generally partakes of the temperament of the dreamer. The dreams of those born blind are, it would seem, very curious; and they have much difficulty in describing the sensations they experience during sleep. Dr. Blacklock described it thus: "When awake he could distinguish persons in three ways: by hearing them speak, by feeling their heads and shoulders, or by attending, without the aid of speech, to the sound and manner of their breathing. But in sleep the objects which presented themselves were more vivid, and without the intervention of any of the three modes. The character of a person's dreams is influenced by his circumstances when awake in a still more unaccountable manner. Certain dreams usually arise in the mind after a person has been in certain situations. Dr. Beattie relates, that once, after riding thirty miles in a high wind, he passed the succeeding night in dreams beyond description terrible. The dreams of those who, through shipwreck or other circumstances, have been nearly starved to death, are described as being more brilliant and heavenly than the sufferers could describe. Byron, when in Italy, with some of the authors of the liberal school, used to abstain from food for some days, with a view to produce the same effect on their imaginations. And not only are dreams affected by the state of the body, but it is certain that the action of the mind, when asleep, may have a very considerable and permanent effect upon the body. Thus, in 1748, Archdeacon Squire read before the Royal Society an account of the case of Henry Axford, of Devizes, in Wiltshire, who, at twenty-eight years of age, through a violent cold, became speechless, and continued dumb for four years, until July, 1741, when, being asