ipsa veritas; I ought to believe this rather than myself.” With many such thoughts I passed an hour or an hour and a half, and smiled in my mind at the tempter. It is to be observed, that the same day I went to Delft, and the whole day had the grace to be in deep spiritual thought, as deep and beautiful as I ever had, which was the Spirit’s work. “ ‘ At ten o’clock, I lay down in bed, and was somewhat better; half an hour after I heard a clamour under my head : I thought that then the tempter went away; immediately there came over me a rigour so strong from the head and the whole body, with some din, and this several times. I found that something holy was over me: I thereupon fell asleep, and at about twelve, one, or two o’clock in the night, there came over me so strong a shivering from head to foot, with a din, as if many winds rushed together, which shook me, was indescribable, and prostrated me upon my face. Then, while I was prostrated, I was in a moment quite awake, and saw that I was cast down, and wondered what it meant. And I spoke as if I was awake, but found that the word was put into my mouth, and I said, “ Omnipotent Jesus Christ, as of Thy great grace Thou condescendest to come to so great a sinner, make me worthy of this grace!” I held my hands together and prayed, and then came a hand, which squeezed my hands hard; immediately thereupon I continued my prayer, and said, “ That Thou hast promised to pardon all sinners, Thou canst not but keep Thy word.” At the same time I sat in his lap, and saw Him face to face: it was a face of holy look, such as cannot be described, and smiling, such as I believe his face was while He lived. He spoke to me, and asked whether I had a bill of health. I answered, “Lord, Thou knowest better than I.” “Well, do so,” said He. That is, I thought, “ Love me really,” or “ Do what thou hast promised.” God give me grace thereto. I found that it depended not on my own strength. Awoke with rigours. I again came into such a state, that I was, in thought, neither sleeping nor waking. I thought what can it he P Is it Christ, God’s Son, I have seen ? But it is sin to doubt it. But it is commanded that we shall try the spirits, I thought, after all; and found from what passed the night before, that I was purified and pre- served, and so prepared for it, as also that I fell upon my face, and the word I spoke; and the prayer came not of myself, but the word was put into my mouth, yet that I spoke, and that all was holy; so that I found it was God’s Son Himself, who came down with such a din, and who prostrated me on the ground of Himself, and made the prayer, and so said it was Jesus Himself. I prayed for pardon that I should so long- have doubted it, and also that it came into my thought to desire a miracle; this I found was improper. Thereupon I fell to prayer, and prayed only for pardon; more I could not; but afterwards, I added, and prayed that I might obtain love, which is Jesus Christ’s work and not mine. However, rigours often passed over me.’ “It would seem that in 1743-1744, Swedenborg had become subject to frequent dreams, contemporaneously with a marked, and, to him, inexplicable change in his ordinary mental state, if we understand aright his brief observations at the commencement of the diary, that * the propensity and self- love of his work was passed away, which he himself wondered at;’ and that his ‘ inclination for women so hastily terminated, which had been his ruling passitfn.’ “ At the first he seems to have been quite conscious of the nature and personal origin of his dreams, as well as of their being governed by his predominant thoughts ; but in accord- ance, it may be, with his accustomed habits of thinking, he regarded them in a mystical sense, and applied them to the subjects he wrote on, or studied, or to his religious state, as a sinner. Yielding to, as it were, and fostering thus his dreams, they presently became habitual to him, and occa- sionally passed into the state of actual visions, that is to say, of waking dreams—hallucinations. There is nothing whatever to show that the hallucinations of his waking moments were not of essentially the same character as the hallucinations he experienced when asleep. The former, indeed, were the cul- mination of the same mental and sensorial changes which had led to the latter, and their manifestation was coincident with a marked change in Swedenborg’s powers of thinking. The augmentation of the sensorial disturbance to the pitch of hallucination in waking moments was, in fact, accompanied with indications of mental disorder. “ As in sleep the mind yields implicit belief to the sensorial changes which occur in dreaming, so we find Swedenborg yielding, without question, implicit belief to the reality of his waking visions. Both the sensorial and mental characteristics of dreaming had passed into his waking moments. He no longer distinguished the true nature of his dreams as dreams, and their intimate dependence upon his dominant thoughts, but thenceforth (unconscious of the vast gulf intervening between the premises and the corollary) he looked upon them as Divine revelations ; and into this category he swept without reserve all his dreams, even the common-place, the ambitious, the horrible, or the erotic. “ The erotic dreams, which, if we err not, have now for the first time come to light, seem to prove most conclusively that Swedenborg’s mental faculties were at this period of his life, more or less disturbed, and that he suffered from halluci- nations in the strictly scientific sense of the term. His amatory propensities, as well as religious feelings, determined the form of certain of his dreams, and these, in some instances, assumed a highly obscene character. Now, when we find these dreams deliberately recorded, and put upon the same level in respect to their spiritual significance as the holiest dreams, the conclusion as to the mental state of the writer is obvious, particularly when, as in Swedenborg’s case 26 (who was a celibate, by the way), he had been a man of pure, nnblameable, and religious life. “ Swedenborg’s account of his strong erotic propensities, and the manifestation of these in his dreams, throws a sig- nificant light upon his works on ‘ Conjugal Love,’ and the ‘ Pleasures of Insanity; or, Scortatory Love,’ as well as upon passages in other of his theological works.”—The Medical Critic and Psijchological Journal, vol. i., 1861. A DUMB MAN RECOVERS SPEECH. VEN. ARCHDEACON SQUIRE, F.R.S. “ Henry Axford, son of Henry Axford, of the Devizes in Wiltshire, an attorney, when a child, was subject to convul- sion fits, which followed him pretty frequently till he was about twenty-five years of age. After this his health appeared extremely good. At about twenty-eight years old, going with some ladies to see Longleat, in Wiltshire, the seat of Lord Viscount Weymouth, he perceived a hoarseness come upon him, which was soon after attended with all the symptoms of a common cold, till, in about six days after his first seizure, he became quite speechless, not only losing the articulate use of his tongue, but being scarcely able to make the least noise with it. His cold quickly went off in the usual manner, and he grew perfectly well—as well in health as ever he had been in his life, but he still continued absolutely speechless. He had advice from all the neighbouring physicians, but to no purpose, for nothing they did for him could restore him to the former use of his tongue. “ He continued in this dumb way about four years, till one day in the month of July, in the year 1741, being at Stoke, in the above-mentioned county, he got very much in liquor, so much, that upon his return home at night to Devizes, he fell from his horse three or four times, and was at last taken up by a neighbour, and put to bed in a house upon the road. He soon fell asleep; when, as he tells the story himself, dreaming that he was fallen into a furnace of boiling wort, it put him into so great an agony of fright, that, struggling with all his might to call out for help, he actually did call out aloud, and recovered the use of his tongue from that moment, as effect- ually as ever he had it in his life, without the least hoarseness remaining, or alteration in the old sound of his voice, as near as can be discerned. “ He was not used to drink hard; he is still alive, con- tinues in good health, and has the use of his tongue as per- fectly as ever he had in the former part of his life.”—The Case of Henry Axford, ivho recovered the TJse of his Tongue, after having been Four Years Dumb, by means of a Frightful Dream. Philosophical Tranactions, vol. xlv., 1748. ZIMMERMANN’S DREAM. J. C. XiAVATER. Lavater, in one of his letters to Zimmermann, physician to George the Second, thus narrates a dream of which his correspondent had himself been the subject:— “I add,” says Lavater, “as a phenomenon from which perhaps some idea may be deduced as to the state of the soul after death, that remarkable dream which you yourself had, my dearest Zimmermann, in November, 1765. The true nar- rative of such an experience, by a man who is the sworn foe of all superstition, and who contemns the remotest approach to fanaticism, is of great value. This dream of yours is worthy of notice on two accounts ; first, in so far as it may be considered generally to have arisen from an unusual state of the soul, which perhaps resembles its condition after the death of the body; and secondly, as it contains and suggests some very probable ideas respecting that condition of the separated spirit. You saw your wife, whose decease had been announced to you, in a beautiful and aerial form and garb, in lier modest, tranquil loveliness, yet with an aspect of some- what strange solemnity. She approached you with an amiable majesty not to be described, and with the disclosure ‘that she had experienced things which no man had ever conjectured; that the powers of her soul had been infinitely exalted and enlarged; that she had looked through the transient past in all its causes and sequences; that each present moment was for her as a sea of ideas, but the future still somewhat dark; that she was inexpressibly happy; that her whole past course of life ever floated before her mind; that every thought, every disposition, not leading decidedly to that towards which all her wishes were now directed, appeared to her a fault, and gave her uneasiness ; that she felt a sort of helplessness when contemplating the way to heaven; that in heaven she was not yet; judgment had not yet occurred; that brilliant clouds as yet veiled from their view that blissful home, and thither, thither, they were pressing.’ You told me further, that you had asked of your wife a number of weighty questions, which she so answered that you saw clearly what the greatest mind among mortals could never have attained the remotest glimpse of; but that in the attempt to note these down you awoke, and then, notwithstanding the most strenuous efforts at recollection, were unable to recall the sublime, and new, and prescient ideas, which in the dream you were anxious to record.”—Aussichten in die Ewiglceit. (Glimpses into Eternity). To this narrative, Mr. Sheppard, who quotes the dream, appends the following note:— “ It appears from Tissot’s life of Zimmermann that his wife was not really deheased when the above dream occurred to him. We are to interpret the announcement of her death merely as an incident of the dream, which, in my judgment, renders that itself the more remarkable, since it was not occasioned by emotions or promptings of the imagination arising from an actual bereavement, but arose independently A THRICE-RECURRING DREAM. of any such, event. The first wife of Dr. Zimmermann died in 1770, five years after this dream happened, according to the statement of Lavater.” THE MAN WITH THE INVOICES. THE HONOURABLE MR. TALBOT. “In the year 1768 my father, Matthew Talbot, of Castle Talbot, county Wexford, was much surprised at the recurrence of a dream three several times during the same night, which caused him to repeat the whole circumstance to his lady the following morning. He dreamed that he had arisen as usual, and descended to his library, the morning being hazy. He then seated himself at his secretoire to write, when, happening to look up a long avenue of trees opposite the window, he perceived a man in a blue jacket, mounted on a white horse, coming towards the house. My father arose, and opened the window. The man, advancing, presented him with a roll of papers, and told him they were invoices of a vessel which had been wrecked, and had drifted in during the night on his son-in-law’s, Lord Mount Morris’s, estate close by, and signed ‘ Bell and Stephenson.’ My father’s attention was only called to the dream from its frequent recurrence; but when he found himself seated at his desk on the misty morning, and beheld the identical person whom he had seen in bis dream, in the blue coat, riding on the grey horse, he felt surprised, and, opening the window, waited the man’s approach. He imme- diately rode up, and drawing from his pocket a packet of papers, gave them to my father, stating they were invoices belonging to an American vessel which had been wrecked, and drifted in upon his lordship’s estate; that there was no person on board to lay claim to the wreck, but that the invoices were signed ‘ Stephenson and Bell.’ I assure you, my dear sir, that the above is most faithfully given, and actually occurred; but it is not more extraordinary than other ex- amples of the prophetic powers of the mind or soul in sleep, which I have frequently heard related. “ Yours most faithfully, “William Talbot. “ Alton Towers, Oct. 23, 1842.” —From Notes appended to Dr. Finns' “Anatomy of Sleep." A DREAM-ANT AGONIST. JAMES BOSWELL. “Dr. Johnson related that he had once in a dream a contest of wit with some other person, and that he was very much mortified by imagining that his opponent had the better of him. ‘Now,’ said he, ‘one may mark here the effect of sleep in weakening the power of reflection, for had not my judgment failed me, I should have seen that the wit of this supposed antagonist, by whose superiority I felt myself depressed, was as much furnished by me as that which I thought I had been uttering in my own character.’ ”—Life of Dr. Johnson. MURDER AND CONVICTION. “ Among the various histories of singular dreams and cor- responding events, we have lately heard of one which seems to merit being rescued from oblivion. Its authenticity will appear from the relation ; and we may surely pronounce that a more extraordinary concurrence of fortuitous and accidental circumstances can scarcely be produced or paralleled. “ One Adam Rogers, a creditable and decent person, a man of good sense and repute, who keeps a public-house at Portlaw, a small hamlet, nine or ten miles from Waterford, in the kingdom of Ireland, dreamed one night that he saw two men at a particular green spot on the adjoining mountain— INEFFECTUAL PRECAUTIONS. one of them a small sickly-looking man, the other remarkably strong and large. He then saw the little man murder the other; and he awoke in great agitation. The circumstances of the dream were so distinct and forcible that he continued much affected by them. He related them to his wife and also to several neighbours next morning. In some time he went out coursing with greyhounds, accompanied, amongst others, by one Mr. Browne, the Roman Catholic priest of the parish. He soon stopped at the above-mentioned particular green spot on the mountain, and calling to Mr. Browne, pointed it out to him, and told him what had happened there. During the re- mainder of the day he thought little more about it. Next morn- ing he was extremely startled at seeing two strangers enter his house, at about eleven o’clock in the forenoon. He immedi- ately went into an inner room, and desired his wife to take particular notice, for they were precisely the two men that he had seen in his dream. When they had consulted with one another, their apprehensions were alarmed for the little weakly man, though contrary to the appearance of the dream. After the strangers had taken some refreshment, and were about to depart in order to prosecute their journey, Rogers earnestly entreated the little man from quitting his house, and going on with his fellow-traveller. He assured him that if he would remain with him that day he would accompany him to Carrick the next morning, that being the town to which the travellers were proceeding. He was unwilling and ashamed to tell the cause of his being so solicitous to separate him from his companion. But as he observed that Hickey (which was the name of the little man) seemed to be quiet and gentle in his deportment, and had money about him, and that the other had a ferocious, bad countenance, the dream still recurred to him. He dreaded that something fatal would happen, and wished at all events to keep them asunder. However, the humane precautions of Rogers proved ineffectual, for Caulfield (such was the other’s name) prevailed upon Hickey to con- tinue with him on their way to Carrick, declaring that, as they had long travelled together, they should not part, hut remain together until he should see Hickey safely arrive at the habitation of his friends. The wife of Rogers was much dissatisfied when she heard they were gone, and blamed her husband exceedingly for not being absolutely peremptory in detaining Hickey. “ About an hour after they left Portlaw, in a lonely part of the mountain, just near the place observed by Rogers in his dream, Caulfield took the opportunity of murdering his com- panion. It appeared afterwards, from his own account of the horrid transaction, that as they were getting over a ditch he struck Hickey on the back part of the head with a stone; and when he fell down in the trench in consequence of the blow, Caulfield gave him several stabs with a knife, and cut his throat so deeply that the head was observed to be almost severed from the body. He then rifled Hickey’s pockets of all the money in them, took part of his clothes, and everything else of value about him, and afterwards proceeded on his way to Carrick. He had not been long gone when the body, still warm, was discovered by some labourers who were returning to their work from dinner. “ The report of the murder soon reached Portlaw. Rogers and his wife went to the place, and instantly knew the body of him whom they had in vain endeavoured to dissuade from going on with his treacherous companion. They at once spoke out their suspicions that the murder was perpetrated by the fellow-traveller of the deceased. An immediate search was made and Caulfield was apprehended at Waterford the second day after. He was brought to trial at the ensuing assizes and convicted of the fact. It appeared on the trial, amongst other circumstances, that when he went to Carrick he hired a horse and a boy to conduct him—not by the usual road, but by that which runs on the north side of the river Sure—to Waterford, intending to take his passage in the first ship from thence to Newfoundland. The boy took notice of some blood on his shirt and Caulfield gave him lialf-a-crown to promise not to speak of it. Rogers proved not only that Hickey was last seen in company with Caulfield, hut that a pah' of new shoes which Hickey wore had been found on the feet of Caulfield when he was apprehended; and that a pair of old shoes which he had on at Rogers’s house were upon Hickey’s feet when the body was found. He described with great exactness every article of their clothes. Caulfield, on the cross-examination, shrewdly asked him from the dock, whether it was not very extraordi- nary that he, who kept a public-house, should take such particular notice of the dress of a stranger accidentally calling there ? Rogers, in his answer, said he had a very particular reason, but he was ashamed to mention it. The court and the prisoner insisted on his declaring it. He gave a circumstantial narrative of his dream; called upon Mr. Browne, the priest, then in court, to corroborate his testimony ; and said that his wife had severely reproached him for permitting Hickey to leave their house when he knew that, in the short footway to Carrick, they must necessarily pass by the green spot in the mountain which had appeared in his dream. A number of witnesses came forward, and the proofs were so strong, that the jury without hesitation found the panel guilty.—It was remarked as a singularity that he happened to be tried and sentenced by his namesake, Sir George Caulfield, at that time Lord Chief Justice of the King’s Bench, which office he re- signed in the summer of the year 1760. “ After sentence, Caulfield confessed the fact. It came out that Hickey had been in the West Indies two-and-twenty years ; but falling into a bad state of health, he was returning to his native country (Ireland), bringing with him some money his industry had acquired. The vessel on board which ho took his passage was, by stress of weather, driven into Minehead. He there met with Frederick Caulfield, an Irish sailor, who was poor, and much distressed for clothes and common necessaries. Hickey, compassionating his poverty, and finding he was his countryman, relieved his wants, and an intimacy com- menced between them. They agreed to go to Ireland together; and it was remarked on their passage that Caulfield spoke con- temptuously, and often said it was a pity that such a puny fellow as Hickey should have money, and he himself without a shilling. They landed at Waterford, at which place they stayed some days, Caulfield being all the time supported by Hickey, who bought some clothes for him. The assizes being held in the town during that time, it was afterwards recollected that they were both at the court-house, and attended the whole of a trial of a shoemaker who was convicted of the murder of his wife. But this made no impression on the hardened mind of Caulfield, for the very next day he perpetrated the same crime on the road between Waterford and Carrick-on-Suir, near which town Hickey’s relations lived. “ He walked to the gallows with firm step and undaunted countenance. He spoke to the multitude who surrounded him, and in the course of his address mentioned that he had been bred at a charter-school, from which he was taken as an ap- prenticed servant by William Izod, Esq., of the county of Kilkenny. From this station he ran away on being corrected for some faults, and had been absent from Ireland six years. He confessed also that he had several times intended to murder Hickey on the road from Waterford to Portlaw, which, though in general not a road much frequented, yet people at that time continually coming in sight prevented him. “ Being frustrated in all his schemes, the sudden and total disappointment threw him, probably, into an indifference for life. Some tempers are so stubborn and rugged that nothing can affect them but immediate sensation. If to this be united the darkest ignorance, death, to such characters, will hardly seem terrible, because they can form no conception of what it is, and still less of the consequences that may follow.”—A. L. L., Correspondent, Gentleman's Magazine, December, 1787. “ Mr. Urban, Dec. 31. “ I perfectly agree with your correspondent A. L. L. on the extreme danger of the popular belief in dreams ; but the story represented by him (in December Magazine, p. 1064) brings fresh to my memory the following remarkable dream, related to me as a matter of fact by a native of the Island of Alderney: — Some few years before the erection of those well-known lighthouses called the Caskets, near that island, an islander dreamed that a ship had been wrecked near those rocks, and that some part of the crew had saved themselves upon them. This story he related the next morning on the quay ; but the sailors, although the most superstitious people in the world, treated it as an idle dream. “ Yet the next night produced the same dream, and the man would no longer be laughed out of it; and he prevailed upon a companion the next morning to take a boat and go to the rock, where they found three poor wretches half starved with cold and hunger, and brought them on shore. This cir- cumstance, and the supposed loss of the ‘ Victory ’ on this rock, the islanders give as a reason for erecting three lighthouses there.”—A. T. Gentleman's Magazine, Supplement, 1787. POETIC INSPIRATION. S. T. COLERIDGE. The following is an instance of a dream-poem. On its first publication Coleridge remarked, “ The following fragment is here published at the request of a poet of great and deserved celebrity, and as far as the author’s own opinions are concerned, rather as a psychological curiosity, than on the ground of any supposedyioefo'c merits. “In the summer of the year 1797, the author, then in ill health, had retired to a lonely farm-house between Porlock and Linton, on the Exmoor confines of Somerset and Devonshire. In consequence of a slight indisposition, an anodyne had been prescribed, from the effect of which he fell asleep in his chair at the moment he was reading the following sentence, or words of the same substance, in ‘ Purchas’s Pilgrimage —‘ Here the Khan Kubla commanded a palace to be built, and a stately garden thereunto; and. thus ten miles of fertile ground were enclosed with a wall.’ The author continued for about three hours in a profound sleep, at least of the external senses, during which time he has the most vivid confidence that he could not have composed less than from two to three hundred fines; if that indeed oan be called composition in which all the images rose up before him as things, with a parallel production of the correspondent expressions, without any sensation or conscious- ness of effort. On awaking he appeared to himself to have a distinct recollection of the whole, and taking his pen, ink, and paper, instantly and eagerly wrote down the fines that are here preserved. At this moment he was unfortunately called out by a person on business from Porlock, and detained by him above an hour, and on his return to his room, found, to his no small surprise and mortification, that though he still re- tained some vague and dim recollections of the general purport of the vision, yet, with the exception of some eight or ten scattered fines and images, all the rest had passed away like the images on the surface of a stream into which a stone had been cast, but, alas ! without the after restoration of the latter. Then all the charm Is broken—all that phantom world so fair Vanishes, and a thousand circlets spread, And each misshape the other. Stay awhile. Poor youth! who scarcely dar’st lift up thine eyes— The stream will soon renew its smoothness, soon The visions will return. And lo ! he stays, And soon the fragments dim of lovely forms Come trembling back, unite, and now once more The pool becomes a mirror. Yet from the still surviving recollections in his mind, the author has frequently purposed to finish for himself what had been originally, as it were, given to him. Avpiov aSiov acrw ; but the to-morrow is yet to come. “ In Xanadu did Kubla Elan A stately pleasure dome decree; Where Alph, the sacred river, ran Through caverns measureless to man, Down to a sunless sea. So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round; There were gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree, And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery. “ But, oh! that deep romantic chasm which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedam cover ! A savage place ! as holy and enchanted As e’er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover! And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething, As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, A mighty fountain momently was forced ; Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted like rebounded hail, Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher’s flail; And ’mid these dancing rocks at once and ever It flung up momently the sacred river. Five miles meandering with many a motion, Through wood and dale the sacred river ran, Then reached the caverns measureless to man. And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean : And ’mid this tumult Kubla heard from far Ancestral voices prophesying war. “ The shadow of the dome of pleasure Floated midway on the waves ; Where was heard the mingled measure From the fountain and the caves. It was a miracle of rare device, A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice ! A damsel with a dulcimer In a vision once I saw: It was an Abyssinian maid, And on her dulcimer she played. Singing of Mount Abora. Could I revive within me Her symphony and song, To such deep delight ’twould win me. That with music loud and long, I would build that dome in air, That sunny dome! those caves of ice ! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware ! beware His flashing eyes, his floating hair! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread. For he on honey-dew hath fed, And drunk the milk of Paradise.” —Kubla Khan; or, a Vision in a Dream. A Fragment. A DREAM POEM. THOMAS CROMWELL, PH.D., F.S.A. “ Coleridge informs ns,” says Dr. Cromwell, “ that beforo the sleep in which he dreamed his ‘ Kubla Khan ’ he had taken an anodyne, prescribed for a slight indisposition; and the writer of these pages had done the same thing during a painful ill- ness, when the very unexpected result was the following:— “ Lines composed in Sleep on the Night of January 9th, 1857. Scene—Windsor Forest. “ At a vista’s end stood the Queen one day, Believed by a sky of the softest hue : It happ’d that a wood-mist, risen new, Had made that white which should have been blu8. A sunbeam sought on her form to play; It found a nook in the bowery nave, Through which with its golden stem to lave And kiss the leaves of the stately trees That fluttered and rustled beneath the breeze; But it touched not her, to whom ’twas given To walk in a white light pure as heaven. “ These lines were pencilled down within half an hour from waking. What made ‘the Qneen’ their subject, or con- ducted their author in his dream to Windsor Forest, or sug- gested any image they contain, was, and remains, a mystery. They were to he traced to ‘ no associated source that could be detected or imagined.’ ”—The Soul and the Future Life. Appendix viii.: On Literary and other Composition in Dreams. SACRILEGE DISCOVERED. “ The Rev. P—r—g, vicar of a parish which is now a com- ponent part of London, though about six-and-thirty years since it had the appearance of a village at the outskirts, had to encounter the sad affliction of losing his elder son at an age when parents are encouraged to believe their children are to become their survivors, the poor youth dying in his seventeenth year. He was sepultured in the vaults of the church. Two nights subsequently to that interment, the father dreamed that he saw his son habited in a shroud spotted with blood, the expression of his countenance being that of a person enduring some paroxysm of acute pain: ‘ Father, father ! come and defend me !’ were the words he distinctly heard as he gazed on this awe-inspiring apparition; ‘ they will not let me rest quiet in my coffin.’ The venerable man awoke with terror and trembling ; but after a brief interval of painful reflection, concluding himself to be labouring under the influence of his sad day-thoughts, and the depression of past sufferings ; and with these rational assurances commended himself to the All Merciful, and slumbered again, and slept. He saw his son again, beseeching him to protect his remains from outrage; ‘For,’ said the apparently surviving dead one, ‘they are mangling my body at this moment.’ The unhappy father rose at once, being now unable to banish the fearful image from his mind, and determining when day should dawn to satisfy himself of the delusiveness or verity of the revelation t 416 BEST OP THE GRAVE BROKEN. conveyed through this seeming voice from the grave. At an early hour, accordingly, he repaired to the clerk’s house, where the keys of the church, and of the vaults, were kept. The clerk, after considerable delay, came down stairs, saying it was very unfortunate he should want them just on that very day, as his son, over the way, had taken them to the smith’s for repair, one of the largest of the bunch of keys having been broken off short in the main door of the vault, so as to render it impracticable for anybody to enter till the lock had been picked, and taken off. Impelled by the worst mis- givings, the vicar loudly insisted on the clerk’s accompanying him to the blacksmith’s—not for a key, but for a crowbar—it being his resolute determination to enter the vault and see his son’s coffin without a moment’s delay. The recollections of the dream were now becoming more and more vivid, and the scrutiny about to be made assumed a solemnity mingled with awe, which the agitation of the father rendered terrible to the agents in this forcible irruption into the resting-place of the dead. But the hinges were speedily wrenched asunder—the bar, the bolts were beaten in and bent beneath the heavy hammer of the smith—and, at length, with tottering step, and outstretched hands, the maddened parent stumbled and fell:—his son’s coffin had been lifted from the recess at the vault’s side, and deposited on the brick floor; the lid, released from every screw, lay loose at top, and the body, enveloped in its shroud, on which were several dark spots below the chin, lay exposed to view; the head had been raised; the broad riband had been removed from under the jaw, which now hung down with the most ghastly horror of expression, as if to tell with more terrific certainty the truth of the preceding night’s vision. Every tooth in the head had been drawn. “ The young man had, when living, a beautiful set of sound teeth. The clerk’s son, who was a barber, cupper, and dentist, had possessed himself of the keys, and eventually of the teeth, for the purpose of profitable employment of so excellent a set in his fine of business. The feeling of the Rev. Mr. P may be more easily conceived than described. The event affected his mind through the remaining term of his existence ; but what became of the delinquent, whose sacri- legious hand had thus rifled the tomb, was never afterwards correctly ascertained. He decamped the same day, and was supposed to have enlisted as a soldier. The clerk was igno- miniously displaced, and did not long survive the transaction. His house was pulled down about thirteen years since to afford room for extensive improvements and new buildings. “As regards the occurrence itself, few persons were apprised of it, as the vicar, shunning public talk and excite- ment on the subject of any member of his family, exerted him- self in concealing the circumstance as much as possible; but our correspondent was intimately acquainted with the par- ticulars of the event from first to last. The similarity of this dream with that of the Arcadians mentioned by Cicero* can- not fail to strike every one. It illustrates the power and providence of Him, who is the same yesterday, to-day, and for ever.”—Mirror of Literature, etc., Saturday, March 14, 1840. VALUE OF DREAMS. JEAN PAUL P. RICHTER. “ But for dreams, that lay Mosaic worlds tesselated with flowers and jewels before the blind sleeper, and surround the recumbent living with the figures of the dead in the upright attitude of life, the time would be too long before we are allowed to rejoin our brothers, parents, friends ; every year we should become more and more painfully sensible of the desola- tion made around us by death, if sleep—the ante-chamber of the grave—were not hung by dreams with the busts of those who live in the other world.”—London Magazine, vol. ix., 1824. “We should all think of death as a less hideous object if * Quoted at p. 312 of this volume. 27 it simply untenanted our bodies of a spirit without corrupting them. Secondly, if the grief which we experience at the spectacle of our friends’ graves were not by some confusion of the mind blended with our own. Thirdly, if we had not in this life seated ourselves in a warm domestic nest, which we are unwilling to quit for the cold blue regions of the unfathom- able heavens. Finally, if death were denied to us. Once in dreams I saw a human being of heavenly intellectual faculties, and his aspirations were heavenly ; but he was chained (me- thought) externally to earth. The immortal old man had five great wounds in his happiness—five worms that gnawed for ever at his heart. He was unhappy in spring time, because that was the season of hope, and rich with the phantoms of far happier days, than any which this aceldama of earth can realize. He was unhappy at the sound of music, which dilates the heart of man into its whole capacity for the infinite, and he cried aloud, ‘ Away, away! Thou speakest of things which throughout my endless life I have found not, and shall not find!’ He was unhappy at the remembrance of earthly affections and dissevered hearts ; for love is a plant which may bud in this life, but it must flourish in another. He was unhappy under the glorious spectacle of the starry host, and ejaculated for ever in his heart, ‘ So, then, I am parted from you to all eternity by an impassable abyss. The great universe of suns is above, below, and round about me ; but I am chained to a little ball of dust and ashes.’ He was un- happy before the great ideas of virtue, of truth, and of God; because he knew how feeble are the approximations to them which a son of earth can make. But this was a dream. God be thanked, that in reality there is no such craving and asking eye directed upwards to heaven to which death will not one day bring an answer.”—London Magazine, vol. ix., 1824. DREAM UPON THE UNIVERSE. JEAN PAUL P. RICHTER. “ I liad been reading an excellent dissertation of Kruger’s upon the old vulgar error which regards the space from one earth or sun to another as empty. Our sun, together with all its planets, fills only the 31,419,460,000,000,000th part of the whole space between itself and the next solar body. Gracious heavens ! thought I, in what unfathomable abyss of empti- ness were this universe swallowed up and lost, if all were void and utter vacuity except the few shining points of dust, which we call a planetary system ! To conceive of our earthly ocean as the abode of death and essentially incapable of life, and of its populous islands being nothing greater than snail shells, would be a far less error, in proportion to the compass of our planet, than that which attributes emptiness to the great mundane spaces ; and the error would be far less if the marine animals were to ascribe life and fulness exclusively to the sea, and to regard the atmospheric ocean above them as empty and untenanted. According to Herschel, the most remote of the galaxies which the telescope discovers lie at such a dis- tance from us that their light, which reaches us at this day, must have set out on its journey two millions of years ago; and thus by optical laws, it is possible that whole squadrons of the starry hosts may be now reaching us with their beams which have themselves perished ages ago. Upon this scale of computation for the dimensions of the world, what heights, and depths, and breadths must there be in this universe, in comparison of which the universe itself would be a nihility were it crossed, pierced, and belted about by an illimit- able wilderness of nothing ! But, is it possible that any man can for a moment overlook those vast forces which must pervade these imaginary deserts with eternal surges of flux and reflux, to make the very paths to those distant starry coasts voyageable to our eyes P Can you lock up in a sun or its planets their reciprocal forces of attraction P Does not the light stream through the immeasurable spaces between our earth and the nebula which is farthest removed from us ? And in this stream of light there is as ample an existence of the positive, and as much a home for the abode of a spiritual world, as there is a dwelling place for thine own spirit in the substance of thy brain. To these, and similar reflections, succeeded the following dream :— “ Methought my body sunk down in ruins, and my inner form stepped out apparelled in light; and by my side there stood another form, which resembled my own, except that it did not shine like mine, but lightened unceasingly. ‘ Two thoughts,’ said the form, ‘are the wings with which I move; the thought of here and the thought of there. And behold, I am yonder, pointing to a distant world. Come thou, and wait on me with thy thoughts and with thy flight, that I may show to thee the universe under a veil.’ And I flew along with the form. In a moment the earth fell back behind our consum- ing flight into an abyss of distance; a faint gleam only was reflected from the summits of the Cordilleras; and a few moments more reduced the sun to a little star, and soon there appeared nothing visible of our system except a comet, which was travelling from our sun with angelic speed in the direc- tion of Sirius. Our flight now carried us so rapidly through the flocks of solar bodies—flocks past counting except to their heavenly Shepherd—that scarcely could they expand them- selves before us to the magnitude of moons, before they sank behind into pale nebular gleams, and their planetary earths could not reveal themselves for a moment to the transcendent rapidity of our course. At length Sirius, and all the brother- hood of our constellations, and the galaxy of our heavens stood far below our feet, as a little nebula amongst other yet more distant nebula). Thus we flew on through the starry wilder- nesses ; one heaven after another unfurled its immeasurable banners before us, and then rolled up behind us; galaxy be- hind galaxy towered up into solemn altitudes before which the AN ILLIMITABLE DUNGEON. spirit shuddered; and they stood in long array through the fields of the infinite space, like triumphal gates through which the Infinite Being might pass in progress. Sometimes the form that lightened would outfly my weary thoughts; and then it would be seen far off before me like a coruscation among the stars—till suddenly I thought again to myself the thought of There, and then I was at its side. But, as we were thus swal- lowed up by one abyss of stars after another, and the heavens above our eyes were not emptier, neither were the heavens below them fuller ; and as suns without intermission fell into the solar ocean, like waterspouts of a storm which fell into the ocean of waters ; then at length the human heart within me was overburdened and weary, and yearned after some narrow cell or quiet oratory in this metropolitan cathedral of the universe. And I said to the form at my side, ‘ Oh, Spirit! has, then, this universe no end ?’ And the form answered and said, ‘ Lo, it has no begining !’ “ Suddenly, however, the heavens above us appeared to be emptied, and not a star was seen to twinkle in the mighty abyss—no gleam of light to break the unity of the infinite darkness. The starry host behind us had all contracted into an obscure nebula; and at length that also had vanished. And I thought to myself, ‘At last the universe has ended:’ and I trembled at the thought of the illimitable dungeon of pure, pure darkness which here began to imprison the crea- tion. I shuddered at the dead sea of nothing, in whose un- fathomable zone of blackness the jewel of the glittering universe seemed to be set and buried for ever; and through the night in which we moved I saw the form which still lightened on before, but left all around it unilluminated. Then the form said to me in my anguish, ‘ Oh, creature of little faith, look up, the most ancient light is coming ! ’ I looked, and in a moment came a twilight; in the twinkling of an eye a galaxy; and then with a choral burst rushed in all the com- pany of stars. For centuries gray with age, for millennia hoary with antiquity, had the starry light been on its road to us ; and at length, out of heights inaccessible to thought, it had reached us. Now then, as through some renovated century, we flew through new cycles of heavens. At length again came a starless interval; and far longer it endured before the beams of a starry host again had reached us. “ As we thus advanced for ever through an interchange of nights and solar heavens, and as the interval grew longer and still longer before the last heaven we had quitted contracted to a point, and as once we issued suddenly from the middle of thickest night into an Aurora Borealis—the herald of an expir- ing world, and we found throughout this cycle of sol^ systems that a day of judgment had indeed arrived; the suns had sickened, and the planets were heaving, rocking, yawning in convulsions ; the subterraneous waters of the great deep were breaking up, and lightnings that were ten diameters of a world in length ran along from east to west—from Zenith to Nadir ; and here and there, where a sun should have been, we saw instead through the misty vapour a gloomy, ashy, leaden corpse of a solar body, that sucked in flames from a perishing world, but gave out neither light nor heat; and as I saw, through a vista that had no end, mountain towering above mountain, and piled up with what seemed glittering snow from the conflict of solar and planetary bodies, then my spirit bent under the load of the universe, and I said to the form, ‘ Rest, rest, and lead me no further; I am too solitary in the creation itself, and in its deserts yet more so ; the full world is great, but the empty world is greater; and with the universe increase its Zaarahs.’ “ Then the form touched me like the flowing of a breath, and spoke more gently than before: ‘ In the presence of God there is no emptiness ; above, below, between, and round about the stars, in the darkness, and in the light, dwelleth the true and very Universe, the sum and fountain of all that is. But thy spirit can bear only earthly images of the unearthly. Now then, I cleanse thy sight with euphrasy; look forth and be- hold the images.’ Immediately my eyes were opened; and I looked, and I saw as it were an interminable sea of light—sea immeasurable—sea unfathomable—sea without a shore. All spaces between the heavens were filled with the happiest light; and there was a thundering of floods; and there were seas above the seas, and seas below the seas; and I saw all the trackless regions that we had voyaged over ; and my eye com- prehended the farthest and the nearest; the darkness had become light, and the light darkness; for the deserts and the wastes of the creation were now filled with the sea of light, and in this sea the suns floated like ash-gray blossoms, and the planets like black grains of seed. Then my heart compre- hended that immortality dwelled in the spaces between the worlds, and death only in the worlds. Upon all the suns there walked upright shadows in the form of men ; but these were glorified when they quitted these perishable worlds, and when they sank into the sea of light; and the murky planets I perceived were but cradles for the infant spirits of the universe of light. In the Zaarahs of the creation I saw—I heard—I felt, the glittering, the echoing, the breathing of life and creative power. The suns were but as spinning-wheels, the planets no more than weavers’ shuttles, in relation to the infinite web which composes the veil of Isis ; * which veil is hung over the whole creation, and lengthens as any finite being attempts to raise it. And in sight of this immeasurability of life no sadness could endure; but only joy that knew no limit and happy prayers. “ But in the midst of this great vision of the universe the * On this antique mode of symbolizing the mysterious Nature which is at the heart of all things, and connects all things into one whole, possibly the reader may not feel unwilling to concur with Kant’s remark, at p. 197 of his “ Critik der Urtheilskraft — “ Perhaps in all human composition there is no passage of greater sublimity, nor amongst all sublime thoughts one which has been more sublimely expressed, than that which occurs in the inscription upon the temple of Isis (the Great Mother—Nature) : * I am ivhatsoever is, whatsoever has been, whatsoever shall be; and the veil which is over my countenance no mortal hand has ever raised.’ ” THE PLANET, WOMAN, AND CHILD. form that lightened eternally had become invisible, or had vanished to its home in the invisible world of spirits. I was left alone in the centre of an universe of life, and I yearned after some sympathizing being. Suddenly from the starry deeps there came, floating through the ocean of light, a plane- tary body, and upon it there stood a woman, whose face was as the face of a Madonna, and by her side there stood a child, whose countenance varied not, neither was it magnified as he drew nearer. This child was a King, for I saw that he had a crown upon his head ; but the crown was a crown of thorns. Then also I perceived that the planetary body was our unhappy earth. And as the earth drew near, this child, who had come forth out of the starry deeps to comfort me, threw upon me a look of gentlest pity and of unutterable love ; so that in my heart I had a sudden rapture of joy such as passes all under- standing, and I awoke in the tumult of my happiness. “ I awoke, but my happiness survived my dream. Oh, how beautiful is death, seeing that we die into a world of life and of creation without end ! And I blessed God for my life upon earth.; but much more for the life in those unseen depths of the universe which are emptied of all but the Supreme Reality, and where no earthly life nor perishable hope can enter.”—London Magazine, vol. ix., March, 1824. DREAM OF A PROPHETESS. MISS TOWNLEY. The following vision is related by Miss Townley, in a letter to the Rev. T. P. Foley, published in a pamphlet entitled “ Letters and Communications of Joanna Southcott — “Monday evening, July the 2nd, 1804.—Joanna tried to compose herself, after a hard contest with the devil, when at last she fell asleep; and whether awake or asleep,” continues Miss Townley, “ she does not know; but she remembers she was quite awake when she felt the hand of the Lord upon her, but in that heavenly and beautifnl manner that she felt joy unspeakable and full of glory. She felt herself lying, as it were, in heaven, in the hands of the Lord, and was afraid to move, fearing she should remove his heavenly hand, which she felt as perfect as ever woman felt the hand of her husband. ‘ In this happy manner,’ affirms Joanna, ‘ I fell asleep ; and in my sleep I was surprised with seeing a most beautiful and heavenly figure, that arose from the bed, and his head almost reached the tester of the bed ; but his face was towards me, which appeared with beauty and majesty, but pale as death. His hair was a flaxen colour, all in disorder around his face. His face was covered with a strong perspiration ; and his locks were wet like the dew of night, as though they had been taken out of a river. The collar of his shirt appeared unbut- toned, and the skin of his bosom appeared white as the driven snow. Such was the beauty of the heavenly figure that ap- peared before me in a disordered state ; but the robe He had on was like a surplice, down to his knees. He put one of his legs to me, that was perfectly like mine, no larger ; but with purple spots at the top, as mine are with beating myself, which Town- ley, Underwood, and Taylor are witnesses of. Methought in my dream, He got himself into that perspiration by being pressed to sleep between Townley and me. I said to Him, “ Are you my dear dying Saviour, that is to come to destroy all the works of the devil ? ” He answered me, “ Yes ! ” I thought I called Underwood, and waked Townley, to look at Him, which they did with wonder and amaze. I then thought I would go out of my bed, and fall down on my knees before Him, to return Him thanks for his mercy and goodness; but as soon as these thoughts entered my head, He disappeared, and a woman appeared in his stead, which gave me pain to see He was gone. But the woman told me many wonderful things that were coming upon the earth, and what was coming upon the devil: yet I grieved at the loss of my dear Redeemer, for I saw no beauty in the woman; and though the woman would reason strong with me, her reasons I did not like. In this confusion I awoke, and heard the hell tolling for the dead, and the drums heating at the same time, which I remarked to Townley.’ ”—The Life of Joanna Southcott, the Prophetess. Containing an impartial account of her wonderful and astonish- ing writings. OPIUM-DREAMS. THOMAS DE QUINCEY. “In the middle of 1817, the faculty, common amongst children, of painting as it were, upon the darkness, all sorts of phantoms, became increasingly distressing to me: at night, when I lay awake in bed, vast processions moved along con- tinually in mournful pomp ; friezes of never-ending stories, that to my mind were as sad and solemn as stories drawn from times before (Edipus or Priam, before Tyre, before Memphis. And, concurrently with this, a corresponding change took place in my dreams; a theatre seemed suddenly opened and lighted up within my brain, which presented, nightly, scenes of more than earthly splendour. And the four following facts may be mentioned as noticeable at this time :— “1. That as the creative state of the eye increased, a sympathy seemed to arise between the waking and the dream- ing states of the brain in one point—that whatsoever I hap- pened to call up and to trace, by a voluntary act, upon the darkness, was very apt to transfer itself to my dreams ; and at length I feared to exercise this faculty : for, as Midas turned all things into gold, that yet baffled his hopes and defrauded his human desires, so whatsoever things, capable of being virtually represented, I did but think of in the darkness, immediately shaped themselves into phantoms for the eye; and by a process, apparently no less inevitable, when thus once traced in faint and visionary colours, like writings in sympathetic ink, they were drawn out, by the fierce chemistry of my dreams, into insufferable splendour that fretted my heart. “ 2. This, and all other changes in my dreams, were ac- companied by deep-seated anxiety and funereal melancholy, such as are wholly incommunicable by words. I seemed every night to descend—not metaphorically, but literally, to descend—into chasms and sunless abysses, depths below depths, from which it seemed hopeless that I could ever re- ascend. Nor did I, by waking, feel that I had re-ascended. Why should I dwell upon this ? For, indeed, the state of gloom which attended these gorgeous spectacles, amounting at last to utter darkness, as of some suicidal despondency, cannot be approached by words. “ 8. The sense of space, and in the end the sense of time, were both powerfully affected. Buildings, landscapes, etc., were exhibited in proportions so vast as the bodily eye is not fitted to receive. Space swelled, and was amplified to an ex- tent of unutterable and self-repeating infinity. This disturbed me very much less than the vast expansion of time. Some- times I seemed to have lived for seventy or a hundred years in one night; nay, sometimes had feelings representative of a duration far beyond the limits of any human experience. “4. The minutest incidents of childhood, or forgotten scenes of later years, were often revived. I could not be said to recollect them ; for, if I had been told of them when waking, I should not have been able to acknowledge them as parts of my past experience. But placed as they were before me, in dreams like intuitions, and clothed in all their evanescent circumstances and accompanying feelings, I recognized them instantaneously. I was once told by a near relative of mine, that, having in her childhood fallen into a river, and being on the very verge of death, but for the assistance which reached her at the last ci’itical moment—she saw in a moment her whole life, clothed in its forgotten incidents, arrayed before her as in a mirror, not successively, but simultaneously; and she had a faculty developed as suddenly for comprehending the whole and every part. This, for some opium experience, 1 can believe; I have, indeed, seen the same thing inserted twice in modern books, and accompanied by a remark which probably is true—viz., that the dread book of account, which the Scriptures speak of, is, in fact, the mind itself of each individual. Of this, at least, I feel assured, that there is no such thing as ultimate forgetting ; traces once impressed upon the memory are indestructible ; a thousand accidents may and will interpose a veil between our present consciousness and the secret inscriptions on the mind. Accidents of the same sort will also rend away this veil. But alike, whether veiled or unveiled, the inscription remains for ever; just as the star seem to withdraw before the common light of day, whereas, in fact, we all know that it is the light which is drawn over them as a veil, and that they are waiting to be revealed whenever the obscuring daylight shall have withdrawn. “ Having noticed these four facts, as memorably dis- tinguishing my dreams from those of health, I shall now cite a few illustrative cases; and shall then cite such others as I remember, in any order that may give them most effect as pictures to the reader. “ I had been in youth, and ever since, for occasional amuse- ment, a great reader of Livy, whom I confess that I prefer, both for style and matter, to any other of the Roman his- torians ; and I had often felt, as solemn and appalling sounds emphatically representative of Roman majesty, the two words so often occurring in Livy, Consul Romanus ; especially when the Consul is introduced in his military character. I mean to say that the words king, sultan, regent, or any other titles of those who embody in their own persons the collective majesty of a great people, had less power over my reverential feelings. I had also, though no great reader of history, made myself critically familiar with one period of English history—viz., the period of the Parliamentary War, having been attracted by the moral grandeur of some who figured in that day, and by the interesting memoirs which survive of those unquiet times. Both these parts of my lighter reading having fur- nished me often with matter for reflection, now furnished me with matter for my dreams. Often I used to see, after paint- ing upon the blank darkness, a sort of rehearsal whilst waking, a crowd of ladies, and perhaps a festival and dances. And I heard it said, or I said to myself, ‘ These are English ladies from the unhappy times of Charles I. These are the wives and daughters of those who met in peace, and sat at the same tables, and were allied by marriage or by blood; and yet, after a certain day in August, 1642, never smiled upon each other again, nor met but on the field of battle, and at Marston Moor, at Newbury, or at Naseby, cut asunder all ties of love by the cruel sabre, and washed away in blood the memory of ancient friendship.’ The ladies danced and looked as lovely as the Court of George IV. Yet even in my dream I knew that they had been in the grave for nearly two centuries. This pageant would suddenly dissolve; and, at a clapping of hands, would be heard the heart-shaking sound of Consul jRomanus, and immediately came ‘ sweeping by,’ in gorgeous paludaments, Paulus or Marius, girt around by a company of centurions, with the crimson tunic* hoisted on a spear, followed by the alalagmosf of the Roman legions. “ Many years ago, when I was looking over Piranesi’s ‘ Antiquities of Rome,’ Coleridge, then standing by, described to me a set of plates from that artist, called his ‘ Dreams,’ and which record the scenery of his own visions during the delirium of a fever. Some of these (I describe only from memory of Coleridge’s account) represented vast Gothic halls, on the floor of which stood mighty engines and machinery, wheels, cables, catapults, etc., expressive of enormous power put forth, or resistance overcome. Creeping along the sides of the walls, you perceived a staircase ; and upon this, groping his way up- wards, was Piranesi himself. Follow the stairs a little farther, and you perceive them reaching an abrupt termination, with- * “ The crimson tunic,” the signal which announced a day of battle. t “ Alalagmos,” a word expressing collectively the gathering of the Roman war cries, “ Alala! alala! ” out any balustrade, and allowing no step onwards to him who should reach the extremity, except into the depths below. Whatever is to become of poor Piranesi, at least you suppose that his labours must now in some way terminate. But raise your eyes, and behold a second flight of stairs, still higher, on which again Piranesi is perceived, by this time standing on the very brink of the abyss. Once again elevate your eye, and a still more aerial flight of stairs is descried ; and there, again, the delirious Piranesi, busy on his aspiring labours : and so on, until the unfinished stairs and the hopeless Piranesi both are lost in the upper gloom of the hall. With the same power of endless growth and self-production did my architecture pro- ceed in dreams. In the early stage of the malady, the splen- dours of my dreams were chiefly architectural; and I beheld such pomp of cities and palaces as never yet was beheld by the waking eye, unless in the clouds. From a great modern poet I cite the part of a passage which describes, as an appearance actually beheld, what in many of its circum- stances I saw frequently in my sleep :— The appearance, simultaneously disclosed, Was of a mighty city—boldly say A wilderness of bnilding, sinking far Anri self-withdrawn into a woudrous depth, Far sinking into splendour without end! Fabric it seemed of diamond and of gold, With alabaster domes and silver spires, And blazing terrace upon terrace, high Uplifted ; here, serene pavilions bright, In avenues disposed; there towers begirt With battlements that on their restless fronts Bore stars —illumination of all gems ! By earthly nature had the effect been wrought Upon the dark materials of the storm Now pacified, on them, and on the coves, And mountain steeps and summits, whereunto The vapours had receded—taking there Their station under a cerulean sky. DREAM-LAKES AND OCEANS. “ The sublime circumstance—that on their restless fronts bore stars—might have been copied from my own architectural dreams, so often did it occur. We hear it reported of Dryden, and in later times of Fuseli, that they ate raw meat for the sake of obtaining splendid dreams. How much better, for such a purpose, to have eaten opium, which yet I do not remember that any poet is recorded to have done, except the dramatist Shadwell; and in ancient days Homer is, I think rightly, reported to have known, the virtues of opium as a ({idp/j-aKov vi]ircv6l<;—i.e., as an anodyne. “ To my architecture succeeded dreams of lakes and silvery expanses of water; these haunted me so much, that I feared lest some dropsical state or tendency of the brain might thus be making itself (to use a metaphysical term) objective, and that the sentient organ might be projecting itself as its own object. For two months I suffered greatly in my head—a part of my bodily structure which had hitherto been so clear from all touch or taint of weakness (physically, I mean,) that I used to say of it as the last Lord Orford said of his stomach, that it seemed likely to survive the rest of my person. Till now 1 had never felt a headache even, or any the slightest pain, except rheumatic pains caused by my own folly. “ The waters gradually changed their character; from translucent lakes, shining like mirrors, they became seas and oceans. And now came a tremendous change—which, unfolding itself slowly like a scroll, through many months, promised an abiding torment; and in fact it never left me, though occurring more or less intermittently. Hitherto the human face had often mixed with my dreams, but not despotically, nor with any special power of tormenting. But now that affection, which I have called the tyranny of the human face, began to unfold itself. Perhaps some part of my London life (the searching for Ann amongst fluctuating crowds) might be answerable for this. Be that as it may, now it was that upon the rocking waters of the ocean the human face began to reveal itself, the sea appeared paved with innumerable faces, upturned to the heavens; faces imploring, wrathful, despairing; faces that surged upwards by thousands, by myriads, by generations ; infinite was my agitation ; my mind was tossed, as it seemed, upon the billowy ocean, and weltered upon the weltering waves. “ May, 1818.—A certain Malay mendicant has been a fearful enemy for months. Every night, through his means, I have been transported into Asiatic scenery. I know not whether others share in my feelings on this point, but I have often thought that if I were compelled to forego England, and to live in China, among Chinese manners and modes of life and scenery, I should go mad. The causes of my horror lie deep, and some of them must be common to others. Southern Asia, in general, is the seat of awful images and associations. As the cradle of the human race, if on no other ground, it would have a dim, reverential feeling connected with it. But there are other reasons. No man can pretend that the wild, barbarous, and capricious superstitions of Africa, or of savage tribes elsewhere, can affect him in a way that he is affected by the ancient, monumental, cruel, and elaborate religions of Hindostan. The mere antiquity of Asiatic things—of their institutions, histories, above all, of their mythologies, etc. —is so impressive, that to me the vast age of the race and name overpowers the sense of youth in the individual. A young Chinese seems to me an antediluvian man renewed. Even Englishmen, though not bred in any knowledge of such institutions, cannot but shudder at the mystic sublimity of castes that have flowed apart, and refused to mix, through such im- memorial tracts of time; nor can any man fail to be awed by the sanctity of the Ganges, or by the very name of the Euphrates. It contributes much to these feelings that South- Eastern Asia is, and has been for thousands of years, the part of the earth most swarming with human life, the great ojjicina gentium. Man is a weed in those regions. The vast empires, also, into which the enormous population of Asia has always been cast, give a further sublimity to the feelings associated with all Oriental names or images. In China, over and above what it has in common with the rest of Southern Asia, I am terrified by the modes of life, by the manners, by the barrier of utter abhorrence placed between myself and them, by counter- sympathies deeper than I can analyze. I could sooner live with lunatics, with vermin, with crocodiles, or snakes. All this, and much more than I can say, the reader must enter into before he can comprehend the unimaginable horror which these dreams of Oriental imagery and mythological tortures im- pressed upon me. Under the connecting feeling of tropical heat and vertical sunlights, I brought together all creatures, birds, beasts, reptiles, all trees and plants, usages and appear- ances, that are found in tropical regions, and assembled them together in China or Ilindostan. From kindred feelings I soon brought Egypt and her gods under the same law. I was stared at, hooted at, grinned at, chattered at, by monkeys, by parroquets, by cockatoos. I ran into pagodas, and was fixed for centuries at the summit, or in secret rooms; I was the idol; I was the priest; I was worshipped ; I was sacrificed. I fled from the wrath of Brama through all the forests of Asia ; Vishnu hated me ; Seeva lay in wait for me. I came suddenly upon Isis and Osiris; I had done a deed, they said, which the ibis and the croco- dile trembled at. Thousands of years I lived, and was buried in stone coffins, with mummies and sphinxes, in narrow chambers at the heart of eternal pyramids. I was kissed with cancerous kisses by crocodiles, and was laid, confounded with all unutterable abortions, amongst reeds and Nilotic mud. “ Some slight abstraction I thus attempt of my Oriental dreams, which filled me always with such amazement at the monstrous scenery, that horror seemed absorbed for a while in sheer astonishment. Sooner or later came a reflux of feeling that swallowed up the astonishment, and left me, not so much in terror, as in hatred and abomination of what I saw. Over every form, and threat, and punishment, and dim, sightless incarceration, brooded a killing sense of eternity and infinity. Into these dreams only it was, with one or two slight excep- tions, that any circumstances of physical horror entered. All 28 before bad been moral and spiritual terror. But Here the main agents were ugly birds, or snakes, or crocodiles, especially the last. The cursed crocodile became to me the object of more horror than all the rest. I was compelled to live with him, and (as was always the case in my dreams) for centuries. Sometimes I escaped, and found myself in Chinese houses. All the feet of the tables, sofas, etc., soon became instinct with life; the abominable head of the crocodile, and his leering eyes, looked out at me, multiplied into ten thousand repetitions ; and I stood loathing and fascinated. So often did this hideous reptile haunt my dreams, that many times my dream was broken up in the very same way; I heard gentle voices speak- ing to me (I hear everything when I am sleeping), and instantly I awoke ; it was broad noon, and my children were standing, hand in hand, at my bedside, come to show me their coloured shoes, or new frocks, or to let me see them dressed for going out. No experience was so aw'ful to me, and at the same time so pathetic, as this abrupt transition from the darkness of the infinite, to the gaudy summer air of highest noon ; and from the unutterable abortions of miscreated gigantic vermin to the sight of infancy, and innocent human natures.”—Confessions of an English Ojpium Eater. THE LOTTERY TICKET. A writer in “ Blackwood’s Magazine ” argues in “ A letter to Eusebius,” in defence of a belief in omens, dreams, appear- ances, etc. In a note he gives an anecdote furnished by Eusebius, who is his opponent, which tells the other way. The writer prints it with the caveat that it is probably of Eusebius’ own manufacture :— “ Some years ago when all the world were mad upon lotteries, the cook of a middle-aged gentleman drew from his hands the savings of some years. Her master, curious to know the cause, learned that she had repeatedly dreamed that a certain number was a great prize, and sbe bad bought it. He called her a fool for ber pains, and never omitted an occasion to tease ber upon tbe subject. One day, however, the master saw in the newspaper, or at his bookseller’s in the country town, that the number was actually the £20,000 prize. Cook is called up, a palaver ensues—had known each other many years, loth to part, etc.—in short, he proposes and is accepted ; but insists on the marriage being celebrated next morning. Married they were, and as the carriage took them from the church, they enjoyed the following dialogue:—‘Well, Molly, two happy events in one day! You have married, I trust, a good husband. You have something else—but first let me ask you where you have locked up your lottery ticket ?’ Molly, who thought her master was only bantering her again on the old point, cried, * Don’t ye say no more about it. I thought how it would be, and that I never should hear the end on’t, so I sold it to the baker of our village for a guinea profit. So you need never be angry with me again about that.’ ”—A few Passages concerning Omens, Dreams, Appearances, etc. BlacJcicood's Magazine, December, 1845. DR. CHRIST. KNAPE. TIIE TORTUNATE NUMBERS INDICATED. The following narrative, also conversant about lottery tickets, appeared in the shape of a letter addressed to the Editor of Moritz’s “ Experimental Psychology — “ You desire me to give you a written account of what I lately verbally related to you, regarding tbe soul’s faculty of prescience. As my experience rests solely upon dreams, I have certainly reason to apprehend that many will take me for a fantastic dreamer ; but if I can contribute anything to the very useful object of your work, it is no matter ; let people think what they will. Be that as it may, I vouch for the truth and veracity of what I shall now more particularly relate. “In the year 1768, while learning the business of an apo- thecary in the Royal Medical Establishment at Berlin, I played in the seventy-second drawing of the Prussian numerical lottery, which took place on the 30th of May of the same year, and fixed upon the numbers twenty-two and sixty. “ In the night preceding the day of drawing, I dreamed that toward twelve o’clock at noon, which is the time when the lottery is generally drawn, the master apothecary sent down to me to tell me that I must come up to him. On going upstairs, he told me to go immediately to Mr. Mylius, the auctioneer, on the other side of the castle, and ask him if he had disposed of the books which had been left with him for sale; but that I must return speedily, because he waited for his answer. “‘That’s just the thing,’ thought I, still dreaming; ‘the lottery will just be drawing, and as I have executed my com- mission, I will run quickly to the general lottery office, and see if my numbers come out ’ (the lottery was drawn at that time in the open street) ; ‘ if I only walk quick} I shall be at home again soon enough.’ “ I went, therefore, immediately (still in my dream), in compliance with the orders I had received, to Mr. Mylius, the auctioneer, executed my commission, and after receiving his answer, ran hastily to the general lottery office on the ‘ Hunter’s Bridge.’ Here I found the customary preparations, and a con- siderable number of spectators. They had already begun to put the numbers into the wheel, and the moment I came np, number sixty was exhibited and called out. ‘Oh,’ thought I, ‘ it is a good omen, that just one of my own numbers should be called out the moment I arrive.’ “ As I had not much time, I now wished for nothing so much as that they would hasten as much as possible with telling in the remaining numbers. At length they were all counted in, and now I saw them bind the eyes of the boy belonging to the orphan-school, and the numbers afterwards drawn in the ordinary manner. “ When the first number was exhibited and called out, it ANXIOUS MOMENTS. 4^7 was number twenty-two. ‘ A good omen again,’ thought I; ‘number sixty will also certainly come out.’ The second number was drawn, and behold, it was number sixty ! “ ‘ Now they may draw what they will,’ said I to some one who stood near me, ‘ my numbers are out—I have no more time to spare.’ With that I turned myself about, and ran directly home. “ Here I awoke, and was as clearly conscious of my dream as I am now relating it. If its natural connection, and the very particular perspicuity had not been so striking, I should have regarded it as nothing else than a common dream, in the general sense of the term. But this made me pay attention to it, and excited my curiosity so much, that I could scarcely wait till noon. “ At length it struck eleven, but still there was no appear- ance of my dream being fulfilled. It struck a quarter, it struck half-past eleven, and still there was no probability of it. I had already given up all hope, when one of the workpeople unex- pectedly came to me, and told me to go upstairs immediately to the master apothecary. I went up full of expectation, and heard with the greatest astonishment that I must go directly to Mr. Mylius, the auctioneer, on the other side of the castle, and ask him if he had disposed of the books at auction which had been intrusted to him. He told me also, at the same time, to return quickly, because he waited for an answer. “ Who could have made more despatch than I ? I went in all haste to Mr. Mylius, the auctioneer, executed my com- mission, and, after receiving his answer, ran as quickly as possible to the general lottery office on the ‘ Hunter’s Bridge,’ and, full of astonishment, I saw that number sixty was exhibited and called out the moment I arrived. “ As my dream had been thus far so punctually fulfilled, I was now willing to wait the end of it, although I had so little time ; I therefore wished for nothing so much as that they would hasten with counting in the remaining numbers. At length they finished. The eyes of the orphan-boy were bound, as customary, and it is easy to conceive the eagerness with which I awaited the final accomplishment of my dream. “ The first number was drawn and called out, and behold, it was number twenty-two ! The second was drawn, and this was also as I had dreamed, number sixty! “ It now occurred to me that I had already stayed longer than my errand allowed ; I therefore requested the person who was next me in the crowd to let me pass. ‘ What, said one of them to me, ‘ will you not wait till the numbers are all out P ’ ‘ No,’ said I, £ my numbers are already out, and they may now draw what they please for aught I care.’ With that, I turned about, pushed through the crowd, and ran hastily and joy- fully home. Thus was the whole of my dream fulfilled, not only in substance, but literally and verbatim.”—Experimental Psychology. A PRISON DREAM. COUNT DE LAVALETTE. An experience of Lavalette, while in prison, has been some- times quoted to exemplify the velocity of thought during sleep :— “ One night, while I was asleep, the clock of the Palais de Justice struck twelve, and awoke me. I heard the gate open to relieve the sentry, but fell asleep again immediately. In this sleep I dreamt I was standing in the Rue St. Honore. A melancholy darkness spread around me; all was still. Never- theless, a slow and uncertain sound soon arose. All of a sudden, I perceived at the bottom of the street, and advancing towards me, a troop of cavalry—the men and horses, however, all flayed. The men held torches in their hands, the red flames of wrhich illuminated faces without skins, and bloody muscles. Their hollow eyes rolled fearfully in their sockets, their mouths opened from ear to ear, and helmets of hanging flesh covered their hideous heads. The horses dragged along their own skins in the kennels, -which overflowed with blood on all sides. Pale and dishevelled women appeared and disappeared at the windows in dismal silence ; low, inarticulate groans filled the air, and I remained in the street alone, petrified with horror, and deprived of strength sufficient to seek safety in flight. This horrible troop continued passing along rapidly in a gallop, and casting frightful glances upon me. Their march continued, I thought, for five hours, and they were followed by an immense number of artillery waggons, full of bleeding corpses, whose limbs still quivered; a disgusting smell of blood and bitumen almost choked me. At length the iron gates of the prison shutting with great force awoke me again. I made my re- peater strike. It was no more than midnight; so that the horrible phantasmagoria had lasted no more than two or three minutes—that is to say, the time necessary for relieving the sentry, and shutting the gates. The cold was severe, and the watchword short. The next day the turnkey confirmed my calculations. I, nevertheless, do not remember one single event in my life of which I have been able more exactly to calculate, of which the details are deeper engraven on my memory, and of which I preserve a more perfect conscious- ness.”* “ There is no proof of great rapidity here, but there is proof of a conception of time, although a miscalculation of time. M. Lavalette did not know that in place of a .succession of objects he saw his march of death as one picture, and as he might have seen the massacre of the Abbaye, or any san- guinary scene during the many reigns of terror which have almost decimated Paris, at a single glance. Nor did he know that under the pressure of pain, time is measured by agony, and appears ages.” * This well-known anecdote originally appeared in a Biographical Sketch of Lavalette, in the “ Revue de Paris.” The remarks which follow it are taken from the “ Medical Critic.” A MURDERER SELF-DISCOVERED. “ Few murderers escape without meeting with the awful punishment due to their crimes. Many stories, indeed, have been told of this kind, some of which, however, it must be confessed, stand on too good authority to be rejected. The following is translated from a respectable publication at Basle:—• “A person who worked in a brewery quarrelled with one of his fellow-workmen, and struck him in such a manner that he died upon the spot. No other person was witness to the deed. He then took the dead body, and threw it into a large fire under the boiling vat, where it was in a short time so completely consumed, that no traces of its existence remained. On the following day when the man was missed, the murderer observed very coolly that he had perceived his fellow-servant to have been intoxicated; and that he had probably fallen from a bridge which he had to cross on his way home, and was drowned. For the space of seven years after no one entertained any suspicion of the real state of the fact. At the end of this period the murderer was again employed in the same brewery. He was then induced to reflect on the singularity of the circumstance that his crime had remained so long con- cealed. Having retired one evening to rest, one of the other workmen, who slept with him, hearing him say in his sleep, ‘ It is now full seven years ago,’ asked him, ‘ What was it you did seven years ago ?’ ‘I put him,’ he replied, still speaking in his sleep, ‘ under the boiling vat.’ As the affair was not entirely forgotten, it immediately occurred to the man that his bedfellow must allude to the person who was missing about that time, and he accordingly gave information of what he had heard to a magistrate. The murderer was apprehended, and though at first he denied that he knew anything of the matter, a confession of his crime was at length obtained from him, for which he suffered condign punishment.”—Anecdotes for Youth. London, 1823. PRACTICAL JOKING. J. D. MILLINGEN, M.D. The following anecdote illustrates very picturesquely the intimate connection between present impressions and dreams:— “ The subject of this observation was an officer in the expe- dition to Louisburg in 1758, in whom the faculties continued so alive to the slightest impression, that his companions were in the constant habit of amusing themselves at his expense. They would produce him any kind of dream by whispering in his ear, especially if this was done by a friend with whose voice he had become familiar. One time they conducted him through the whole progress of a quarrel which ended in a duel, and when the parties were supposed to have met, a pistol was put into his hand, which he fired, and was awakened by the report. On another occasion they found him asleep on the top of a locker in the cabin, when they made believe he had fallen overboard, and exhorted him to save himself by swimming. They then told him that a shark was pursuing him, and entreated him to dive for his life. He instantly did so, and with so much force as to throw himself from the locker to the floor, by which he was much bruised, and awakened of course. After the landing of the army at Louisburg, his friends found him one day asleep in his tent, and evidently much annoyed by the cannonading. They then made him believe that he was engaged, when he expressed great fear, and showed an evident disposition to run away. Against this they remonstrated, but at the same time increased his fears by imitating the groans of the wounded and the dying; and when he asked, as he often did, who was hit, they named his particular friends. At last they told him that the man next to himself in the company had fallen, when he instantly sprung from his bed, rushed out of the tent, and was roused from his danger and his dream by falling over the tent ropes.”— Curiosities of Medical Experience. CONDITION OP THE MIND IN DREAMING. J. ABERCROMBIE, M.D., F.R.S. “ The peculiar condition of the mind in dreaming appears to be referable to two heads :— “1. The impressions which arise in the mind are believed to have a real and present existence ; and this belief is not corrected, as in the waking state, by comparing this concep- tion with the things of the external world. “ 2. The ideas or images in the mind follow one another according to associations over which we have no control; we cannot, as in the waking state, vary the series, or stop it at our will. “ One of the most curious objects of investigation is to trace the manner in which the particular visions or series of images arise. When considered in this view, a great variety may be observed in dreams. Some of those which we are able to trace most distinctly appear to be the following:— “ I. Recent events and recent mental emotions mingled up into one continuous series with each other, or with old events, by means of some feeling which had been in a greater or less degree allied to each of them, though in other respects they were entirely unconnected. We hear, perhaps, of a distressing accident; we have received some unpleasant news of an absent friend; and we have been concerned in some business which gave rise to anxiety: a dream takes place, in which all these things are combined together; we are ourselves connected with the accident; the absent friend is in our company, and the person with whom the business was transacted also appears in the scene. The only bond of union among these occur- rences was, that each of them gave rise to a similar kind of emotion, and the train was probably excited by some bodily feeling of uneasiness, perhaps an oppression of the stomach, at the time when the dream occurred. Without this the particular series might not have taken place at all; or some of the elements might have occurred in a totally different asso- ciation. The absent friend might have appeared in connection with old and pleasing recollections, combined perhaps with persons and events associated with these, and without any reference to the painful intelligence by which the attention had been directed to him. We may meet a person whom we have not seen for many years, and are led to inquire after old friends, and to allude to events long past. Dreams follow, in which these persons appear, and other persons and occurrences connected with them; but the individual, whose conversation gave rise to the series, does not appear in it, because he was not connected with the particular chain of events which was thus recalled to the mind. “ A woman who was a patient in the clinical ward of the infirmary of Edinburgh, under the care of Dr. Duncan, talked a great deal in her sleep, and made numerous and very dis- tinct allusions to the cases of other sick persons. These allusions did not apply to any patients who were in the ward at the time; but, after some observation, they were found to refer correctly to the cases of individuals who were there when this woman was a patient in the ward two years before. “ II. Trains of images brought up by association with bodily sensations. Examples of this kind are of frequent occurrence. By the kind attention of my friend, Dr. James Gregory, I have received a most interesting manuscript by his late eminent father, which contains a variety of curious matter on this subject. In this paper, Dr. Gregory mentions of him- self, that, having on one occasion gone to bed with a bottle of hot water at his feet, he dreamed of walking up the crater of Mount Etna, and of feeling the ground warm under him. He had, at an early period of his life, visited Mount Vesuvius, and actually felt a strong sensation of warmth in his feet when walking up the side of the crater ; but it was remarkable that the dream was not of Vesuvius, but of Etna, of which he had read only Brydone’s description. This was probably from the latter impression having been more recent. On another occasion, he dreamed of spending a winter at Hudson’s Bay, and of suffering much distress from the intense frost. He found that he had thrown off the bed-clothes in his sleep 5 and, a few days before, he had been reading a very particular account of the state of the colonies during winter. Again, when suffering from toothache, he dreamed of undergoing the operation of tooth-drawing, with the additional circumstance that the operator drew a sound tooth, leaving the aching one still in its place. But the most striking anecdote in this in- teresting document is one in which similar dreams were pro- duced in a gentleman and his wife at the same time, and by the same cause. It happened at a period when there was an alarm of French invasion, and almost every man in Edinburgh was a soldier. All things had been arranged in expectation of the landing of an enemy, the first notice of which was to be given by a gun from the castle, and this was to be followed by a chain of signals calculated to alarm the country in all direc- tions. Further, there had been recently in Edinburgh a splendid military spectacle, in which five thousand men had been drawn up in Prince’s Street, fronting the castle. The gentleman to whom the dream occurred, and who had been a most zealous volunteer, was in bed between two and three o’clock in the morning, when he dreamed of hearing the signal gun. He was immediately at the castle, witnessed the pro- ceedings for displaying the signals, and saw and heard a great bustle over the town from troops and artillery assembling, especially in Prince’s Street. At this time he was aroused by his wife, who awoke in a fright in consequence of a similar dream, connected with much noise and the landing of the enemy, and concluding with the death of a particular friend of her husband’s, who had served with him as a volunteer in the late war. The origin of this remarkable concurrence was ascertained in the morning to be the noise produced in the room above by the fall of a pair of tongs, which had been left in some very awkward position in support of a clothes screen. Dr. Reid relates of himself, that the dressing applied after a blister on his head having become ruffled so as to produce considerable uneasiness, he dreamed of falling into the hands of savages, and being scalped by them. “ A singular fact has often been observed in dreams which are excited by a noise, namely, that the same sound awakes the person, and produces a dream which appears to him to occupy a considerable time. The following example of this has been narrated to me :—A gentleman dreamed that he had enlisted as a soldier, joined his regiment, deserted, was apprehended, carried back, tried, condemned to be shot, and at last led out for execution. After all the usual preparations a gun was fired, he awoke with the report, and found that a noise in an adjoining room had both produced the dream, and awaked him. The same want of the notion of time is observed in dreams from other causes. Dr. Gregory mentions a gentle- man who, after sleeping in a damp place, was for a long time liable to a feeling of suffocation whenever he slept in a lying posture; and this was always accompanied by a dream of a skeleton which grasped him violently by the throat. He could sleep in a sitting posture without any uneasy feeling; and after trying various expedients he at last had a sentinel placed beside him, with orders to awake him whenever he sunk down. On one occasion he was attacked by the skeleton, and a severe and long struggle ensued before he awoke. On finding fault with his attendant for allowing him to be so long in such a state of suffering, he was assured that he had not lain an instant, but had been awakened the moment he began to sink. The gentleman after a considerable time recovered from the affection. A friend of mine dreamed that he crossed the Atlantic, and spent a fortnight in America. In embarking on his return he fell into the sea, and having awoke with the fright, discovered that he had not been asleep above ten minutes. “ III. Dreams consisting of the revival of old associations respecting things which had entirely passed out of the mind, and which seemed to have been forgotten. It is often im- possible to trace the manner in which these dreams arise ; and some of the facts connected with them scarcely appear refer- able to any principle with which we are already acquainted. “ The following example occurred to a particular friend of mine, and may be relied upon in the most minute particulars:— “ The gentleman was at the time connected with one of the principal banks in Glasgow, and was at his place at the teller’s table, where money is paid, when a person entered, demanding payment of a sum of six pounds. There were several people waiting, who were in turn entitled to be attended before him; but he was extremely impatient, and rather noisy; and being besides a remarkable stammerer, he became so annoying that another gentleman requested my friend to pay him his money and get rid of him. He did so accordingly, but with an expression of impatience at being obliged to attend to him before his turn, and thought no more of the transaction. At the end of the year, which was eight or nine months after, the books of the bank could not bo made to balance, the deficiency being exactly six pounds. Several days and nights had been spent in endeavouring to discover the error, but without success; when at last my friend returned home much fatigued, and went to bed. He dreamed of being at his place in the bank, and the whole transaction with the examiners, as now detailed, passed before him in all its particulars. He awoke under a full impression that the dream was to lead him to a discovery of what he was so anxiously in search of, and, on examination, soon dis- covered that the sum paid to this person in the manner now mentioned had been neglected to be inserted in the book of interests, and that it exactly accounted for the error in the balance. “ This case upon a little consideration will appear to be exceedingly remarkable, because the impression recalled in this singular manner was one of which there was no con- sciousness at the time when it occurred; and consequently we cannot suppose that any association took place which could have recalled it. For the fact upon which the importance of the case rested was, not his having paid the money, but having neglected to insert the payment. Now of this there was no impression made upon his mind at the time, and we can scarcely conceive on what principle it could be recalled. The deficiency being six pounds, we may indeed suppose the gentleman endeavoured to recollect whether there could have been a payment of this sum made in any irregular manner which could have led to an omission or an error; but in the transactions of an extensive bank, in a great commercial city, a payment of six pounds, at the distance of eight or nine months, could have made but a faint impression; and upon the whole the case presents, perhaps, one of the most remark- able mental phenomena connected with this curious subject. ***** “A most interesting illustration of the class of dreams referred to under this head, is found in an anecdote lately published by the distinguished author of the ‘Waverley Novels,’ and considered by him as authentic:— “‘ Mr. R., of Bowland, a gentleman of landed property in the Yale of Galas, was prosecuted for a very considerable sum, the accumulated arrears of teind (or tithe), for which he was said to be indebted to a noble family, the titulars (or lay impropriators of the tithes). Mr. R. was strongly impressed with the belief that his father had, by a form of process peculiar to the law of Scotland, purchased these lands from the titular, and therefore that the present prosecution was groundless. But after an industrious search among his father’s papers, an investigation of the public records, and a careful inquiry among all persons who had transacted law business for his father, no evidence could he recovered to support his defence. The period was now near at hand when he conceived the loss of his lawsuit to be inevitable, and he had formed his determination to ride to Edinburgh next day, and make the best bargain he could in the way of compromise. He went to bed with this resolution, and, with all the circum- stances of the case floating upon his mind, had a dream to the following purpose:—His father, who had been many years dead, appeared to him, he thought, and asked him why he was disturbed in his mind. In dreams men are not surprised at such apparitions. Mr. It. thought that he informed his father of the cause of his distress, adding that the payment of a considerable sum of money was the more unpleasant to him, because he had a strong consciousness that it was not due, though he was unable to recover any evidence in support of his belief. “ Tou are right, my son,” replied the paternal shade, “ I did acquire right to these teinds, for payment of which you are now prosecuted. The papers relating to the transaction are in the hands of Mr. , a writer (or attor- ney), who is now retired from professional business, and resides at Inveresk, near Edinburgh. He was a person whom I employed on that occasion for a particular reason, but who never, on any other occasion, transacted business on my account. It is very possible,” pursued the vision, “that Mr. may have forgotten a matter which is now of a very old date; but you may call it to his recollection by this token, that when I came to pay his account, there was difficulty in getting change for a Portugal piece of gold, and that we were forced to drink out the balance at a tavern.” “ ‘ Mr. II. awaked in the morning, with all the words of his vision imprinted on his mind, and thought it worth while to ride across the country to Inveresk, instead of going straight to Edinburgh. When he came there he waited on the gentle- man mentioned in the dream, a very old man; without saying anything of the vision, he inquired whether he remembered DREAM DISCOVERIES. having conducted such a matter for his deceased father. The old gentleman could not at first bring the circumstance to his recollection; but on mention of the Portugal piece of gold, the whole returned upon his memory; he made an immediate search for the papers, and recovered them,—so that Mr. R. carried to Edinburgh the documents necessary to gain the cause which he was on the verge of losing.’* “ There is every reason to believe that this very interesting case is referable to the principle lately mentioned—that the gentleman had heard the circumstances from his father, but had entirely forgotten them, until the frequent and intense application of his mind to the subject wdth which they were connected at length gave rise to a train of associations which recalled them in a dream. To the same principle are referable the two following anecdotes, which I have received as entirely authentic:— “ A gentleman of the law in Edinburgh had mislaid an important paper relating to some affairs on which a public meeting was soon to be held. He had been making most anxious search for it for many days; but the evening of the day on which the meeting was to be held had arrived, without his being able to discover it. He went to bed under great anxiety and disappointment, and dreamed that the paper was in a box appropriated to the papers of a particular family, with which it was in no way connected; it was accordingly found there in the morning. “ Another individual, connected with a public company, had mislaid a paper of such importance, that he was threat- ened with the loss of his situation if he did not produce it. After a long, but unsuccessful search, under intense anxiety, he also dreamed of discovering the paper in a particular place, and found it there accordingly. “IV. A class of dreams which presents an interesting subject of observation includes those in which a strong pro- * Notes in the New Edition of the “ Waverley Novels,” vol. v. 29 pensity of character, or a strong mental emotion, is embodied in a dream, and by some natural coincidence is fulfilled. “ A murderer mentioned by Mr. Combe bad dreamed of committing murder some years before the event took place. “ But more remarkable still are those instances, many of them authentic, in which a dream has given notice of an event which was occurring at the time, or occurred soon after. The following story has been long mentioned in Edinburgh, and there seems no reason to doubt its authenticity:— “ A clergyman had come to this city from a short distance in the country, and was sleeping at an inn, when he dreamed of seeing a fire, and one of his children being in the midst of it. He awoke with the impression, and instantly left town on his return home. When he got within sight of his house, he found it on fire, and got there in time to assist in saving one of his children, who, in the alarm and confusion, had been left in a situation of danger. “ Without calling in question the possibility of super- natural communication in such cases, this striking occurrence, of which we believe there is little reason to doubt the truth, may perhaps be accounted for on simple and natural princi- ples. Let us suppose that the gentleman had a servant who bad shown great carelessness with regard to fire, and had often given rise to his mind that she might set fire to the house. His anxiety might be increased by being from home, and the same circumstance might make the servant still more careless. Let us further suppose that the gentleman, before going to bed, had, in addition to this anxiety, suddenly recol- lected that there was on that day, in the neighbourhood of his house, some fair or periodical merry-making, from which the servant was very likely to return home in a state of intoxica- tion. It was most natural that these impressions should be embodied into a dream of his house being on fire, and that the same circumstances misfit lead to the dream being- fulfilled. “ A gentleman in Edinburgh was affected with aneurism of the popliteal artery, for which he was under the care of two eminent surgeons, and the day was fixed for the operation. About two days before the time appointed for it, the wife of the patient dreamed that a change had taken place in the disease, in consequence of which the operation would not be required. On examining the tumour in the morning the gentleman was surprised to find that the pulsation had entirely ceased, and in short this turned out to be a sponta- neous cure. “ To persons not professional it may be right to mention that the cure of popliteal aneurism without an operation is a very uncommon occurrence, not happening in one out of numerous instances, and never to be looked upon as probable in any individual case. It is likely, however, that the lady had heard of the possibility of such a termination, and that her anxiety had very likely embodied this into a dream. The fulfilment of it at the very time when the event took place is certainly a very remarkable coincidence. “ The following anecdotes also I am enabled to give as entirely authentic:— “ A lady dreamed that an aged female relative nad been murdered by a black servant, and the dream occurred more than once. She was then so strongly impressed by it that she went to the house of the lady to whom it related, and prevailed upon a gentleman to watch in an adjoining room during the following night. About three o’clock in the morning the gentleman, hearing footsteps on the stairs, left his place of concealment, and met the servant carrying up a quantity of coals. Being questioned as to where he was going, he replied in a confused manner that he was going to mend his mistress’s fire, which at three o’clock in the morn- ing, in the middle of summer, was evidently impossible: and on further investigation, a strong knife was found concealed beneath the coals. “ Another lady dreamed that a boy, her nephew, had been drowned along with some young companions with whom he had engaged to go on a sailing excursion in the Frith of Forth. She sent for him in the morning, and with much difficulty prevailed upon him to give up his engagement. His companions went, and were all drowned. “ A gentleman dreamed that the devil carried him down to the bottom of a coal-pit, where he threatened to burn him unless he would agree to give himself up to his service. This he refused to do, and a warm altercation followed. He was at last allowed to depart, upon condition of sending down an individual whom the devil named, a worthless character well known in the neighbourhood. A few days after, this person was found drowned, and under circumstances which gave every reason to believe that his death had been voluntary. “ A lady in Edinburgh had sent her watch to be repaired; a long time elapsed without her being able to recover it, and, after many excuses, she began to suspect that something was wrong. She now dreamed that the watchmaker’s boy, by whom the watch was sent, had dropped it in the street, and injured it in such a manner that it could not be repaired. She then went to the master, and without any allusion to her dream, put the question to him directly, when he confessed that it was true. “ Such coincidences derive their wonderful character from standing alone and apart from those numerous instances in which dreams take place without any fulfilment. An instance of a very singular kind is mentioned by Mr. Joseph Taylor, and is given by him as an undoubted fact. “ A young man wrho was at an academy a hundred miles from home, dreamed that he went to his father’s house in the night, tried the front door, but found it locked; got in by a back door, and finding nobody out of bed, went directly to the bed-room of bis parents. He then said to bis mother, whom he found awake, ‘ Mother, I am going a long journey, and am come to bid you good-bye.’ On this she answered under much agitation, ‘ Oh, dear son, thou art dead.!’ He instantly awoke, and thought no more of his dream, until a few days after he received a letter from his father inquiring very anxiously after his health, in consequence of a frightful dream his mother had on the same night in which the dream now mentioned occurred to him. She dreamed that she heard some one attempt to open the front door, then go to the back door, and at last come into her bed-room. She then saw it was her son who came to the side of her bed, and said, ‘ Mother, I am going a long journey, and am come to bid you good-byeon which she exclaimed, ‘ Oh, dear son, thou art dead.’ But nothing unusual happened to either of the parties. The singular dream must have originated in some strong mental impression which had been made on both the same individuals about the same time: and to have traced the source of it would have been a matter of great interest. “ On a similar principle we are to account for some of the stories of second sight:—A gentleman sitting by the fire on a stormy night, and anxious about some of his domestics who are at sea in a boat, drops asleep for a few seconds, dreams very naturally of drowning men, and starts up with an ex- clamation that his boat is lost. If the boat returns in safety, the vision is no more thought of. If it is lost, as is very likely to happen, the story passes for second sight, and it is, in fact, one of the anecdotes that are given as the most authentic instances of it. “ It is unnecessary to multiply examples of the fulfilment of dreams on the principles we have just now mentioned ; but I am induced to add the following, as it is certainly of a very interesting kind, and as I am able to give it as entirely authentic in all its particulars. “ A most respectable clergyman in a country parish of Scotland, made a collection at his church for an object of public benevolence, in which he felt deeply interested. The amount of the collection, which was received in ladles carried through the church, fell greatly short of his expectations, and through the evening of the day he frequently alluded to this with expressions of much disappointment. In the following night he dreamed that three one-pound notes had been left in one of the ladles, having been so compressed that they had stuck in the corner when the ladles were emptied. He was so impressed by the vision, that at an early hour in the morning he went to the church, found the ladle which he had seen in his dream, and drew from one corner of it three one-pound notes. This interesting case is perhaps capable of explanation upon simple principles. It appears that on the evening pre- ceding the day of collection, the clergyman had been amusing himself by calculating what sum his congregation would probably contribute, and that in doing so he had calculated on a certain number of families who would not give him less than one pound each. Let us then suppose that a particular ladle, which he knew had been presented to three of those families had been emptied in his presence, and found to contain no pound notes. His first feeling would be that of disappointment; but in afterwards thinking of the subject, and connecting it with his former calculation, the possibility of the ladle not having been fully emptied might dart across his mind. This impression, which perhaps he did not himself recollect, might then be embodied into the dream, which by a natural coincidence was fulfilled. “ The four classes which have now been mentioned appear to include the principal varieties of dreams; and it is often a matter of great interest to trace the manner in which the particular associations arise. Cases of dreams are indeed on record which are not referable to any of the principles which we are able to trace; many of these histories, there is every reason to believe, derive their marvellous character from em- SIMULTANEOUS STOPPAGES. bellishment and exaggeration; and in some instances which have been related to me in the most confident manner, I have found this to be the case after a little investigation. Others, however, do not admit of this explanation, and we are com- pelled to receive them as facts which we can in no degree account for. Of this kind I shall only add the following example, and I shall do so without any attempt at ex- planation, and without any other comment than that its accuracy may be relied on in all its particulars. Two ladies, sisters, had been for several days in attendance upon their brother, who was ill of a common sore throat, severe and protracted, but not considered as attended with danger. At the same time one of them had borrowed a watch from a female friend, in consequence of her own being under repair. This watch was one to which particular value was attached on account of some family associations, and some anxiety was expressed that it might not meet with any injury. The sisters were sleeping together in a room communicating with that of their brother, when the elder of them awoke in a state of great agitation, and having roused the other, told her that she had had a frightful dream. £I dreamed,’ she said, ‘that Mary’s watch stopped, and that when I told you of the cir- cumstance, you replied, much worse than that has happened, for ’s breath has stopped also,’ naming their brother who was ill. To quiet her agitation the younger sister immediately got up, and found the brother sleeping quietly, and the watch, which had been carefully put by in a drawer, going correctly. The following night the very same dream occurred, followed by a similar agitation, which was again composed in the same manner, the brother being again found in a quiet sleep, and the watch going well. On the following morning, soon after the family had breakfasted, one of the sisters was sitting by her brother, while the other was writing a note in the adjoin- ing room. When her note was ready for being sealed, she was proceeding to take out for this purpose the watch alluded to, which had been put by in her writing-desk; she was astonished to find it had stopped. At the same instant she heard a scream of intense distress from her sister in the other room: their brother, who had still been considered as going on favourably, had been seized with a sudden fit of suffoca- tion, and had just breathed his last.”—Inquiries concerning the Intellectual Powers, and the Investigation of Truth. SPECTRAL AND DREAM TESTIMONY. JOHN HILL BURTON. Mr. John Hill Burton devotes a chapter of his very inte- resting “ Narratives from Criminal Trials in Scotland ” (Chapman and Hall, 1852) to the subject of “ Spectral and Dream Testimony.” Mr. Burton has the least possible sym- pathy with the supernatural; and he is careful to fortify his position that no ghost story, or story of dream coincidences, could stand the searching, sifting examination of a court of justice. Nevertheless, he concludes the chapter we have mentioned with the following sufficiently startling double narrative:— “ The author only remembers one instance in which a prophetic dream appears in connection with a criminal trial; and that occurred so lately as the year 1831. In that year, a young Highlander was tried and executed for the robbery and murder of a pedlar, in the wilds of Assynt, in Ross-shire. A certain Kenneth Fraser, a village tailor, pointed out the place where the plunder was hidden, and stoutly maintained that it had been revealed to him in a dream. The testimony is given thus :—‘ I was at home when I had the dream, in the month of February. It was said to me in my sleep, by a voice like a man’s, that the pack was lying in such a place. I got a sight of the place, just as if I had been awake. I never saw the place before. The voice said in Gaelic—“The pack of the merchant is lying in a cairn of stones, in a hole near their house.” ’ The voice did not name the Macleods, but he got a sight of the ground, fronting the south, -with the sun shining on it, and a burn running beneath Macleod’s house.* “ The jury did not in this case reject satisfactory evidence of the crime because it was mixed up with this silly story. The clergyman of the parish thought fit to ‘ improve ’ the whole story into a ‘ voice from the borders of eternity,’ in which, not content with a solemn commentary on the tailor’s dream, he added to the marvellous history by relating an equally prophetic one which visited the murderer. When in custody for his crime, he dreamed that he was in a strange burial-ground, where he saw his father digging a grave, with a coffin beside it. The father bade him lie down in it; but appearing to take compassion on him, released him, saying, ‘Well, Hugh, go for this time, until about a year after this ; but in much about a year remember your coffin will meet you.’ The account we had of the fulfilment is this : ‘ Macleod ima- gined that this dream foretold his acquittal at the circuit at Inverness, and he left Dornoch in high expectations. Strange to say, at that circuit his trial was postponed for want of a sufficient number of jurors ; and when the next circuit came, it was again adjourned for want of a material witness, and a whole twelvemonth and some days elapsed before he was con- demned to death.’ ”f—Narratives from Criminal Trials in Scotland. CASE OF MARIA MARTEN. “Maria Marten, aged twenty-five, daughter of a mole- catcher at Polstead, Suffolk, formed an imprudent connection with William Corder, son of a neighbouring farmer; he frequently visited her at her father’s, and at last persuaded her to leave home with him on the 19th May, 1827, to go to Ips- wich to be married. To deceive the neighbours she put on a man’s dress, intending to resume her own at a place called the * “ Aberdeen Magazine,” ii., 94. f “ Black Calendar of Aberdeen,” p. Gl. Red Barn, on the farm belonging to Corder’s mother. It was about twelve o’clock at noon when they left her father’s, Maria going out at one door and Corder by another, to avoid attracting attention; and having met some distance off, they proceeded together towards the barn. Corder bad a gun with him, and before leaving the cottage, Maria asked him in the hearing of her mother, ‘ Is this gun loaded, William ?’ to which he replied, ‘ Yes.’ Some days after, Corder came to Polstead alone, and, when questioned by the girl’s parents, he said the marriage had not yet taken place, because he could not bring her home without displeasing his relations, but that he had left her in a place of safety, and hoped to make an arrangement for the wedding, and to bring her home in six weeks; he added that Maria’s sister might wear her clothes, for she would not wrant them again. On the mother’s inquiry, some time after, why her daughter never wrote, he made the excuse, that she was unaccustomed to use the pen, and delayed a task that was irksome. To the neighbours who asked him what he had done with his partner, he answered that she was in a place where he could go to her whenever he liked. In a short time Corder’s health became impaired, and, in accordance with real or pretended medical advice, he expressed an intention of going abroad. Accordingly, he left home in September, having previously showed great anxiety to have the Red Barn well filled, and himself assisted to store grain into it. Subsequently to this, letters from him were received both by his own relations and the Martens. In one to the girl’s father, he said she was now his wife, and complained, as if by her desire, that a letter of hers had not been answered ; in another letter he gave an account of having made at the post-office an investigation concerning the miscarriage of Maria’s letter. These letters of Corder’s showed that in place of going to the continent he had remained in London. In the meantime, suspicions began to be entertained by the young woman’s parents. Corder’s conduct was so variable, and he made so many pretexts without substantiating them. Strange sur- mises also ran among the neighbours. Thomas Marten, Maria’s brother, recollected, as an unaccountable circumstance, that about three o’clock in the afternoon of the day when his sister went off, he had seen Corder walking across a field in the direction of the Red Barn, with a pickaxe over his shoulder, when it was reasonable to suppose he should have been at a distance from that neighbourhood. All these things concurred to disturb the family, and the alarm was brought to its height by the mother dreaming, three successive nights, that her daughter had been murdered, and buried in the Red Barn. Upon this, she insisted that the floor should be taken up and search made. This was done by the father and others on the 19th of April, 1828, and a sack was discovered containing a female corpse, not so much decayed but that marks of violence were perceptible. The body was identified as that of Maria Marten, by the want of two teeth—one on the left side of the upper jaw, and the other on the right side of the lower jaw. Corder had married in the interval, and lived, apparently, happy. He was apprehended at Ealing, in Essex ; condemned upon circumstantial evidence; confessed the murder while in prison under sentence, and was executed in August, 1828.”— Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, vol. i., October 13,1832. THE IDIOT DETECTIVE. “ A farmer’s wife dreamed that she was walking near the house of a rejected lover, one O’Flanagan, attended by a beau- tiful hound of which she was very fond, when a raven dashed at him, killed him, and tearing out his heart, flew away with it. She next imagined that she was running home, and that she met a funeral, and from the coffin blood flowed upon the ground. The bearers placed it at her feet, opened the lid, and exhibited her husband murdered, and his heart torn out. She woke, as might be expected, in great terror. But here follows the most incomprehensible part of the narra- tive: her husband entertained an idiot consin in the honse, and he, in doggrel rhyme, repeated the very same dream to a gossip, to whom the farmer’s wife had related hers. That very night the farmer was murdered; and the next morning the poor idiot, to the horror of all, exclaimed, as he rose from his bed, ‘ Uliclc ’•—Ulick Maguire was the farmer’s name—‘ is kilt! Shamus dhu More kilt him!’ (Shamus dhu More O’Flanagan —big black James), ‘and buried him under the new ditch at the back of the garden. I dreamed it last night—every word of it.’ Search was made at the spot indicated by the dream, and the body was found, with the skull nearly cleft in two. In the meanwhile O’Flanagan absconded, and enlisted, but was subsequently arrested, confessed his crime, and was executed.”—Dublin Penny Magazine, vol. xv. VARIOUS DREAMS. The following instances were supplied to Chambers's Journal by a gentleman engaged in legal business, at a town in the south of Scotland :— “ In the autumn of 1835, I dreamed that a near relative of my own, who died two years before, came to my bedside. I felt fully conscious of being in my own bed, and of raising my- self on my elbow when my friend approached. I was also fully sensible that he was dead; and though in his morning gown, his countenance bore the impress of death. He men- tioned my name, and presented to me a coffin-plate, bearing the name, age, and death of a lady—the latter was 25th De- cember, 1835. I said, ‘ Where have you got that ? Mrs. is still in life ; and besides, the date there has not yet arrived.’ He answered, ‘ Take it, and keep it for her, she will require it.’ This lady was no relative of mine ; I was only slightly acquainted with her. She was married, and had gone to a distance a considerable time before, and I had never seen nor heard of her since. When at breakfast, I in a casual way A VISITOR ANNOUNCED. mentioned my dream, -when some one remarked that I must have been thinking of her, and that to dream of death was always a marriage. We thought no more of the matter, nor did it attract the particular attention of any of us, until, in the course of the day, a lady happened to call, and in course of conversation asked if we had heard of the distressing illness of Mrs. . We all declared we had not: when the lady stated that she passed through a neighbouring town yesterday, on her way to her father’s house, from the north, and that she was so ill that she was obliged to remain some time at a friend’s house, before she could proceed. This was so far an association with the dream, that it struck us all as a remark- able coincidence. The more extraordinary part remains to be told. On the 31st December, 1835, I attended her funeral, and the coffin-plate, with age and date as distinctly delineated in the dream, presented themselves to my gaze. It is needless to observe that the impression on my mind was of a very peculiar kind, and equallv so on the minds of those who some months before had heard the narrative of the dream. “ Another striking, though less interesting case, occurred at a more recent date. I dreamt that on going to my office in the morning, I found seated at his usual desk a clerk, who had left me a twelvemonth or more previously, and had since been in Edinburgh, where I had little or no communication with him. I said, ‘ Mr. D., how do you happen to be here ; where in the world have you come from ?’ I had the most distinct answer, that he had come into the country for a few days, and with my leave, would wish for a day to enjoy the reminiscence of his former happy feelings at that desk. I replied, ‘ Certainly; I am glad to see you. Write that deed, and then take your dinner with me.’ Such was the dream, and though apparently of no importance, I happened to observe at the breakfast table that I had dreamt that my old clerk, Mr. D., had returned to the office. After having walked out half an hour, I directed my steps to the office, and my surprise was not a little excited when I found Mr. D. seated exactly as he had been represented in the dream. It might he supposed that following out the dream I put the question which it had suggested, but I am sure it was on the spur of the moment, and without reference to the dream, that I put that question, and my astonishment was doubly aroused when his answer corresponded almost ver- batim with what I have stated. I immediately returned and stated the circumstance to my friends, who would only be satisfied of the fact by my calling Mr. D. into their presence. “ I shall just notice one further instance, out of many equally striking in my experience. My wife and I, with our only child, a girl of about a year old, were at a friend’s house, some miles from home. The child was then in perfect health. I dreamt that on going to my room I found my wife walking about with the child in her arms, closely wrapped in a shawl. I had the impression that she was in health. I opened the shawl to take the child in my arms, and what was my horror to see only a withered branch in place of my blooming child. It was but a dream: but so painful was the impression, that I could not help saying to a friend in the morning that I dreaded we were to lose our child, I had so unpleasant a presentiment in my dream. He ridiculed the idea ; but within one short month the darling branch gradually withered, and was con- signed to an early tomb. This is one of those cases which is not wrapped in so much mystery, as it may be conceived that a parent’s anxiety, even about a healthy child, might present itself in a dream in some distorted form. Still, it is an illus- tration of the mystery attending the mind wrhen the senses are prostrated. “ I shall just mention one case which was told me by an advocate. He had arranged to accompany a friend to Newhaven, to bathe; and they were to set out at six o’clock in the morn- ing. Immediately before getting out of bed, he dreamed that he was struggling in the water to save a young man from drowning. Within little more than an hour of the dream, he was, in reality, engaged in saving the life of a boy. He had just reached the sea-side when he saw the boy beyond his depth, and without fully undressing, he rushed in and saved him. “ I could not have the slightest hesitation in giving you the names of every one whom I have referred to in these observations, though I should neither like their names nor my own to be made public.”—Chambers's Journal, May 17, 1845. A DREAM AS IT SHOULD BE. “ Most people make pretensions to the faculty of dreaming, but we have never yet had the happiness to meet with any one who knew how to dream properly. For ourselves, we lament to state that the Rip-van-Winklish soundness of our slumbers for eleven hours out of the twenty-four, effectually prevents us from dreaming at all. We are not excitable even by opium, though we have repeatedly devoured stupendous quantities of that drug, and we now begin to despair of ever becoming a vision-seer. Once, and once only, in the course of our life, did Somnus mount guard so negligently on the citadel of our imagination, as to allow Morpheus to enter it. But oh ! that was a glorious moment, when we beheld Stamboul arise before our mind’s eye in all its multifarious gorgeousness, glittering with mosques, kiosks, minarets, temples, turrets, and all the rest of them! We surveyed them with ecstacy. We knew that we were dreaming, and that we might perpetrate any devilment with impunity. ‘ Here, to all appearance, we are,’ we exclaimed ; ‘ the streets are redolent with life around us; the firm earth is resonant under our boots ; the sun hath a saf- fron, but clear, brightness in heaven; and yet this is the merest sham—for we are at this moment at home in our bed-chamber, a thousand miles from hence. What is to withhold us, if we } please, from annihilating this proud city by the breath of our nostrils ? First, however, let us signalize ourselves in some less startling way.’ Our attention was by and by attracted to a colossal pillar, inscribed with sentences from the Dutch poets. How absurd! thought we; this must not be, and exerting our volition, the pillar disappeared. A moment after- wards, however, we recollected the peculiar prerogatives of a dreamer’s imagination, and we smiled. A man then came by, bestriding a rhinoceros. This time we were not to be hoaxed; and we merely demanded of the rhinoceros whether he was going to the hunt ? ‘ Following the horn, at least,’ answered the rhinoceros, and we laughed so intemperately at this piece of wit, that death appeared for a time almost inevi- table. In the midst of our convulsions a Spahi approached us, and asked us, in English, if we were not the scoundrels who had picked his portmanteau an hour before of a diamond tobacco- box. ‘ Go—haw ! haw ! haw !—to the devil,’ we replied, half suffocated. In an instant he cocked and levelled his carbine. ‘ Do your worst, nonentity,’ said we, ‘ we are—ho ! ho ! ho !— sound asleep.’ But though his piece continued levelled he seemed irresolute whether he should pull the trigger or not; and we, profiting by his indecision, marched away unimpeded, and strode into a cloth bazaar. Forthwith, from an interior apartment, advanced to meet us, with a curiously convolved chibouque in hand, an old Mussulman, who, after a salaam, inquired our business. In the meantime we had cast our eyes upon a juggler’s garb, and were determined that it should leave the bazaar in our company. We, moreover, decided upon paying the owner nothing, and withering him to powder by a look, if he murmured. ‘ But perhaps,’ we observed aloud, ‘ it may be as well to preclude the practicability of murmurs;’ and as we spoke we seized the twisted chibouque, and pitched it to a distance of some twenty yards. We were then proceed- ing to put our pulverizing project into effect, when, to our unbounded amazement, the fellow rushed upon us, and grappled with us, seizing us by the coat-collar, while he shouted for help most lustily. This was too good. We burst into a horse laugh. Our captor, however, still maintained his gripe, and at length, shifting From grave to gay, from lively to severe, we grew stem. ‘ How dare yon,’ we exclaimed; ‘ you, the creature of our imagination—the production of a temporary attack of the night-mare, brought on by an extra quantum of cheese and claret—the child of our stomach—the begotten of our phantasy—how dare you, a pseudo-being, who have never had existence, you, a make-believe, a bull beggar, an unreality, a humbug, a nobody—how dare you assume the privileges of vitality and substantiality ? Grovel in the dust at our feet this moment; handful of rubbish—down!’ And extricating ourselves by a violent effort, we lifted our clenched dexter hand and were about, probably, to inflict a ruinous wound upon the bedpost, when Mussulman, bazaar, city, and all melted away into thin air, leaving nothing behind but the remembrance of a dream, which Dr. Macnish, in his next edition of the ‘ Philosophy of Sleep,’ is welcome to transfer to his pages, for a trifling gratuity.”—Dublin University Maga- zine, August, 1836. Art., Anthologia Gennanica. Ho. VII. Kbrner’s Lyrical Poems. By T. T. B. THE AVENGEK OF BLOOD. “ A gentleman of veracity, the Rev. H. Alexander, lectur- ing at Lancaster, stated a remarkable fact which had occurred some years before. An amiable young man, named Horrocks, had been robbed and murdered. He was found with his head beaten in, apparently by bludgeons. For many months vigi- lant search was made for the perpetrators, but all in vain. One night, an individual who had been on very friendly terms with Horrocks, awoke much disturbed, and told his wife his conviction was that God had revealed to him in a vision that Samuel Longwith, of Bolton, was the murderer of his poor friend. Longwith was a person with whom the dreamer had no acquaintance, and whom he had scarcely ever seen, and lived twenty miles off. His wife told him to think no more about it, but to go to sleep. He did so; but again awoke from the 30 effects of the same dream. He resolved to set out for Bolton instantly, and apply for a warrant against Longwith. He acted upon this determination; hut the magistrate to whom he applied refused to grant one upon such evidence. Passing through the market-place, he met Longwith, whom he immediately desired to go to a public-house with him to hear something he had to communicate. There, locking the door, he charged Longwith with the murder. The man was seized, and faintly denied the accusation. In his confusion he said he was innocent, for he did not strike the blow. ‘ Then you know who did,’ replied the friend of the murdered man ; and Longwith was taken up and examined. He prevaricated in his statement, and was remanded for three days; at the end of which, after many hours’ prayer, he confessed that he had been induced to join three men in a robbing expedition, when, meeting Horrocks, who made some resistance, his companions murdered him. This confession came out before the grand jury, and Longwith was brought to trial. The dream was, of course, not offered in evidence; the jury felt satisfied, and Longwith was cast. He was doggedly silent after being found guilty, but again confessed his crime just before his execu- tion.”—Mirror of Literature, etc., June 1,1844. REMARKABLE PREMONITIONS. LORD STANHOPE. Of the occasional premonitions communicated in dreams, Lord Stanhope relates the following singular instances :— “ A Lord of the Admiralty, who was on a visit to Mount Edgecumbe, and who was much distressed by dreaming, dreamed that, walking on the sea-shore, he picked up a book, which appeared to be the log-book of a ship of war of which his brother was the captain. He opened it, and read an entry of the latitude, longitude, as well as of the day and hour, to which was added, ‘ our captain died.’ The company endeavoured to comfort him by laying a wager that the dream would be falsified by the event; and a memorandum was made in writ- ing of what he had stated, which was afterwards confirmed in every particular. “ Another very remarkable dream was that of the wife of Eat’l Harcourt, the immediate predecessor of the last. She was then Lady Nuneham, and on a visit at his father’s. She mentioned to her husband when they met at the breakfast- table, that she wTas very unhappy from having had a horrid dream, and earnestly wished to narrate it. He laughed at her, and declined it, when the conversation was interrupted by the father, and the son and daughter-in-law did not see each other till dinner-time. They waited some time, and Lord Harcourt, who was always very punctual, did not appear. His son expressed some surprise, and asked one of the servants if he knew where he was. Upon which Lady Nuneham exclaimed, ‘ Look in the well!’ and fainted away. Lord Harcourt was found in the well, with his dog lying at his feet, as she had seen in her dream; and it was supposed that in endeavouring to save the life of his dog, he had lost his own.”—From Notes appended to Dr. Binns' “ Anatomy of Sleep." CASE OF CAPTAIN ANSTRUTHER. LORD JOCELYN. “ Captain Anstruther was a particular favourite with the whole force, and in his frequent walks into the country around Tinghae when performing his military duties, had apparently made himself a great friend with the country people, for whose amusement he used to sketch likenesses, much to their astonishment. The night but one previous to his capture, the artillery camp was aroused by screams proceeding from his tent; and when some of his brother officers traced the sounds to his quarters, he was found asleep, but upon being awaked. said that he had been dreaming that the Chinese were carry- ing him off, tied arms and legs to a pole, and gagged, within sight of the camp. “ This is carious, as, from what we were able afterwards to discover through the means of a paid agent, it was nearly the case; and he was borne within half a mile of the very tents.”—Six Months with the Chinese Expedition. CONSCIENCE AND AFFECTION. ROBERT MACNISH, M.D. “ The following statement regarding Helen McDougal, the infamous associate of Burke in the West Port murders, affords an illustration of the dreaming distress of a criminal conscience. It is taken from the ‘ Dumfries Courier ’:— “‘We have just seen a private letter from Carlisle, in which it is stated that Burke’s degraded concubine, McDougal, appeared in that city on Friday and Saturday last. She has become a common beggar, and in that capacity was admitted into a common lodging-house at Damside. Her name and history were at first unknown; but during the night she uttered the most fearful screams, calling out at one time that they were hanging Burke, and, at another, imploring the mob to save him. In fact, her guilty and troubled con- science revealed what her lips refused to utter; and when the people of the house became aware of her real character, and even extorted something like a confession by appealing to the horrid nature of her dream, they at once turned from her as a tainted thing that would pollute even a community of beggars. Again, therefore, she had to steal away like a ghost, though not until the mob had collected and subjected her to pretty rough treatment. Often she besought pity, as one willing to fly, if she only knew where.’ “ Miss R , a young lady, a native of Ross-shire, was deeply in love with an officer who accompanied Sir John EFFECTS OF ANXIETY. Moore in the Peninsular war. The constant danger to which he was exposed had an evident effect upon her spirits. She became pale and melancholy in perpetually brooding over his misfortunes, and, in spite of all that reason could do, felt a certain conviction that when she last parted with her lover she had parted with him for ever. In vain was every scheme tried to dispel from her mind the awful idea; in vain were all the sights which opulence could command unfolded before her eyes. In the midst of pomp and gaiety, when music and laughter floated around her, she walked as a passive phantom over whose head some dreadful and mysterious influence hung. She was brought by her affectionate parents to Edinburgh, and introduced into all the mirth of that gay metropolis; but nothing could restore her, or banish from her mind the insup- portable pang which invested it. The song and the dance may dissipate the feebler sorrows of the heart; but in a woe so deeply rooted as hers, their siren influence was tried in vain —they only aggravated her distress, and made the bitterness of despair more poignant. In a surprisingly short period her graceful form declined into all the appalling characteristics of a fatal illness, and she seemed rapidly hastening to the grave, when a dream confirmed the horrors she had so long antici- pated, and gave the finishing stroke to her sorrows. One night after falling asleep, she imagined she saw her lover— pale, bloody, and wounded in the breast—enter her apartment. He drew aside the curtains of the bed, and, with a look of the utmost mildness, informed her that he had been slain in battle, desiring her at the same time to comfort herself, and not take his death too seriously to heart. It is needless to say what influence this vision had upon a mind so replete with woe. It withered it entirely ; and the unfortunate girl died a few days thereafter, not without desiring her parents to note down the day of the month on which it happened, and see if it would be confirmed, as she confidently declared it would. Her anticipation was correct, for accounts were shortly after received that the young man was slain at the battle of Corunna, which was fought on the very day on the night of which his mistress had beheld the vision.”—Philosophy of Sleep. DREAM OP AFRICANER. ROBERT MOFFAT. “ It was at a period when Africaner’s judgment appeared to be wavering, and when he was about to dismiss for ever from his thoughts the graver subjects of revelation, death, and immortality, that he had a remarkable dream, which gave his mind a bias it never afterwards forsook. Although I admit, with many others, that dreams may be of three classes —human, satanic, and divine (those of the latter class being very rare)—I have ever found it necessary to discourage rather than countenance a regard to them among the heathen, on whose minds light has just begun to break, and who, under their first impressions, are very prone to give a super- stitious interpretation to dreams, some of which are of too monstrous a character to be permitted an asylum in the mind. These generally obtain currency among the ignorant, and such as feel more pleasure in hawking about their nocturnal reveries than spending their time in learning to read the law and the testimony. And the delusion does not stop here; they hear of visions, and think that they may come in for a share of them, and thus bring back the ancient dispensations, adding to dreams unearthly sights. “ I have heard of some who had seen an angel behind a bush; of others who had beheld the Saviour, and could tell his form; of some who had heard a voice from heaven; of others who have gone as far as Jerusalem—like Mahomet, though not on an ass, and ascended to the third heaven, and returned the same night. When these things have found place, the missionary finds it necessary gently to introduce other matters into their channels of reflection, and impart a genuine currency in the place of that base coin which, also, is sometimes vended in more enlightened countries than Africa. But Africaner was a man who never dealt in such commo- dities. In the development of his Christian experience his motto was, £ Thus saith the Lord.’ The following I heard him narrate only once, and it seemed to have been revived in his mind by looking at a mountain opposite to which we sat, and along the steep sides of which ran a path to the top:— “ He supposed in his dream that he was at the base of a steep and rugged mountain, over which he must pass by a path leading along an almost perpendicular precipice to the summit. On the left of the path the fearful declivity pre- sented one furnace of fire and smoke, mingled with lightning. As he looked round to flee from a sight which made his whole frame tremble, one appeared out of those murky regions, whose voice, like thunder, said that there was no escape but by the narrow path. He attempted to ascend thereby, but felt the reflected heat from the precipice (to which he was obliged to cling) more intense than that from the burning pit beneath. When ready to sink with mental and physical agony, he cast his eyes upwards beyond the burning gulf, and saw a person stand on a green mount on which the sun appeared to shine with peculiar brilliancy. This individual drew near to the ridge of the precipice, and beckoned him to advance. Shielding the side of his face with his hands, he ascended through heat and smoke such as he would have thought no human frame could endure. He at last reached the long-desired spot, which became increasingly bright; and, when about to address the person, he awoke. “ On asking him what was his interpretation of the dream, he replied that it haunted his mind for a long time like a poisonous thorn in the flesh, and he could bear to reflect on it only when, as he said with great simplicity, ‘ I thought the path was the narrow road leading from destruction to safety, from hell to heaven. The stranger I supposed to be that Saviour of whom I heard; and long were my thoughts occu- pied in trying to discover when and how I was to pass along the burning pathadding, with tears in his eyes, ‘ Thank God, I have passed.’ ”—Missionary Labours and Scenes in Southern Africa. RETRIBUTIVE JUSTICE. EDWARD BINNS, M.D. “A remarkable instance of retributive justice occurred very recently (1845) in Jamaica. A young and beautiful quadroon girl named Duncan, was found murdered in a retired spot a few paces from the main road. From the evidence given on the coroner’s inquest, it was satisfactorily established that she had been violated previous to the murder. A large reward was offered for any information that would lead to the apprehension of the murderer; but nearly a year elapsed without any clue being obtained. It happened that about this period from the discovery of the murder, two black men, named Pendril and Chitty, were confined, for separate petty offences, one in the Kingston penitentiary, on the south, the other in Falmouth gaol, on the north side of the island. Their imprisonment was unknown to each other, and the distance between their places of incarceration was eighty miles. Each of these men became restless and talkative in his sleep, especially expostulating as if in the presence of the murdered girl, and entreating her to leave him. This hap- pened so repeatedly that it led to inquiries, which terminated in the conviction of the two men, with whom it appears was associated a third, who, however, escaped the extreme penalty of the law by a full confession.”—The Anatomy of Sleep. A BUNDLE OF DREAMS. MRS. CROWE. “ A gentleman, who resided near one of the Scottish lakes, dreamt that he saw a number of persons surrounding a body, which had just been drawn out of the water. On approaching the spot, he perceives that it is himself, and the assistants are his own friends and retainers. Alarmed at the life-like reality of the vision, he resolved to elude the threatened destiny by never venturing on the lake again. On one occasion, however, it became quite indispensable that he should do so; and as the day was quite calm, he yielded to the necessity, on condition that he should be put ashore at once on the opposite side, while the rest of the party proceeded to their destination where he would meet them. This was accordingly done ; the boat skimmed gaily over the smooth waters, and arrived safely at the rendezvous, the gentlemen laughing at the superstition of their companion, while he stood smiling on the bank to receive them. But, alas ! the fates were inexorable : the little promontory that supported him had been undermined by the water: it gave way beneath his feet, and life was extinct before he could be rescued from the waves. This circumstance was related to me by a friend of the family. “ Mr. S. was the son of an Irish bishop, who set somewhat more value on the things of this world than became his function. He had always told his son that there was but one thing he could not forgive, and that was a bad marriage, meaning by a bad marriage, a poor one. As cautions of this sort do not by any means prevent young people falling in love, Mr. S. fixed his affections on Lady O., a fair young widow without any fortune, and aware that it would be useless to apply for his father’s consent, he married her without asking it. They were, consequently, exceedingly poor, and, indeed, nearly all they had to live on was a small sinecure of forty pounds per annum, which Dean Swift procured for him. Whilst in this situation, Mr. S. dreamed one night that he was in the cathedral in which he had formerly been accus- tomed to attend service; that he saw a stranger, habited as a bishop, occupying his father’s throne, and that on applying to the verger for an explanation, the man said that the bishop was dead, and that he had expired just as he was adding a codicil to his will in his son’s favour. The impression made by the dream was so strong, that Mr. S. felt that he should have no repose till he had obtained news from home; and as the most speedy way of doing so was to go there himself, much against the advice of his wife, who attached no im- portance whatever to the circumstance. He had scarcely completed half his journey, when he met a courier, bearing the intelligence of his father’s death; and when he reached home, he found that there was a codicil attached to the will of the greatest importance to his own future prospects, but the old gentleman had expired with the pen in his hand just as he was about to sign it. ■“ In this unhappy position, reduced to hopeless indigence, the friends of the young man proposed that he should present himself at the Vice-regal Palace on the next levee day, in hopes that some interest might be excited in his favour, to which, with reluctance, he assented. As he was ascending the stairs, he was met by a gentleman, whose dress indicated that he belonged to the Church. “ ‘ Good heavens!’ said he to a friend who accompanied him. ‘ Who is that ?’ “ ‘ That is Mr. , of so-and-so.’ “ ‘ Then he will be Bishop of L !’ returned Mr. S., ‘for that is the man I saw occupying my father’s throne.’ “‘Impossible!’ replied the other; ‘he has no interest whatever, and has no more chance of being a bishop than I have.’ “ ‘You will see,’ replied Mr. S. ‘I am certain he will.’ “They had made their obeisance above, and were returning, when there was a great cry without, and everybody rushed to the doors and windows to inquire what had happened. The horses attached to the carriage of a young nobleman had become restive, and were endangering the life of their master, when Mr. rushed forward, and, at the peril of his own, seized their heads, and afforded Lord C. time to descend before they broke through all restraint, and dashed away. Through the interest of this nobleman and his friends, to whom Mr. had been previously quite unknown, he obtained the see of L . These circumstances were related to me by a friend of the family. “ Major Andre, the circumstances of whose lamented death are too well known to make it necessary for me to detail them here, was a friend of Miss Steward’s, and, previously to his embarkation for America, he made a journey into Derbyshire to pay her a visit, and it was arranged that they should ride over to see the wonders of the Peak, and introduce Andre to Newton, her minstrel, as she called him, and to Mr. Cunning- ham, the curate, who was also a poet. “ Whilst these two gentlemen were awaiting the arrival of their guests, of whose intentions they had been apprised, Mr. Cunningham related to Mr. Newton, that on the preceding night he had a very extraordinary dream, which he could not get out of his head. He had fancied himself in a forest: the place was strange to him, and whilst looking about he per- ceived a horseman approaching at great speed, who had scarcely reached the spot where the dreamer stood, when ! three men rushed out of a thicket, and seizing his bridle, hurried him away, after closely searching his person. The countenance of the stranger being very interesting, the sym- pathy felt by the sleeper for his apparent misfortune awoke (him; but he presently fell asleep again, and dreamt that he was standing near a great city, among thousands of people, and that he saw the same person he had seen seized in the wood brought out and suspended to a gallows. When Andre and Miss Steward arrived, he was horror-struck to perceive that his new acquaintance wras the antitype of the man in the dream. “Miss L , residing at Dalkeith, dreamt that her brother, who was ill, called her to his bedside, and gave her a letter, which he desired her to carry to their aunt, Mrs. H , with a request that she would deliver it to John (John was another brother, who had died previously, and Mrs. H was at that time ill). He added that ‘ he himself was going there also, but that Mrs. H would he there before him.’ Accordingly, Miss L went, in her dream, with the letter to Mrs. H , whom she found dressed in white, and looking quite radiant and happy. She took the letter, and said she was going there directly, and would deliver it. “ On the following morning Miss L learnt that her aunt had died in the night. The brother died some little time afterwards. “ A lady, who had left the West Indies when six years old, came one night, fourteen years afterwards, to her sister’s bed- side, and said, ‘ I know my uncle is dead. I have dreamt that I saw a number of slaves in the large store-room at Barbadoes, with long brooms sweeping down immense cobwebs. I com- plained to my aunt, and she covered her face and said, “ Yes, he is no sooner gone, than they disobey him.” ’ It was after- wards ascertained that Mr. P had died on that night, and that he never permitted the cobwebs in this room to be swept away, of which, however, the lady assures me she knew nothing, nor could she or her friends conceive what was meant by the symbol of the cobwebs, till they received the explanation subsequently from a member of the family. “ The following very curious allegorical dream I give, not in the words of the dreamer, but in those of her son, who bears a name destined, I trust, to a long immortality:— “ ‘ Wooer’s Alley Cottage, Dunfermline-in-the-Wood. “ ‘ Monday morning, 31st May, 1847. “ ‘ Dear Mrs. Crowe, “ ‘ That dream of my mother’s was as follows :—She stood in a long, dark, empty gallery; on her one side was my father, and on the other side my elder sister, Amelia, then myself, and the rest of the family according to their ages. At the foot of the hall stood my youngest sister, Alexes, and above her my sister Catherine, a creature, by the way, in person and mind more like an angel of heaven than an inhabitant of earth. We all stood silent and motionless. At last it entered—the unima- gined something, that, casting its grim shadow before, had enveloped all the trivialities of the preceding dream in the stifling atmosphere of terror. It entered stealthily, descending the three steps that led into the chamber of horror; and my mother felt it was Death. He was dwarfish, bent, and shrivelled. He carried on his shoulder a heavy axe, and had come, she thought, to destroy “ all her little ones at one fell swoop.” On the entrance of the shape, my sister, Alexes, leapt out of the rank, interposing herself between him and my mother. He raised his axe and aimed a blow at Catherine, a blow which, to her horror, my mother could not intercept, though she had snatched up a three-legged stool, the sole furniture of the apartment, for that purpose. She could not, she felt, fling the stool at the figure without destroying Alexes, who kept shooting out and in between her and the ghastly thing. She tried in vain to scream; she besought my father in agony to avert the impending stroke ; but he did not hear, or did not heed her, and stood motionless as in a trance. Down came the axe, and poor Catherine fell in her blood, “cloven to the white halse bane.” Again the axe was lifted by the inexorable shadow over the head of my brother, who stood next in the line. Alexes had somewhere disap- peared behind the ghostly visitant, and with a scream my mother flung: the footstool at his head. He vanished, and she awoke. This dream left on my mother’s mind a fearful apprehension of impending misfortune “which would not pass away.” It was murder she feared, and her suspicions were not allayed by the discovery that a man—some time before discarded by my father for bad conduct, and with whom she had somehow associated the Death of her dream— 1-78 THE VISION REALIZED. had been lurking about the place, and sleeping in an outhouse on the night it occurred, and for some nights previous and subsequent to it. Her terror increased, sleep forsook her; and every night when the house was still, she arose and stole, sometimes with a candle, sometimes in the dark, from room to room, listening in a sort of waking nightmare for the breath- ing of the assassin, who she imagined was lurking in some one of them. This could not last. She reasoned with herself, but her terror became intolerable, and she related her dream to my father, who, of course, called her a fool for her pains, whatever might be his real opinion of the matter. Three months had elapsed, when we children were all of us seized with the scarlet fever. My sister Catherine died almost im- mediately—sacrificed, as my mother, in her misery, thought to her (my mother’s) over anxiety for Alexes, wthose danger seemed more imminent. The dream prophecy was in part fulfilled. I also was at death’s door—given up by the doctors, but not by my mother: she was confident of my recovery; but for my brother, who was scarcely considered in danger at all, but on whose head she had seen the visionary axe impend- ing, her fears were great; for she could not recollect whether the blow had or had not descended when the spectre vanished. My brother recovered, but relapsed, and barely escaped with life; but Alexes did not. For a year and ten months the poor child lingered, and almost every night I had to sing her asleep. Often, I remember, through bitter tears—for I knew she was dying, and I loved her the more as she wasted away —I held her little hand as she died. I followed her to the grave—the last thing that I have loved on earth. And the dream was fulfilled. “ ‘ True and sincerely yours, “‘J. Noel Paton.* “ A few years since, Mr. A. F., an eminent Scotch advocate, while staying in the neighbourhood of Loch Fyne, dreamt one night that he saw a number of people in the street following a man to the scaffold. He discovered the features of the man in the cart distinctly, and for some reason or other, which he could not account for, felt an extraordinary interest in his fate, insomuch that he joined the throng, and accompanied him to the place that was to terminate his earthly career. This interest was the more unaccountable that the man had an exceedingly unprepossessing countenance ; but it was, never- theless, so vivid as to induce the dreamer to ascend the scaffold, and address him with a view to enable him to escape the impending catastrophe. Suddenly, however, while he was talking to him, the whole scene dissolved away, and the sleeper awoke. Being a good deal struck with the life-like reality of the vision, and the impression made on his mind by the features of this man, he related the circumstances to his friends at breakfast, adding that he should know him anywhere if he saw him. A few jests being made on the subject, the thing was forgotten. “ On the afternoon of the same day, the advocate was informed that two men wanted to speak to him, and on going into the hall he was struck with amazement at perceiving that one of them was the hero of his dream ! ‘“We are accused of murder,’ said they, * and we wish to consult you. Three of us went out last night in a boat, an accident has happened, our comrade is drowned, and they want to make us accountable for him.’ The advocate then put some interrogations to them, and the result produced on his mind by their answers was a conviction of their guilt. Probably the recollection of his dream rendered the effects of this conviction more palpable, for one, addressing the other, said in Gaelic, ‘We have come to the wrong man; he is against us.’ “ * There is a higher Power than I against you,’ returned the gentleman ; ‘ and the only advice I can give you is, if you are guilty, fly immediately.’ Upon this they went away, and the next thing he heard was that they were taken into custody on suspicion of the murder. “ The account of the affair was, that, as they said, the three had gone out together on the preceding evening, and that in the morning the body of one of them had been found on the shore with a cut across the forehead. The father and friends of the victim had waited till the boat came in, and then demanded their companion, of whom, however, they professed themselves unable to give any account. Upon this the old man led them to his cottage for the purpose of showing them the body of his son. One entered, and at the sight of it burst into a passion of tears ; the other refused to step over the threshold, saying his business called him immediately home, and went sulkily away. This last was the man seen in the dream. “ After a fortnight’s incarceration the former of these was liberated, and he then declared to the advocate his intention of bringing an action of damages for false imprisonment. He was advised not to do it. ‘ Leave well alone,’ said the lawyer, ‘and, if you’ll take my advice, make off wdiile you can.’ The man, however, refused to fly. He declared that he really did not know what had occasioned the death of his comrade. The latter had been at one end of the boat and he at the other; when he looked round he was gone : but whether he had fallen overboard, and cut his head as he fell, or whether he had been struck and pushed into the water, he did not know. The advocate became finally satisfied of the man’s innocence, but the authorities thinking it absurd to try one and not the other, again laid hands on him, and it fell to Mr. A. F. to be the defender of both. The difficulty was, not to separate their cases in his pleading; for however morally convinced of the different ground on which they stood, his duty, professionally, was to obtain the acquittal of both, in which he finally succeeded as regarded the charge of murder. They were therefore sen- tenced to two years’ imprisonment, and so far as the dream is concerned here ends the story. There remains, however, a curious sequel to it. “ A few years afterwards the same gentleman, being in a boat on Loch Fyne, in company with Sir T. D. L., happened to be mentioning these very curious circumstances, when one of the boatmen said that he ‘ knew well about those two men, and that a very strange thing had occurred with regard to one of them.’ This one, on inquiry, proved to be the subject of the dream; and the strange thing was this—on being liberated he had quitted that part of the country, and in pro- cess of time had gone to Greenock, and thence embarked in a vessel for Cork. But the vessel seemed fated never to reach its destination ; one misfortune happened after another, till at length the sailors said, ‘ This won’t do; there must be a murderer on board with us.’ As is usual when such a per- suasion exists, they threw lots three times, and each time the lot fell upon that man. He was consequently put on shore, and the vessel went on its way without him. What had become of him afterwards was never known.”—Night Side of Nature. DREAM-THOUGHTS OF WAKING CIRCUMSTANCES. (BLANCHARD FOSGATE, 51.D. “ Many years ago, when our family resided on the banks of the Mohawk, long before the thunder of the steam water- paddle echoed along the shores of the Hudson, or the shrill whistle of the locomotive startled the silence of glen and mountain ; when the river in the summer was crossed by ford or ferry, and in winter upon the often treacherous ice; early in the spring, before the river had broken up, my father, on the eve of departure for New York, dreamed that he was in an ice-house, striving to get out by climbing up its slippery contents. The dream was barely related, and then forgotten. The succeeding day, on horseback, he commenced his journey, and was obliged to cross the river. The ice by evaporation having lost much of its strength, he was precipitated into the stream below. Timely assistance, however, rescued him from 31 the impending danger, but the accident and the dream were ever after coupled in his memory. “ This dream was the result of mental association during sleep, and was perfectly natural under the circumstances, but none the less a premonition of danger. Had it aroused the reflective powers when awake as strongly as it did during sleep, the accident would probably have been avoided. “ It is curious to observe how thoughts of the waking hours may be prolonged and modified in sleep. As an instance we will relate what occurred in our own case, on the night succeeding our writing the remarks on mysterious and pro- phetic dreams. “Not long since, I was examining the Croton water-works in New York city, including some pits which were open in the streets where the great iron trunks were exposed; and on the occasion just alluded to my mind was in part occupied with this subject. On falling asleep, I dreamed that in passing one of the pits I jumped down upon a tube about three inches in diameter for the purpose of inspecting the work more minutely; but when in this position, on casting my eyes below, an awful chasm presented itself, crossed in various directions by huge iron water-tubes, but the bottom was invisible. However, the depth was ninety feet; In what way this information was imparted is indistinct, but such appeared the awful depth under my slippery footing. I could just fairly reach the sur- face above, but could lay hold of nothing, and therefore attempted to leap to the top. I failed, and in falling lodged upon the place just left. This fall will never be forgotten so long as excessive fright commingled with horror can leave an impression on my mind. I then thought to cry for help, but dared not, lest my feet should slip and precipitate me down the dark chasm beneath. After reflecting long upon my perilous situation, I commenced feeling around the platform surrounding the top, and finally succeeded in fastening my fingers in a crevice between the planks, by which means I drew myself up. The dream ordinarily would have ended here, but my mind now turned upon the subject which had occupied my attention the preceding evening until a late hour. I thought in my dream that what had just transpired was a prophetic dream, and to what it might point my reflections were directed, as well as to what course would be the best to elude the impending danger. During these reflections I awoke excessively exhausted. In this instance, in a dream, I dreamed that I was dreaming. It was a singular mental phenomenon, and of rare occurrence, but not alone on record.” —Sleep Psychologically considered with reference to Sensation and Memory. DREAM TESTIMONY. “ On Saturday, the 30th of July, 1853, the dead body of a young woman was discovered in a field at Littleport, in the Isle of Ely. The body has not yet been identified, and there can be little doubt that the young woman was murdered. At the adjourned inquest, held on the 29th August, before Mr. William Marshall, one of the coroners for the Isle, the follow- ing extraordinary evidence was given :— “ 1 James Jessop, an elderly, respectable-looking labourer, with a face of the most perfect stolidity, and who possessed a most curiously-shaped skull, broad and flat at the top, and projecting greatly on each side over the ears, deposed—“ I live about a furlong and a half from where the body was found. I have seen the body of the deceased. I had never seen her before her death. On the night of Friday, the 29th July, I dreamt three successive times that I heard the cry of murder issuing from near the bottom of a close called Little Ditch- ment Close (the place where the body was found). The first time I dreamt I heard the cry it woke me. I fell asleep again, and dreamt the same again. I then woke again, and told my wife. I could not rest, but I dreamt it again after that. I got up between four and five o’clock, but I did not go down to the olose, the wheat and barley in which have since been cut. “ ‘ I dreamt once, about twenty years ago, that I saw a woman hanging in a barn, and on passing the next morning the barn which appeared to me in my dream, I entered, and did find a woman there hanging, and cut her down just in time to save her life. I never told my wife that I heard cries of murder, but I have mentioned it to several persons since. I saw the body on the Saturday it was found. I did not mention my dream to any one till a day or two after that. I saw the field distinctly in my dream, and the trees therein, but I saw no person in it. On the night of the murder the wind lay from that spot to my house.” ’ “ Rhoda Jessop, wife of the last witness, stated that her husband related his dreams to her on the evening of the day that the body was found.”—Notes and Queries, Sept. 24, 1853. LEGAL RESPONSIBILITY OF DREAMERS. The following is the report which appeared in the “ Ex- press” of January 5, 1859, of a curious case of a woman throwing her child out of the window under the influence of a dream :— “ Yesterday the Marylebone Police Court was crowded to excess in consequence of a report which had been circulated, that a woman was in custody for killing her child, by throwing it from a first-floor window into the street. The rumour with regard to the murder happily turned out to be untrue ; but it will be seen from the subjoined evidence that it was a provi- dential circumstance that the lives of three children were not sacrificed by their mother while acting under the influence of a dream. “ At two o’clock the prisoner, Esther Griggs, was placed at the bar before Mr. Broughton. “ Mr. Lewis, of Ely Place, appeared for her; and Mr. Tubbs, relieving officer of Marylebone, attended on bebalf of the board of guardians of the parish, to watch the case. “ The prisoner, who evidently felt the serious situation in which slie was placed, was seated during the proceedings. “ The first witness called was— “ Sergeant Simmons, 20 D, who said — At half past one o’clock this morning, while on duty in East Street, Manchester Square, I heard a female voice exclaim, ‘ Oh, my children ! save my children !’ I went to the house, No. 71, from whence the cries proceeded, and the landlord opened the door. I went upstairs, accompanied by two other constables, and while making our way to the first floor I heard the smashing of glass. 1 knocked at the door, which I found was fastened, and said, ‘ Open it, the police are here.’ The prisoner, who was in her night dress, kept on exclaiming, c Save my children ! ’ and at length, after stumbling over something, let me and my brother officers in. When we entered we found the room in total darkness, and it was only by the aid of our lanterns that we could distinguish anything in the room. On the bed there was a child five years old, and another three years of age by her side. Everything in the place was in confusion. She kept crying out, ‘ Where’s my baby P Elave they caught it ? I must have thrown it out of window.’ The baby must have been thrown out as I was going upstairs, for before getting into the room I heard something fall. I left a constable in charge of the prisoner, and I ascertained that the child which had been thrown from the window had been taken to the infirmary of Marylebone Workhouse. She told me she had been dreaming that her little boy had said that the house was on fire, and that what she had done was with the view of pre- venting her children from being burnt to death. I have no doubt (added witness) that if I and the other constable had not gone to the room, all three of the children would have been thrown out into the street. “ Mr. Broughton : How long do you suppose the cry of ‘ Oh, save my children ! ’ continued ? 480 INJURIES OF THE “ BABY, LIZZY.” “ Witness : I should think nearly five minutes. (In con- tinuation, he said he went to 38, Harley Street, where the husband lives in the service of a gentleman, and gave him information of what had occurred. The injured infant was only eighteen months old). “ By Mr. Lewis: From the excited state in which the prisoner was I did not at the time take her into custody. She went to the infirmary along with her husband to see how the child was going on, and what hurt it had sustained. I had understood that the surgeon had said it was a species of night- mare which the prisoner was labouring under when the act was committed. The window had not been thrown up. The child was thrust through a pane of glass, the fragments of which fell into the street. “ Humphreys, 180 D : I heard the breaking of glass, and saw what I imagined to be a bundle come out of the window, and on taking it up I found it to be a female infant. There was blood running from its temples, and it was insensible; I took it to the infirmary. “ Pollard, 314 D : I heard loud cries of ‘ Oh, save my chil- dren !’ and when I was in her room she said, ‘ Has anybody caught my baby, Lizzy ?’ One of the little boys, three years old, and who was clinging to his mother, had blood upon his clothes. He had upon his breast some marks which appeared to have been caused by cuts from glass. The sergeant left me to take care of the prisoner while he went for her husband. She told me she had no wish to hurt any of her children, and that it was all through a dream. “ Mr. Henry Tyrwliitt Smith, surgeon of the Marylebone Infirmary, was next called, and said that when the infant was brought to him, soon after one in the morning, he found upon examining it, that it was suffering from concussion of the brain. It was quite insensible, and decidedly in danger now. The parietal bone is broken, and death might ensue in the event of an effusion of blood on the brain. DANGEROUS DOCTRINE. instance where parties have committed acts to which a dream had impelled them. “ Mr. Lewis submitted to the magistrate that there had been no attempt to murder the infant. The prisoner had always evinced a kindly feeling towards her children, and he (the learned gentleman) hoped that the magistrate would allow the husband to have her under his care during the temporary remand which, of course, would take place. The dream under which the act was committed showed that she had not at the time any consciousness of what she was doing. “ Mr. Tubbs said he did not attend in the capacity of a prosecutor, but he appeared on behalf of the board of guar- dians ; and he put it to the magistrate whether there would be any objections, under the circumstances, to allow the prisoner to be bailed, her husband being security for her re-appearance. “ Mr. Broughton considered that it would he a most dangerous doctrine to lay down to say, that because a person was dreaming whilst committing an offence that they were not culpable for their acts. A woman, on these grounds, might get up in the middle of the night and cut her husband’s throat, and when brought up for the offence, turn round and say that she had done the act whilst under the influence of a dream. He (the worthy magistrate) considered the case to be one of a serious nature, and in the event of death ensuing an inquest would be held on the body. He could not think of taking bail in so serious a case, but would remand the prisoner till Tuesday next, and during her present excited state she would be taken care of in the infirmary. “ The prisoner was then removed to the cells by Ansted, the gaoler, sobbing most bitterly. “ The Recorder, at the subsequent sessions at the Central Criminal Court, in his address to the grand jury, took a some- what more rational view of the case than that entertained by Mr. Broughton. “ ‘ If the prisoner,’ said the Recorder, ‘ really did the act under the idea that it was the best mode of ensuring the safety of the child, it appeared to him that under such circum- stances it would he a question whether the grand jury would he justified in coming to the conclusion that the criminal was guilty of a criminal act.’ “ The grand jury threw out the bill.”—Exp-ess, January 5, 1859. THE ANGEL OF DEATH. EDWARD WILLIAM LANE. “ The belief of the Muslims in dreams, sanctioned by the Prophet, will be well illustrated by the following anecdote, which was related to me at Cairo shortly after the terrible plague of the year 1835, by the Sheykh Mohammed Et-Tan- lawee, who had taken the trouble of investigating the facts, and had ascertained its truth. “ A tradesman, living in the quarter of El-Hanafee, in Cairo, dreamt, during the plague above mentioned, that eleven persons were carried out of his house to be buried. He awoke in a state of the greatest distress and alarm, reflecting that eleven was the total number of the inhabitants of his house, including himself, and that it would be in vain in him to attempt, by adding one or more members to his household, to elude the decree of God, and give himself the chance of escape. So, calling together his neighbours, he informed them of his dream, and was counselled to submit to a fate so plainly foreshown, and to be thankful to God for the timely notice with which he had been mercifully favoured. On the following day one of his children died; a day or two after a wife; and the pesti- lence continued to ravage among his family until he remained in the house alone. It was impossible for him now to entertain the slightest doubt of the entire accomplishment of the warn- ing. Immediately, therefore, after the last death had taken place among his household, he repaired to a friend at a neigh- bouring shop, and calling to him several other persons from the adjoining and opposite shops, he reminded them of his dream, acquainted tliem with its almost complete fulfilment, and expressed his conviction that he, the eleventh, should very soon die. ‘Perhaps,’ said he, ‘ I shall die this next night; 1 beg of you therefore, for the sake of God, to come to my house early to-morrow morning, and the next morning, and the next if necessary, and to see if I be dead, and, when dead, that I be properly buried, for I have no one with me to wash and shroud me. Fail not to do me this service, which will procure you a recompense in heaven. I have bought my grave-linen; you will find it in the corner of the room in which 1 sleep, if you find the door of the house latched, and I do not answer to your knocking, break it open.’ “ Soon after sunset he laid himself in his lonely bed, though without any expectation of closing his eyes in sleep, for his mind was absorbed in reflections upon the awful entry into another world, and the review of his past life. As the shades of night gathered round him he could almost fancy that he beheld, in one faint object or another in his gloomy chamber, the dreadful person of the Angel of Death; and at length he actually perceived a figure gliding in at the door, and approaching his bed. Starting up in horror he exclaimed, * Who art thou ?’ And a stern and solemn voice answered, ‘ Be silent! 1 am Azrael, the Angel of Death !’ ‘ Alas !’ cried the terrified man, ‘ I testify that there is no deity but God, and I testify that Mohammed is God’s apostle. There is no strength or power but in God, the High, the Great. To God we belong, and to Him we must return.’ He then covered himself up with his quilt, as if for protection, and lay with a throbbing heart, expecting every moment to have his soul tom from him by the inexorable messenger. But moments passed away, and minutes and hours, yet without his experi- encing any hope of escape; for he imagined that the ftngel was waiting for him to resign himself, or had left him for awhile, and was occupied in receiving first the souls of the many hundred human beings who had attained their predes- tined term in that same night and in the same city, and the souls of the thousands who were doomed to employ him else- where. Daybreak arrived before his sufferings terminated; and his neighbours, coming according to their promise, entered his chamber, and found him still in bed; but observing that he was covered up, and motionless as a corpse, they doubted wdietlier he were still alive, and called to him. He answered, with a faint voice, ‘ I am not yet dead ; but the Angel of Death came to me in the dusk of the evening, and I expect every moment his return to take my soul: therefore, trouble me not; but see me washed and buried.’ 1 But why,’ said his friends, ‘ was the street door left unlatched?’ ‘I latched it,’ he answered; ‘ but the Angel of Death may have opened it.* ‘ And who,’ they asked, ‘ is the man in the court ?’ He answered, ‘ I know of no man in the court. Perhaps the angel who is waiting for my soul has made himself visible to you, and been mistaken in the twilight for a man.’ ‘ He is a thief,’ they said, ‘ who has gathered together everything in the house that he could carry away, and has been struck by the plague while doing so, and now lies dead in the court at the foot of the stairs, grasping in his hand a silver candlestick.’ The master of the house, after hearing this, paused for a moment, and then, throwing off his quilt, exclaimed, ‘ Praise be to God, the Lord of all creatures ! That is the eleventh, and I am safe ! Ho doubt it was that rascal who came to me and said that he was the Angel of Death. Praise be to God ! Praise be to God!’ “ This man survived the plague, and took pleasure in relating the above story. The thief had overheard his con- versation with his neighbours, and coming to the house in the dusk, had put his shoulder to the wooden lock, and so raised tn door and displaced the latch within. There is nothing wond rful in the dream, or in its accomplishment; the plague of 1835 entirely desolated many houses, and was mostly fatal to the young ; and all the inhabitants of the house in question were young except the master.”—The Thousand and One Nights, commonly called The Arabian Nights' Entertainments. SINGULAR PROGNOSTICATION. Under this heading the “ Times ” of Monday, April 17,1865, copies from the “ Cornish Telegraph” the narrative of a recent dream of a young clergyman of the county, which was almost immediately followed by the accidental death of the dreamer:— “ On Wednesday last the Rev. Stephen Barclay Drury, an unmarried clergyman of twenty-six, who has for about twelve months acted as the curate of Phillack and Gwithian, had a conversation with the brother of the rector of those parishes, Mr. Charles Hockin, and related a dream, which he described as a very singular one, and has having made a deep impression on him. His words were—‘ I dreamt I was to be buried, and I followed my coffin into the church, and thence to the tomb. I took no part in the service ; and when we came to the tomb, I looked into it, and saw it was very nice. I then asked the undertaker who was to be buried, and he answered, “ You.” I then said, “ I am not to be buried, I am not dead.” The under- taker then said, “ I must be paid for the coffin ;” upon which I awoke.’ On Sunday morning and afternoon Mr. Drury officiated at Gwithian, and, after the second service, remained with the children to practise singing. Returning to his lodg- ings in Gwithian at half-past four, he waited a little, took with him Thomas a Kempis’ ‘ Christian Pattern,’ and set out for a walk, accompanied by a Newfoundland dog. He asked for a bit of cord, as he might give the dog a dip, and started in his usually cheerful and happy mood. In an hour and a half the dog returned with the cord round his neck. Mr. Drury was never again seen alive. His absence throughout the night occasioned no surprise, as he sometimes went to and slept at Copperhouse, two miles off. On Monday morning a Gwinear miner, in quest of sea-weed at low water near the rocky shore of Godrevy, saw Mr. Drury’s body in a pool seventy or eighty yards from the sea. An inquest, under the county coroner, Mr. John Roscoria, was held on Tuesday at Gwithian, when these circumstances were elicited, and a verdict was returned of ‘ Found drowned.’ From the facts, however, that Mr. Drury had never shown the least signs of depression, that he started with the expressed intention of giving the dog a dip, and that he was very near-sighted, the general inference is that the unfortunate gentleman slipped on the rocks, was stunned, fell into the water, and so casually and singularly ful- filled his strange dream of a few days previously.” REMARKABLE DREAM. The following paragraph lately appeared in the “ Scotsman ” newspaper, and was quoted in the “ Times ” of Tuesday, April 25, 1865. The dream of which it gives an account is forcibly reminiscent of the one given at pp. 415,416 of this volume. “ The legal proceedings which lately took place in the Sheriff Court of Clackmannanshire with regard to the viola- tion of a grave in the churchyard at Alloa, and the unwar- rantable exhumation of the body of James Quin, had their origin, it is stated, in a remarkable dream of the mother of the deceased. Young Quin died in September, 1863, and was buried in a lair in the churchyard, which was purchased by his father from William Donaldson, the kirk treasurer, it being agreed that the price was to be paid by instalments. About six months afterwards Robert Blair, the sexton or grave-digger, took upon himself (without the authority, it would appear, of Donaldson) to sell the same lair to another person, and to inter therein a relative of the new purchaser, without, however, at that time exhuming the body of Quin, the former tenant. Some considerable time after this, the mother of Quin, being desirous of erecting a headstone on the grave of her son, made some inquiries with that view, in the course of which she heard something of another person having been buried in his grave, this having, as she stated, been ‘ cast up ’ by Blair’s nephew to a younger son of hers on their way from the Sunday-school. But the grave-digger denied the truth of this story, and managed to pacify her. Feeling, however, that he had got into a scrape by the lair having been resold, he, some weeks after Mrs. Quin had interrogated him on the subject, dug up the body of her son during the night of Thursday, the 23rd of March last, and re-interred it in other ground. Now, on that very Thursday night, as sworn to by Mrs. Quin at the trial, she had this remarkable dream :—She dreamt that her boy stood in his nightgown at her bedside, and said to her, 1 Oh, mother, put me back to my own bed.’ She then awoke her husband, and, forgetting in her half- dreaming state that her son was dead, said to him, ‘ Jimmie is out of his bed ; put him back into itafter which she fell asleep, and again had the same dream. A third time during the same night she dreamt that her son was standing beside her bed; but on this occasion, remembering that he was dead, the figure of the grave-digger was mixed up with that of the boy, and he appeared to be shoving his spade into the body. Awakening in great trepidation, and feeling certain that her boy had been taken out of his grave, she went to the grave-digger, and vehemently accused him of having dug up the body, which, after some prevarication, he at last admitted. Hence arose the action of damages against Donaldson, the kirk treasurer, and Blair, the grave-digger, which, being restricted to £12, was brought in the Small Debt Court. The sheriff, after a long proof, assoilzied Donaldson, and found Blair liable in damages, which, the parties not having settled the same extrajudicially, have since been assessed at £5.” THE LITTLE BLACK BOY. We have, out of its chronological order, reserved the story of “ The Little Black Boy,” because the article in Blackwood (1840)—A Few Passages concerning Omens, Dreams, Appear- ances, etc.; in a Letter to Eusebius—from which it is taken, affords us the opportunity of presenting a few general reflec- tions upon our subject, which, as being free at once from fanaticism and incredulity, may be made to do duty in the way of conclusion. “ In the year 1813, I was at the house of Sir J. W. S th, of D House, nearBl d, who then resided in Portman Square; and a Mr. L r, of Norfolk, a great friend of Sir John’s, was of the party. On coming into the room, he said, ‘ I have just been calling on our old Cambridge friend, H n, who returned the other day from India; and he has been telling me a very curious thing which happened in his family. He had to go up the country to a very remote part, on some law business ; and he left Mrs. H n at home, under the protection of her sister and that lady’s husband. The night after Mr. H n went away, the brother-in-law was awakened by the screams of his own wife, in her sleep ; she had dreamed that a little black boy, Mr. H n’s servant, was murdering him. He woke her, and while he was endeavouring to quiet her, and convince her that her fears were the effects of a bad dream, produced probably by indigestion, he was roused by the alarming shrieks of Mrs. H n, who slept iu an adjoin- ing room. On going to her, he found her, too, just awaken- ing after a horrid dream ; the little Indian boy was murdering her husband. He used the same arguments with her that he had already found to answer in quieting his own wife ; but in his own mind, he felt very anxious for tidings from Mr. H n. To their great surprise, that gentleman made his appearance the next evening, though he had expected to be absent above a week. They anxiously asked him what was the matter. Nothing, but that he was angry with himself, for acting in a weak, foolish manner. He had dreamed that his attendant, the little black boy, intended to murder him; and the dream made such an impression upon his nerves, that he could not bear the sight of the boy, but dismissed him without any explanation. Finding he could not go on without an atten- dant, he had returned home to procure one ; but, as he had no reason whatever to suspect the boy of any ill intention, he felt very angry with himself for minding a dream. Dear Mrs. H n was much struck with this story ; but she used to say, unless it were proved that the boy really had the intention of murdering his master, the dreams went for nothing. “ In this instance a murder may have been prevented ; and without an object, the wonder of coincidences is great indeed, for it is not one dream but three, and of three persons. “ There are in everybody’s mouth so many instances of the discovery of a murder by dreams, that it is difficult to know where to choose ; and some are so authenticated, that it seems to me but a presumptuous boldness altogether to set them aside. There are, however, two instances of such extraordi- nary dreams having occurred within these few years. It was stated at the time, and, if I mistake not, in this magazine, that Corder’s murder of his wife was found out by a dream, in which the very place where the body was deposited was seen. The other is the most extraordinary, because the object of it does not appear. You must recollect the whole vision, in a dream, of the murder of Mr. Percival, at a distance of more than a hundred and fifty miles from the scene, and a week or more before it was perpetrated, in which the faces of Belling- ham and his victim were distinctly portrayed. I remember a somewhat detailed account was given of this in Maga, a year or two ago, if I mistake not, in one of those able papers, ‘ The World we Live in.’ Who will say that Homer was not justified when he said that ‘Dreams are from Jove,’ Ovag e* AtosP There are many curious examples in the tale of the ‘ Cock and the Fox.’ 1 suppose they are Chaucer’s—I only remember them through a Dryden. They are probably from a common stock, and well known and well believed at the time. I will tell you of a discovery, though not of a murder, that was told me by the dreamer, a very intelligent person, and upon whose veracity I had great reliance. He has been dead many years. It occurred to him when a young man. He was engaged in a china manufactory at Swansea. He dreamed that he saw a man drowning in one of their pools ; he dreamed the same a second time and a third time, and then could not resist mak- ing an effort to rise and satisfy himself that it was not so. He did rise, went to the spot, and found the man drowned. But have we not authority for dreams that we cannot question ? There is the significant dream of Jacob; there is Joseph the pious, the favoured dreamer, and the interpreter of dreams; there is Pharaoh’s dream of the fat and lean kine; the dream of Pilate’s wife, and consequent admonition—‘Have thou nothing to do with that just man, for I have suffered many things this day in a dream because of him.’ And if it be said that dreams which have no consequent action are not likely to be divinely significant, we may point to this dream of Pilate’s wife. It did not save. What shall we say of the precautionary dream of Cassar’s wife ? And of the dream-like vision—Caesar appearing to Brutus, and the famous ‘ Meet me at Philippi?’ Then comes the question—are appearances dreams, imaginary visions, or are they, however inexplicable the mode, the actual spiritual presence of the persons whose images they bear ? ‘ It is wonderful,’ said Dr. Johnson, ‘ that five thousand years have now elapsed since the creation of the world, and still it is undecided whether there has ever been an instance of the spirit of any person appearing after death. All argument is against it, but all belief is for it.’ Is not all belief, at least, one argument ? I cannot but think it less a matter of astonishment that the spirits of those who have existed should assume form and appearance, than that, as in dreams and the like, ‘ coming events cast their shadows before.’ ”—A Feio Passages concerning Omens, Dreams, etc., Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, vol. xlviii., 1840. APPENDIX ♦ DICTIONARY OF INTERPRETATIONS. FROM ARTEMIDORUS AND OTHERS. Acquaintance. To dream that yon fight with them signifies distraction, especially if the person so dreaming be sick. Adultery. For persons to dream they have committed it, shows that they shall meet with great contentions and debate; but to dream they have resisted the temptation to it shows victory over their enemies, and that they shall escape great dangers. Adversary. To dream that you receive obstructions from him, shows that you shall dispatch your business speedily. Air. To dream that you see it clear and serene, shows you to be esteemed and beloved by all people, and that those who are your enemies and envy you shall be reconciled to you. It also denotes the discovery of lost goods, or things that have been stolen. If the person so dream- ing be at law, it shows he shall overthrow his adversary; and if he designs a voyage or journey, it shows he shall be successful therein. And, in short, all good things are denoted by a clear and serene Air. But to dream the Air is cloudy, dark, and troubled, denotes to the dreamer sadness, grief, sickness, melancholy, loss of goods, hindrance of business, and is in all things the reverse of dreaming what we have before mentioned of a clear and serene air. But for a man to dream that the air is very calm, and without winds and storms, denotes his life to be peaceable, and his manners good, and that he shall be acceptable to all company; and that whatever business, 32 journeys by land, or voyages by sea, be undertakes, shall prosper and succeed according to his wishes. And yet there are some authors who are of opinion that a serene air betokens great pain, and that to dream the air is cloudy shows dispatch of business. To dream of being raised from the earth, and flying in the air, shows a person shall obtain praise and honour, according to the height that he dreams he flies above the earth: if high, the more praise; if low, the less. Almonds. To dream one sees or eats almonds signifies difficulty and trouble. Alms. To dream they are begged of you, and you deny to give them, shows want and misery to the dreamer; but to dream that you give them freely, is a sign of great joy, and long life to the dreamer or some particular friend of his. Altar. To dream that you uncover or discover an altar betokens joy and gladness. Angel. To dream you see an angel or angels is very good, and to dream that you yourself are one is much better. But to speak with or call upon them is of evil signification. Yet if in secret they seem to declare something unknown, and which you do not understand or know, it denotes your becoming acquainted with persons of the first quality. And to dream that you see an angel fly over you or your house, signifies joy, consolation, benediction, and good news, and shows increase of honour and authority. It is likewise an advertise- ment to the dreamer to live well, and to repent of his sins, and that upon so doing he shall hear good news, and shall increase in honour and authority. Angling. To dream that you are angling betokens much affliction and trouble in seeking for something you desire to get. Apes. To dream you have seen, or had anything to do with them, signi- fies malicious, weak, strange, and secret enemies; also malefactors and deceivers. Back. To dream you see your back, betokens some unhappiness, for the back and all the hinder parts signify old age; therefore, as a man thinks his hinder parts to be, so shall he be in his age. To dream a man’s back is broken, hurt, or disfigured, shows his enemies will get the better of him, and that he will be scoffed at by all persons. To dream of the back-bone signifies health and joy, and domestic comfort and prosperity. Bagpipes. To dream that you play upon bagpipes signifies trouble, contention, and being overthrown at law. Barley-bread. To dream of eating barley-bread signifies health and content. Basilisk. When you dream of a woman that she is delivered of a basilisk instead of a child, it is a bad hieroglyphic, and betokens no good to the dreamer; and he ought heartily to recommend himself to the Divine Being, that He would preserve him, and avert those misfortunes that threaten him. And if it be a woman that has such a dream, many authors—Anselmus Julianus in particular, who is an author to whom great regard ought to be had—affirm that she shall have very good success and comfort, shall be rich and generally beloved, and shall prosper in all her undertakings. Beard. To dream you have a beard long, thick, and unhandsome, is of a good signification to an orator, or an ambassador, lawyer, philosopher, or any who desires to speak well, or to learn arts and sciences. If one dreams he hath a comely beard, it shows he shall be pleasant in his discourse, find out the intricacies of the matter proposed, and prosper in his undertakings. If a maid dreams that she hath a beard, she will be speedily matched to her content. If she be a married woman, such a dream threatens her with the loss of her husband, or that she shall be separated from him, and constrained to govern her house singly as if she were a man. If it be a woman with child that so dreams, it shows she shall have a son. If a widow woman dreams she hath a beard, she shall have a husband who shall be kind and bountiful. If she be at law, it shows she shall persevere in her opinion; and bearing a high mind, regard her honour, and vindicate it as if she were a man. To a young child this dream is death; but to him who is now in his youth, beginning to have a beard, it is a sign he shall rise by himself, and put himself forward, of what estate soever he be. If one dreams that he hath lost his beard, or that somebody hath pulled it up by the roots or shaved it, it denotes loss of relations, estates, and honour. To dream that one hath a great beard, in a young man betokeneth wisdom; in an old man, length of years; but in a woman, that she shall be a furious vixen, and wear the breeches. Bees. To dream of bees is good and bad: good, if they sting not; but bad, if they sting the party dreaming, for then they signify enemies. And therefore to dream that bees fly about your ears, shows your being beset with many enemies; but if you beat them off without being stung by them, it is a sign of victory, and of your overcoming them. To dream of seeing bees, signifies profit to country people, and trouble to the rich; yet to dream that they make their honey in any part of a house or tenement, signifies to the occupier dignity, eloquence, and good success in business. But to dream you are stung by a bee signifies vexation and trouble. To take bees signifies profit and gain. To dream of bees is good to ploughmen, and to such as thereby get profit. To others they signify trouble, by reason of the noise they make ; and wounds, by reason of their sting; and sickness, by reason of their honey and wax. Bells. To dream that one hears ringing of bells, if of a sanguine com- plexion, brings him good news; but to others it shows alarms, murmurings, disturbances, and commotions among citizens. To dream one plays tunes on small bells signifies discord and disunion between subjects and servants. To dream you pull a rope of the bell, and see a spirit keep it from ringing, shows trouble and molestation; and if it be a parson that is the dreamer, it shows he shall meet with some disturbance in his preaching. Bittern. To dream of a bittern, which is a night-bird, is a bad omen. Bleeding. To dream of bleeding at the nose signifies loss of goods, and decay of riches to those who are phlegmatic and melancholy; but to the choleric and sanguine it signifies health and joy. Boots. To dream that one is well booted, or hath good boots on, signifies honour and profit by servants. Brow. To dream that you have a brow of brass, copper, marble, or iron, signifies irreconcilable hatred against your enemies. Buried. For a man to dream that he is buried and interred, signifies he shall have as much wealth as he hath earth laid over him. Cards. To dream one plays at cards or dice, signifies deceit and craft, and that he is in danger of losing his estate by some wicked person. And yet playing at cards, tables, or any other game in a dream, shows the party shall be very fortunate, if the tables allude to love; for love is the table, fancy the point that stands open, and he that dreams of table-playing shall be a great gamester as well with Joan as my lady. Cat. If any one dreams that he hath encountered a cat or killed one, he will commit a thief to prison and prosecute him to the death; for the cat signifies a common thief. If he dreams that he eats cat’s flesh, ho will have the goods of the thief that robbed him; if he dream he hath the skin, then he will have all the thief’s goods. If any one di-eams he fought with a cat that scratched him sorely, that denotes some sickness or affliction. If any shall dream that a woman wa3 delivered of a cat, instead of a well-shaped child, it is a bad hieroglyphic, and betokens no good to the dreamer. Also the cat signifies a person of loose moi’als. Caterpillars. To dream you see catei’pillars signifies ill-luck and misfor- tunes fi’om secret enemies. Cheese. To dream you eat cheese signifies profit and gain. Chickens. To dream of a hen and her chickens signifies loss and damage. Clavicord. To dream one plays, or sees another play upon a clavicord, shows the death of relations or funeral obsequies. Coalpits. To dream of being in the bottom of coalpits signifies matching with a widow; for he that marries her must be a continual drudge, and yet shall never sound the depth of her policies. Comedy. To dream you see a comedy, farce, or some other recreation, signifies good success in business. Command. To dream you command one signifies trouble; to dream you see one command signifies anger and authority. Confections. To dream that one makes confections and sweetmeats beto- kens pleasure and profit. Corns. For a man to dream that his flesh is full of corns, shows he will grow rich proportionably to the corns. Countenance. To dream you see a comely countenance, unlike your own, signifies honour. Croton. To dream of having a crown of gold on your head signifies the friendship of your liege ; and the dreamer will be honoured by many persons, and will have many gifts. Dairy. To dream of being in a dairy, showeth the dreamer to be of a milk-sop nature. Dead-folks. To dream of talking with dead-folks is a good, auspicious dream, and signifies a boldness of courage, and a very clear conscience. Deer. To dream of hunting deer signifies going to law or to the wars, or falling out with your best friend upon a slight occasion. Devil. To dream that one has seen the devil, and that he is tormented, or otherwise much terrified, signifies that the dreamer is in danger of being checked and punished by his sovereign prince, or some magis- trate. And quite contrarily, if he dreams he strikes the devil, or some person he beh'eves to be possessed, and fancies he overcomes him, it is a sign he that dreams thus shall overcome his enemies with glory and satisfaction. If any dream that he sees the devil, it is a very bad sign, for such a vision cannot bring along with it any good tidings; to the sick it foretells death, and to the healthful it signifies melancholy, anger, tumults, and violent sickness. If any dream the devil speaks to him, it signifies temptation, deceit, treachery, despair, and some- times the rain and death of him that dreams. To dream that one is carried away by the devil is a worse dream; and yet no dream delights the dreamer so much as this, for being awaked he is ravished with joy that he is freed from so great an evil; for which he ought to return thanks to God, and beg of Him that He would be pleased to send him his good angel to guard him, and fight against that wicked spirit which stands always sentinel to surprise us. To dream you see the devil as he is drawn by painters and poets, viz., black and hideous, with horns, claws, and a great tail, signifies torment and despair. To dream you see yourself with the devil, signifies gain. Divine Service. To dream you go to Divine service, signifies honour and joy- Dragons. To dream you see a dragon, is a sign that you shall see some great lord your master or a magistrate; it signifies also riches and treasure. DrinJc. To drink warm water is bad; to drink muddy water is very bad; to drink clear water is a good sign; to drink thick wine is very good; to drink white wine signifies health; to drink milk is an exceedingly good sign; to drink vinegar signifies discomfort. Drunkards. To dream one is drunk is very bad for all, for it signifieth great folly. It is only good to such as are in fear; for drunkards doubt or fear nothing. To dream one is drunk is increase of estate, and recovery of health; but when one dreams he is drunk without drinking any wine, it is an ill omen, and he runs the hazard of being disgraced by some bad action, and of being punished by law. If a man dreams he is drunk with sack, muscatel, or some other sweet and pleasant drink, it is a sign he will be beloved by some great lords, and grow rich thereby. If a man dreams he is drunk and vomits, he will run the hazard of losing his estate by the violence of his prince, who will force him to an account of his means ill-gotten; or if he be a gamester, he will lose all he hath formerly won. If any one dreams that, being drunk, he is very much pained at heart and in his viscera, it shows that his domestics or servants will rob him of his money, or destroy his fortune without his knowledge. If a man dreams he is drunk with pure water, he will boast causelessly of his wealth, and vaunt of another person’s strength. JEagle. To dream that an eagle is seen in some high place, is a good sign to those that undertake some weighty business, and especially to soldiers. If one dream that an eagle lights upon his head, it signifies death to the dreamer; and the same if he dreams that he is carried into the air by an eagle. If a woman dreams that she brings forth an eagle, it portends that the child she goes withal will be a great person, and have many persons under his command. If one dreams that he sees a dead eagle, it signifies death to great peers, and profit to the poor. To see an eagle flying over a stone or a tree, or in a high place, is good for those which would undertake business; but to those who are in fear it is evil; also it signifies the return of him that is in a far countrv. And if his flight be far, and at ease and pleasure, it is good, and signifieth that the business shall have an end, but not so soon. An eagle flying strongly, and falling npon the head of him that dreameth, certainly signifies his death. To be mounted upon an eagle, signifies to kings, princes, and mighty and rich personages, death; but to the poor it is good, for they shall be welcome and received of all rich men, from whom they shall receive great profit. Oftentimes it causeth changing one’s country, and going to another nation. The eagle threatening, signifieth the threatening of some great personage. But to dream of his being gentle, or giving anything, or to dream that he spake, hath been found a good dream by experience. To see an eagle that is dead is good for a servant and him that is in fear, for it denotes the death of the master and threatener; and unto others it shows that a stop shall be put to their affairs, for a dead eagle can do nothing. Earthworms. To dream of earthworms signifies secret enemies that endeavour to rain and destroy us; and that this shall be effected by misers and covetous persons, who are the mere worms of the earth. Eat. To dream of eating human flesh signifies labour and distress; to eat lard or salt signifies murmuring ; to eat cheese signifies gain and profit; to eat apples signifies anger. Eggs. To dream of eggs signifies gain and profit, especially to phy- sicians, painters, and to those which sell and trade with them. To others it is good to have little store of them; for plenty of them signifies care, pain, noise, and lawsuits. To dream you see broken eggs is a very ill sign, and signifies loss to the party dreaming. Evil Spirits. To dream that evil spirits obstruct your doing good under the show of devotion, showrs you shall be obstructed in your affairs by a hypocrite, who shall be a priest. And if you dream that you see hideous physiognomies, things more than vulgar shall be revealed to you. Eyebrows. To dream the eyebrows are hairy and of a good grace, is good to all, especially to women ; but the eyebrows naked, and with- out hair, signifieth to all ill-success in business, and to some single combats and grief. If any one dreams his eyebrows are more comely and large than they used to be, it is a sign that he will be honoured and esteemed by all persons, and that he will prosper in courtship and grow rich. Face. To dream you see a fresh, taking, smiling face and counte- nance, is a sign of friendship and joy. To dream you see a meagre, pale face, is a sign of trouble, poverty, and death. To dream one washes his face denotes repentance for sin; a black face signifies long life. Falcon. To dream a man carries a falcon upon his fist, and walks with it, signifies honour. Also the falcon and the kite signify thieves and robbers. Fields. To dream of fields and pleasant places, shows to a man that he will marry a discreet, chaste, and beautiful wife, and that she will bear him very handsome children. And to a woman it betokens a loving and prudent husband, by whom she shall have beautiful children. Figs. To dream that you see figs in season, is a good dream, and signifies joy and pleasure ; but out of season, the contrary. Filberts. To dream of filberts is trouble and anger. Firebrands. To dream you hold firebrands and torches by night is good, especially to young folk, to whom it often signifieth love with pleasure and effect. But to see another hold a firebrand, is ill to those that would be secret. Fire from Heaven. When thou dreamest fire from Heaven is sent, Some extraordinary thing is meant; A king or prince that often dreameth so Will in his country find both war and woe. Flies. To dream you see a swarm of flies signifies enemies and unreason- able persons that will scandalize you. To dream that you shut in flies, and that you kill them, is good to all except to countrymen and ploughmen. Fools. For a man to dream that he is a fool is good to him who would undertake any business; for fools and madmen do that which comes into their brain, I t is good also for marshals and sheriffs, who would have authority over the people; for they shall have great honour and repute. It is also good for those who would govern and teach children ; for children do willingly follow fools. It is also good for the poor, for they shall have goods; for fools catch on all sides and all hands. To the sick it is health, for folly makes men go and come, not sleep and rest. Fowling. For a man to dream he goes fowling with his gun, and kills good store of game, shows he shall reap great advantage by his calling, and according to the game he takes or kills so shall his profit be in his calling; if he kills much game, his profit shall be great, but if little, the less ; and the signification is the same if you dream of fishing. Fruit. To dream of fruit has a different interpretation, according to what the fruit is. Apples show long life and success; a boy to a woman with child; cheerfulness in your sweetheart, and riches in trade. Cherries indicate disappointment in love, and vexation in the married state. Frogs. To dream of frogs is good for them that live upon the commons. “ I knew a man,” says Artemidorus, “ who dreamed that he beat with his fist, and the knuckles or joints of his fingers, upon frogs, and it so happened that his master gave him authority over all the affairs of his house: so that one must think that the pond represents the house, the frogs the inhabitants, and the striking of his fingers the command- ment.” But as to frogs in general, they signify flatterers, indifferent and ignorant babblers, abusers, and praters. Funeral. To dream that one goes to the funeral and interment of any of his relations or friends, or of some great lord, is a good sign to the dreamer, who is betokened thereby to get an estate by means of his relations, or else marry a fortune to his content. Garden. To dream of walking in a garden and gathering here and there a flower, shows a person to be much given to pride and arrogancy, and to have high thoughts of him or herself. To dream of seeing fair gar- dens shows a man will marry a chaste and beautiful wife, for gardens are strictly enclosed. Geese. To dream you hear the cackling of geese signifies profit, assurance, and dispatch of business. Gelding. To dream yon see a gelding signifies accusation. Gibberish. For a man to dream he hears gibberish shows he shall have to do with gipsies, rogues, and common beggars. Glebe. To dream a man has much glebe-land adjoining to his house is good for a clergyman, for it shows he shall suddenly obtain a good benefice. Gloves. To dream one has gloves on his hands signifies honour and safety. Goats. Though, according to Artemidorus, to dream of goats signifies no good, but is worst of all to navigators; yet, according to other authors, to dream of she-goats is a sign of wealth and plenty. God. To dream that we worship God, and call upon Him, gives to the soul the highest joy ; and to dream that we receive pure gifts from Him is a good dream, and shows great health to those that dream so; but to dream of receiving impure gifts from Him signifies diseases, misery, and woe. Gold. To dream your clothes are embroidered with gold signifies joy and honour. If a man dreams that he gathers up gold and silver, that signifies deceit and loss. If any one dreams that his pockets are full of gold, it betokeneth that he shall receive but little money. To dream one hath a crown of gold upon his head signifies favour with his sovereign, and that he shall be honoured and feared by many. For a man to dream that he hath found gold and cannot tell where to hide it, or that lie is afraid to be taken with it, shows he will have a wife who shall rob his purse and take away all his money while he is asleep. Good. To dream that we do good to any one, signifies jollity and pleasure; and to dream that others do us good, is profit and gain. Grapes. To dream of eating grapes at any time signifies cheerfulness and profit. To tread grapes signifies the overthrow of enemies. To gather white grapes signifies gain, but to dream of gathering black grapes signifies damage. Grave. If a man dreams that he is put into a grave and buried, it pre- sageth he will die in a mean condition; yet some believe (grounded on experience) that to dream that one is dead and buried signifieth he that hath such a dream shall recover an estate according to the quan- tity of earth that is laid upon him. Hail. To dream of hail signifies sorrow and trouble, and sometimes that the most hidden secrets shall be revealed and made known. To dream of great and long-continued hail, attended with tempest and thunder, signifies afflictions, troubles, dangers, losses, and perils; though to the poorer sort such dreams signify repose, for during storms they are shut up and at rest. Hanging or Hanged. If any one dreams that by sentence or judgment he was condemned to be hanged, and dreams also that the sentence was really executed, he will be dignified according to the height of the gibbet or tree whereon he was hanged. But if the dreamer be sick or afflicted he will be freed from his disease, and in the end have joy and contentment. If any one dreams he condemned another to be hanged, that signifies he will be angry with him whom he imagined he con- demned, but in a small time after he will place him in honour and dignity, which he will abuse. According to the interpretations of the Persians and the Egyptians, he that dreams he is hanged by sen- tence of law, will be rich, honoured, and respected. If any one dreams that he has eaten the flesh of a man hanged, he will be enriched by some person, but it will be by some foul practice and some secret crime. If any one dreams that, being about to be hanged, he was deli- vered, and came down to the bottom of the gibbet, that person will lose his estate and dignity. Harpies. To dream you see harpies, which are infernal creatures, half women and half serpents, or else furies, such as the poets feign them to be, signifies tribulation and pains occasioned by envious persons, and such as seek our ruin, shame, or death, by mischief and treachery. Hart. If any one dreams he killed a hart, and that he had the head and skin, it signifies that he will inherit the estate of some old man, or that he will overcome fugitive, deceitful, timorous, and irre- I HAT—JOLLITY. 507 solute enemies. To see a hart running shows great wealth got by subtlety. Hat. To dream that your hat is broken, or fallen off, means damage and dishonour. Heaven. To dream of heaven, and that you ascend up thither, signifies grandeur and glory. Hell. A dream that one sees hell as it is described, and that he hears the damned souls groan and complain through the extremity of their torments, is an advertisement that God sends to the dreamer, to the end that he may throw himself upon God’s mercy. If any one dreams he sees the damned plunged in the fire and flames of hell, and that they suffer great torture, it signifies sadness, repentance, and a melan- cholic distemper. To dream of descending into hell, and returning thence, to those that are great and rich signifies misfortune; but it is a good sign to the poor and weak. Holy Virgin. To dream that one speaks to the Holy Virgin signifies con- solation, recovery of health, and all good fortune. Hunger. To dream one is extraordinarily hungry, and that his appetite craves sustenance, shows that he will be ingenious, laborious, and eager in getting an estate, and that he will grow rich in proportion to the greatness of his hunger. Hydra. To dream you see a serpent, or seven-headed hydra, signifies sin and temptation. Hyssop. To dream that you smell hyssop signifies labour, trouble, sickness, and weakness. From this rule physicians only are to be excepted, to whom such dreams are propitious. Jaws. The jaws represent cellars, shops, and other things used to keep merchandise or other goods, so that if we dream our jaws suffer any harm, we may expect some loss in the things represented by them. Idiot. If any one dreams that he is turned idiot, and mad, and is guilty of public extravagancies, he shall be long-lived, a favourite with his prince, and shall gain pleasure and profit by the people. Infernal Things. If any one dreams that he sees the devil, or any other infernal spirit or representation, it is a very bad dream, bringing along with it to them that are sick, death; and to the healthful, melancholy, anger, tumults, and violent sickness. Iron. For one to dream that he sees himself hurt with iron signifies that he shall receive some damage. To dream that one trades with a stranger in iron, signifies to the dreamer losses and misfortune. Jollity. To dream of joy and festivals by night is good for such as would many, or make marriages, and for such as seek company and affinity. To tho poor it is a sign of good; to the sad and fearful an end of heaviness and fear, for none spend the night in dancing, good cheer, and mirth, but those that are joyful. To persons of evil morals it is the revelation of their deeds; to the rich and wealthy, trouble and divulgation. Keys. To dream that you lose your keys signifies anger. To dream you have a bunch of keys, and that you give them to those that desire them of you, shows great good to poor captives, for it implies that shortly they shall gain their liberty. A key seen in a dream, to him who would marry signifieth a good and handsome wife, and a good housekeeper. It is cross to a traveller, for it signifieth he shall be put back, and hindered, and not received. It is good for such as would take in hand other men’s business. Kill. To dream you kill a man signifies assuredness of business; to dream you kill your father is a bad sign; to dream you are killed, denotes loss to him who has killed you. Kite. To dream of seeing a kite, shows you shall be in danger of robbers. Knave. For a man to dream that himself is a knave, is a sign that he shall grow rich; but for a man to dream that he has to do, or is con- nected with knaves, shows he shall have many lawsuits. Knives. For a man to dream that he sees knives, shows he shall be engaged with some of his friends and acquaintance in a very hot contest and quarrel; but that after a few hot words all shall be paci- fied, and they shall be good friends again. Labour. To dream that a woman is in labour, and that she brings forth a child that is dead, or else none at all, though she has suffered much pain and anguish in her labour, shows that the party so dreaming shall labour much for that which they shall never bring to pass. But though her labour be hard, if the dream is to the effect that she brings forth a living child, it shows that the party so dreaming shall effect their business, though not without great toil and trouble. Ladder. The ladder is a sign of travelling; the steps are advancement but some say they are danger. To dream that you ascend a ladder signifies honour j but to dream that you descend a ladder, betokenetk damage. Ljantern. He that dreams he sees a lantern with a light in it extin- guished or darkened—that signifies unto him sadness, sickness, and poverty. Law. As to matters of law, to him that dreams of places of pleading, judges, attorneys, proctors, or other persons concerned in the law, it signifies trouble, anger, expense, and revealing of secrets. And if the sick man dream he obtains his suit, he shall come to better estate; but if otherwise, he shall die. And if he which is at law dream that he sits in the judge’s seat, he shall not be overthrown, but rather his adversary. A physician seen in a dream by him who is at law, signi- fies the same with attorneys and proctors. Leafing. To dream of leaping demonstrates an active and merry disposition. Leeks. To dream of leeks signifies a discovery of secret and domestic jars. Lentils. To dream of lentils signifies corruption. Light. He that dreams he is in a ship, and sees a clear light afar off, shall be assured of a fair wind, and receive no damage by tempests, but arrive happily at his desired haven. When one dreams that he holds a burning light in his hands in the night, it is a good sight, and chiefly to those who are young; for it signifies that they shall prosper in love, accomplish their designs, overcome their enemies, and gain honour and goodwill from all persons. To dream you see a burning light in the hands of another, signifies that the mischief done will be discovered, and the party punished. Linen. To dream you are dressed in clean linen,, denotes that you will shortly receive some glad tidings; if it is dirty, then it denotes poverty, a prison, and disappointment in love, with the loss of some- thing valuable. Lion. To dream that you see a lion signifies you shall discourse with the king, or some great captain, or other valiant warrior. If any dreams he combats with a lion, it signifies a quarrel, and that he shall engage with some resolute adversary; and if he dreamed he came off victo- rious, it shall certainly be so. If any one dreams that he hath found the skin, liver, or marrow of a lion—if he that dreamt it be a king, he will find the treasure of his enemies; if he be a vulgar person, he will suddenly grow rich. The Queen Olympias, being big with Alexander the Great, dreamed that King Philip, her husband, had sealed up her womb with a seal engraven with a lion, which did prognosticate the valour, magnanimity, and conquests of the said Alexander. The lioness signifies the same as the lion, only less good and less hurt, and that not by men but by women. “ I have also known by a dream of a lioness tearing or biting,” says Artemidorus, “that rich personages have fallen into crimes and accusations.” Lizard. To dream that a man sees a lizard signifies ill luck, and misfor- tune by secret enemies. Logs. To dream that one is cleaving of logs is a sign that strangers shall come to the house of the party dreaming, or that he is an arrant cot-quean. Looking or Looking-Glass. To dream of looking down from high places, or out of windows, or being in a high garret, shows an ambitious mind, curious desires, wandering imagination, and confused thoughts. To dream of looking in a glass, in married folks, betokens children; in young folks, sweethearts. For as the glass does represent their likeness, so does love show them their like in affection. For a young woman to dream that she looks in a glass and there sees her own face, esteeming it to be very handsome, shows her to have a great opinion of her own beauty. Also for one to dream that he sees himself in the water is death to the dreamer, or to some familiar friend of his. Lord. To dream you discourse with a great lord, or that you go into any place with him, signifies honour. Lost and Losing. For a woman to dream Bhe has lost her wedding-ring, signifies she has but small love for her husband; but if she dreams she has found it again, it is a sign her love is not wholly lost. And if a man dream of losing his shoes, and then his feet are bare, if he be of a sanguine complexion, it signifies he shall meet with reproaches, especially if he dreams it in the first day of the new moon. Mace. To dream of mace (the spice so called) is very good, because mace comforts the heart. Mace-bearer. To dream that one carries or bears the mace before the king or chief governor, shows that the dreamer is to arrive at great honour in a little time. Mallows. To dream of eating mallows signifies exemption from trouble and dispatch of business, because this herb renders the body soluble. Manure. To dream that a man manures or cultivates earth, signifies melancholy to those that are not of such a condition; but to labourers it signifies gain and a goop crop. Mare. If any man dreams he sees a young, generous mare come into his house, well harnessed, it is a sign that he is to be suddenly married to a beautiful, young, and rich gentlewoman, that will be delightful and comfortable to him. If it be an ill-shapen mare, without a saddle, that denotes a maid-servant who will be disadvantageous to him. Marrow. If any one dreams he hath found the marrow of a horned beast, it denotes that the party so dreaming shall enjoy the goods and estate of some person of quality, who shall make him his heir ; for the horns signify dignity and sovereignty, and therefore in dreams horns are put to represent crowns. Marry. To dream that you marry signifies damage, sickness, melancholy, and sometimes death. If a sick person so dream, it is an evident token of death. Mason. To dream you build a house, or play the mason, signifies moles- tation, loss, sickness, or death, and is a very unhappy dream. MEAT MUSIC. Meat. To dream you see the meat you have already eaten, signifies loss and damage to the dreamer. Midioife. To dream you see a midwife is a revealing of secrets, and signifies liurt. It is death to the sick, for she always pulleth out that which is contained from her which containeth it, and layeth it on the ground. To those which are kept by force, to dream of a midwife signifies liberty. If a woman that is not with child dreameth of seeing her, it foreshoweth she shall have a fit of sickness, of long continuance. Monster. To see a monster or monstrous fish in the sea, is not good; but out of the sea eveiy fish and great monster is good, because then they can hurt no more, or save themselves. And therefore, besides that our dream signifies that our enemies cannot hurt us, it saith moreover that the wicked shall be punished. Mountains. To dream of mountains, valleys, woods, and plains, indicates heaviness, fears, and troubles; stripes to servants and malefactors, and hurt to the rich. It is always better to cross over them, and not to stay there, than to slumber by the way. To dream you ascend a very high mountain, signifies honour. If any dream that a mountain is fallen upon a valley, it signifies that some great lord will oppress and destroy good men. If you dream that when you arrive at the top of the mountain you catch a fall, and yet get no hurt thereby, it shows that though in your business you shall meet with some cross, yet you shall overcome it without damage. Muck. To dream of muck or dung is generally said to denote good. But this is certain, that to dream of muck is a certain sign that thou shalt be invited to a feast. Mulberry-tree. If one dreams he sees a mulberry-tree, it signifies an in- crease, with abundance of goods and children. Mule. To dream of the mule signifies malice and foolish imaginations. Artemidorus is of opinion that to dream of mules is good for all works, especially husbandry, only they cross weddings and increase ; but to dream that mules are savage and mad, and that they do any hurt, argues deceit by some of our own house or subjects. “ To dream that a mule carries books upon his back, and that those to whom they be- long are divided, is a sign that the person so dreaming shall be dis- turbed in his devotions the next morning,” says a nameless author. Music. To dream you hear melodious music, which is even ready to ravish your ear, signifies that the party dreaming shall suddenly hear some very acceptable news, with which he shall be greatly delighted. But if people dream that they hear harsh, discordant notes, and ill-tuned music, it signifies the contrary; and they shall soon meet with such tidings as they do not care to hear. To dream that one hears charming music on a sudden, and yet cannot tell whence it comes, shows the party dreaming shall suddenly be surprised with some unexpected happiness. Nag. To dream that you ride on a white, grey, or dappled nag, signifies prosperity. Nails. To dream your nails are grown long is very good, and denotes riches, prosperity, and happiness, great success in love, a good indus- trious husband or wife, and dutiful children ; it also foretells that you will suddenly receive a sum of money that will be of great use to you. Navel. If any one dreams that he hath a pain in his navel, if the grief be great he shall receive bad news of his father and mother, who will be in danger of death. If he hath neither father nor mother, he will lose his estate that came to him by father and mother, in the same proportion as the pain is, or else will be forced to forsake his native country. Navew-Gentle. To dream of eating the French navew-gentle denotes vain hope. Neele. To dream of the neck signifies power, honour, riches, and inheri- tances. And every suruncle, malady, or imperfection about the neck, head, or beard, signifies sickness indifferently to all. Nettles. To dream of nettles, and that you sting yourself with them, shows that you will venture hard for what you desire to obtain. And if young folks dream thus, it shows they are in love, and are willing to take a nettle, though they be stung thereby. Night Birds. To dream of any sort of night birds, as the owlet, the great owl, bittern, and bat, is ominous ; and Anselmus Julianus advises those who have such dreams to undertake no business on the day folllowing. Nightingale. To dream of this pretty warbler is the forerunner of joyful news, great success in business, of plentiful crops, and of a sweet- tempered lover. For a married woman to dream of a nightingale shows that she will have children who will be great singers. It signi- fieth also good work, and principally weddings and music, and pro- miseth a housewifely wife. Nightmare. To dream of being ridden by the nightmare is a sign that a woman so dreaming shall be suddenly after married; and that a man shall be ridden and domineered over by a fool. Nose. To dream one has a fair' and great nose is good to all; for it signifies subtlety of sense, providence in affairs, and acquaintance with great personages. But to dream one has no nose, signifies the contrary ; and to a sick man death, for dead men’s heads have no nose. If any one dreams his nose is longer than ordinary, he will become rich and powerful, provident and subtile, and be well received among grandees. To dream one has two noses signifies discord and quarrels, especially with his domestic kindred. If one dreams that his nose is grown so big that it is hideous to the sight, he will live in prosperity and abundance, but never gain the love of the people. If any one dreams his nose is stopped, so that he hath lost his scent—if he be a king, he is in some imminent danger from him that hath the greatest authority about his person. If it be a private person, he is in danger of being deceived by his wife, who will commit herself with one of the servants. Nosegay. To dream of gathering and making nosegays is unlucky, show- ing that our best hopes shall wither as flowers do in a nosegay. To dream of garlands is very good in the spring, but bad in the other seasons. Nut-trees. To dream that you see nut-trees, and that you crack and eat their fruit, signifies riches and content, gained with labour and pains. To dream that you find nuts that have been hid signifies you will find some treasure. Oak. To dream that one sees a stately oak signifies to the dreamer riches, profit, and long life. Office. To dream that one is deposed and put out of his office, estate, place, or dignity, is ill to the dreamer j and if he be sick, it shows he shall quickly die. Oil. To dream of being anointed with oil, is good for all women, except those that are wicked; but for men it is ill, and signifies shame, except those who are accustomed to use it, as surgeons, painters, oil- men, and the like. Old Woman. To dream that you are courted by an old woman, and marry her, shows that you shall have good luck in prosecuting your affairs, and yet not without some reproaches from the world. Olive-tree. To dream you see an olive-tree with olives, denotes peace, delight, concord, liberty, dignity, and fruition of your desires. In dreams the olive-tree signifies the wife principally, and liberty; and I therefore it is good to dream that it is flourishing well, and bearing fair and ripe fruit in season. To dream you beat olives down is good for all but servants. Onions. To dream of these useful vegetables denotes a mixture of good and ill luck. If you aro eating them, you will receive some money, recover some lost or stolen thing, or discover some hidden treasure; your sweetheart will be faithful, but of a cross temper. It also denotes attacks from thieves and a failure of crops. If you are gathering onions, it betokens the receipt of some unexpected news of 33 a joyful kind, the recovery of some sick person of your family, or a speedy removal from your present situation. Orchards. To dream of orchards, gardens, and flowery places, is an emblem of pleasure; and if you dream that they abound with good fruit, it signifies abundance of riches and plenty; and if you dream also of many fountains in them, they signify pleasure and delight, with great store of wit. If you dream the trees be barren, it signifies the contrary. Organs. To dream that you hear the sound of organs signifies joy. Oxen. The ox in dreams signifies a profitable servant to his master, and shows the subject shall be brought under the yoke of obedience. If a man dream that he sees fat oxen, it denotes a year of plenty; but if they be poor and lean, it threatens a year of scarcity and famine. To dream you see oxen ploughing in the field is gain. Oysters. To dream of opening and eating oysters shows great hunger, which the party dreaming shall suddenly sustain; or else that he shall take great pains for his living, as they do that open oysters. Palm. If one dreams that he sees or smells the palm, it signifies amity, prosperity, abundance, and good success in his enterprises. If it be a woman that dreams so, she shall bear children; if it be a maid, she will suddenly be married. Paper. To dream you write on paper, signifies an accusation made against you. To dream you read a paper signifies news. To dream you blot or tear your paper, signifies the well-ordering of your business. Partridges. To dream one sees partridges is a sign that a man shall have to do with women that are malicious, ungrateful, and void of conscience. Peaches. To dream of peaches, bastard peaches, and such kinds of fruit, in season, denotes to him that dreams he sees or eats them, content, health, and pleasure. Peas. To dream of peas well-boiled denotes good success and expedition of business. Perfumes. If any one dreams he perfumes his head with oils, essence, or sweet-scented powders, that signifies that he who dreams hath too great an opinion of himself, and will be haughty and vain-glorious in his demeanour to his associates. If it be a woman, she will deceive her husband and wear the breeches. Pictures. To dream one draws pictures is pleasure without profit. Pics. To dream one makes pies is joy and profit. Pigeons. To dream you see pigeons is a good sign; to wit, that you will have content and delights at home, and success in affairs abroad. To ciream you see a white pigeon flying, which is taken in the sacred writings for the hieroglyphic of the Holy Ghost, signifies consolation, devotion, and good success in undertakings, provided they are such as are for the glory of God and the good of our neighbours. Wild pigeons signify dissolute women, and tame pigeons denote honest women aud matrons. .Vine-tree. To dream you see a pine-tree denotes idleness and remissness. Plough. To dream of a plough is good for marriage, courtship, and such like affairs; but it requireth some time to bring them to perfection. Pole-cat. To dream a man has a pole-cat, shows he will love some ill- favoured woman, by whom he will be bewitched. Poverty. To dream of being in necessity signifies some good to one; and yet this dream brings no good, but signifies cross-fortune to those which make commodity of their tongue and fair speech. Precipices. To dream that one sees great and steep precipices, and that one falls over them, signifies that he that dreams will suffer much injury and hazard of his person, and his goods be in danger by fire. Prescribe. To dream that one prescribes medicine to the sick signifies profit and felicity. Quagmire. To dream one is fallen into a quagmire shows the party dreaming shall meet with such obstructions in his affairs as shall be very difficult to overcome. Quails. To dream of quails signifies bad news from sea, debates, quarrels, piracy, ambuscades, and treachery. Queen. To dream that you see the king or queen signifies honour, joy, and much prosperity. Quick. For a woman to dream that she is quick with child shows that she will be in danger of miscarriage, or that she will bring forth a dead child. Quince. To dream of quinces signifies the dreamer shall meet with some changes in his affairs that shall be for the better. Race. To dream of running a race is good to all, except they be sick persons when they dream they come to the end of their race, for it signifies that shortly they shall come to the end of their life. Rainbow. To dream you see a rainbow denotes the changing of your present estate and manner of life. To dream of seeing a rainbow in the east is a good omen to the poor and sick; for the former will recover their estates, and the latter their health. To dream of seeing a rainbow in the west, to the rich is a good, to the poor a bad sign. To dream you see the rainbow directly over your head, signifies a change of fortune, and most commonly the death of the dreamer and the ruin of his family. Note, also, that in your dreams the rainbow . on the right hand is good, and on the left, ill 5 and you must judge the right or the left according to the sun. And in what quality soever it appears, it is a good sign to any one that is afflicted with poverty or any other affliction, for it changeth the time and the air. Reading. To dream you are reading romances and comedies, or other diverting books, signifies joy and comfort. To dream you read serious books, or books of divine science, signifies benediction and wisdom. Rice. To dream of eating rice denotes abundance of instruction. Ridges. To dream of going on the ridges of houses is a sign that the party so dreaming is of a nice disposition; and if he happens to tread once awry, he shall fall to decay, and so into great poverty. Sable To dream one is in a room hung with sable or mourning, shows the person dreaming shall quickly hear of the death of some near relation, or very good friend. Sack-posset. To dream of eating a sack-posset signifies to women much gossiping, and to a man that he shall obtain his sweetheart, of whom a sack-posset is the emblem. Sacrilege. To dream that you commit sacrilege is a dream that is most ill to all, except it be to sacrificers and prophets, for by custom they receive and divide the first-fruits of oblations, and are always nourished by the gods. Saddle. To dream you are riding a horse without a saddle signifies poverty, disgrace, and shame to the dreamer. School. To dream you begin to go to school again, and you cannot say ypur lessons right, shows that you are about to undertake something which you do not well understand. Seeing the face of Ood. To dream that you see the face of God such as He reveals Himself to man, and that He seems to stretch forth his arms while we humbly invoke Him, signifies joy, comfort, grace, the blessing of God, and good success in business. Shaking. To dream you hear a shaking signifies deceit, which will happen to the dreamer in the place where he dreams. She-goat. To dream you see or have many she-goats, sheep, cows, and horses, signifies wealth and plenty. Silk. To dream you are clothed in silk, signifies honour. To dream that you trade with a stranger in silk, denotes profit and joy. Silver. If one dreams he gathers up silver, it signifies damage and loss. To see silver eaten signifies great advantage. To eat silver signifies wrath and anger. Sisters. To dream you see your deceased brethren and sisters signifies long life, but to dream you marry your sister’s husband signifies danger. Tables. Playing at tables in dreams is the representation of a field prepared for the battle. The two gamesters are the generals, the tables are the field, and the men are the soldiers that make up the two armies; therefore, if any one dreams that he plays tables with an acquaintance, it is a sign that he will fall out with somebody he loves; and if he dreams he wins, so he shall be victorious over his enemies; and, on the contrary, if he dreams he loseth, he will be worsted and overcome in the encounter. If the dreamer imagine he hath taken many of his men in play, it foretells that he will take many of his enemies prisoners. Tapestry. To dream that one makes tapestry signifies joy, without very great reason for it. Tetters. If one dream he is full of tetters, it signifies he will grow rich in proportion to the tetters that signify his riches. Thighs. The thighs in dreams represent relations. If any one dreams both his thighs are broken, or beaten black and blue, he will die in a foreign country alone, without the assistance of his relations. Transmutation. In dreaming, to be changed from little to great, and again from great to be bigger, so that you exceed not reason, is good, for it is increase of business and goods; but to be greater than common use is death. Also, it is ill for an old man to be changed into a young man, or a young man into a child, for they shall change to a worse estate; but the contrary is good, for they shall come to a better estate. To dream of being turned into a woman is very good for men in mean circumstances. Rich men who dream thus will meet with misfortunes; and such a dream is bad to all handicraftsmen whose labour is hard. If a woman dream that she is an unmarried man, without children, she will have both husband and children; but if married, and having children, she will die a widow. To be turned into brass shows some sudden quarrel and victory; it is good for military men. Iron shows hardness and misery. Clay or earth fore- tells dissolution; but those who deal in earthenware may reap good from such a dream. Rocks, stone, flint, etc., show continual hard usage, with mocks, reproaches, blows, and slanders. To dream that you are turned into a beast, shows that your nature partakes, or will partake, of the nature of that beast. Vaults. To dream of being in hollow vaults, deep cellars, or the bottom of coal-pits, signifies matching with a widow; for he that marries her shall be a continual drudge, and yet shall never sound the depths of her policies. Velvet. To dream you trade with a stranger in velvet, and other fine silks, signifies profit and joy. Victuals. To dream of victuals, and that you eat a variety, signifies loss; for in dreams victuals and provisions signify the master of the house. Vinegar. To dream that you drink vinegar signifies sickness. Virginals. To dream one plays, or sees another play, upon the virginals, signifies the death of relations, or funeral obsequies. Walnuts. To dream that one sees and eats walnuts or hazel-nuts signifies difficulty and trouble. Wasps. To dream you are stung by wasps, signifies vexation and trouble from envious persons. Wethers. To dream you see or have many wethers, sheep, she-goats, etc., signifies health and plenty. Wrestling. We read of Jacob’s wrestling with an angel in a dream; he, therefore, that dreams he is very forward to wrestle with another person shows some contention will follow, and that he will be outdone by some of his acquaintances in worldly affairs. A woman who dreams she wrestles with her husband will certainly bring shame and sorrow into the family. For children to wrestle with men is good. Wrestling in a dream with death denotes a long sickness and law- suits. Write. To dream one writes on paper signifies accusation. THE END. Levey and Co., NEW AND POPULAR WORKS TTISTORIC NINEPINS : a Book of Curiosities, where Old and Young may read strange Matters. 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Contents: Marvels of the Universe—Geological Progress—Seas, Lakes, and Rivers —Antiquity of Man—-Man and his Monuments—New Countries—Animal Life— Trees and Plants—Science applied to the Arts—Mining and Working in Metals— The Railway—The Electric Telegraph—New Operations of War—Diamonds—Life, Health, and Death—Historic Jottings—Great Exhibitions, &c. With copious Index. With Frontispiece and Vignette, price 3s. 6cl. cloth. “A handy and trustworthy chronicle of our advance.”—Notes and Queries. “ A well-compiled volume, that may be taken up at any leisure moment with the certainty of finding in it something that is entertaining and edifying.”—City Press. 1VTYSTERIES of LIFE, DEATH, and FUTURITY. Illustrated from the best and latest Authorities. Contents : Life and Time —Nature of the Soul—Spiritual Life—Mental Operations—Belief and Scepticism— Premature Interment—Phenomena of Death—Sin and Punishment—The Cruci- fixion of our Lord—The End of the World—Man after Death—The Intermediate State—The Great Resurrection—Recognition of the Blessed—The Day of Judg- ment—The Future States, &c. By HORACE WELBY. With an Emblematic Frontispiece, fcp., 5s. cloth. “This book is the result of extensive reading and careful noting; it is such a commonplace- book as some thoughtful divine or physician might have compiled, gathering together a vast variety of opinions and speculations bearing on physiology, the phenomena of life, and the nature and future existence of the soul. We know of no work that so strongly compels reflection, and so well assists it."—London Review. “ A pleasant, dreamy, charming, startling little volume, every page of which sparkles like a gem in an antique setting.”—Weekly Dispatch. PREDICTIONS REALISED in MODERN TIMES. Now J- first Collected. Contents: Days and Numbers—Prophesying Almanacs— Omens—Historical Predictions—Predictions of the French Revolution — The Bona- parte Family—Discoveries and Inventions anticipated—Scriptural Prophecies, &c. By HORACE WELBY. With a Frontispiece, fcp., 5.?. cloth. « This is an odd but attractive volume, compiled from various, and often little-known, sources, and is full of amusing reading.”— Critic. « A volume containing a variety of curious and startling narratives on many points of super- naturalism, well calculated to gratify that love of the marvellous which is more or lcs3 inherent in us all.”—Notes and Queries. NEW, READABLE, AND SCIENTIFIC COOKERY-BOOK. Now ready, post 8vo, printed in clear, bold type, 800 pp., cloth, 9j. YWHOLESOME FARE ; or, the Doctor and the Cook. ’ ’ A Manual of the Laws of Food and the Practice of Cookery: embodying the best Receipts in British and Continental Cookery; with Hints and Receipts for the Sedentary, the Sick, and the Convalescent. By EDMUND S. and ELLEN J. DELAMERE. Athenaeum, Aug. 15,1868.—“ Keeps the promise of its title-page, which is saying a great deal. It is written in clear language, is nicely got up, and will be a valuable present to young ladies about to marry; for it deals with ideas as well as receipts; and if the young wives possess any brains, it will teach them how to use them.” Spectator, April 4, 1868.—“ A very original and enjoyable cookery-book, stuffed with tempting receipts, and as pleasant to read as its dishes must be to eat." Country Life, January 30,1868.—“The most complete and satisfactory volume on the culinary art we have ever seen. . . ; As superior to the ordinary cookery-books—notwithstanding their pretentious coloured pictures and their often worthless receipts—as a diamond is to a glass imitation of that gem.” Fun, February 8,1868.—“The first really readable and amusing cookery-book since Kitchener’s.” London Society, March 1868.—“There is so much anecdote and pleasant reading in the work, that it might well deserve a place in any library, circulating or stationary.” Glowworm, March 6, 1868.—“The receipts in Wholesome Fare are strikingly intelligible, practical, and satisfactory in their results. The method of manufacturing certain dishes prescribed is simpler, better, and more effective than we have seen dictated any where else.” Standard, February 3, 1868.—" Wholesome Fare is an excellent book; and we are persuaded that it will become a valuable companion in many households.” Morning Star, January 27,1868.—“ Not, after the manner of its predecessors, a mere book of receipts and directions. It treats of the hygienic effects of cookery, the relative value of different kinds of food, the comparative excellence of English and French "dishes, and many other point* affecting our tastes, health, and pockets.” POCKET MANUALS OF SOCIETY. Now ready, bound in cloth, gilt edges, price 6d. each (the two per post for 13 stamps), 'THE LAWS and BYE-LAWS of GOOD SOCIETY: **- a Code of Modern Etiquette. Contents: Etiquette and its Uses—Introduction—Letters of Introduction—Salutes and Salutations—Precedence—Calls—Conversation—Invitations— Dinner-Parties — Balls — Morning and Evening Parties—Staying with Friends—Walking, Riding, Driving—Travelling—Dress— Correspondence—Games with Cards—Servants—Marriage—Etiquette of Barristers and Physician* —Etiquette of the Studio—Presentations to the Sovereign—Appendix ; Hints on Carving. THE ART of DRESSING WELL: a Book of Hints on the Choice of Colours to suit the Complexion and the Hair; with the Theory and Practice of the Art of Dress and the Harmony of Colour. Contents: The Art of Dressing Well—On Colour generally; and what is Meant by tha Principles of Colour—Harmony and Contrast of Colours—Arrangement of Colours—Colour in relation to Complexion, Hair, &c.—In-door Dress—Out-door Dress—Materials of Dress—Jewellery —Fashion—Colour in relation to Gentlemen’s Dress. “ Two pretty and well-executed little volumes for those who have the privilege of entering into society, and are not acquainted with its forms.”—Sunday Times. “Far superior to the books usually published on similar subjects: they are gems in their way."—Civil-Service Gazette. “These works are written in an interesting and agreeable style, and with admirable taste.’’— Lady's Own Paper.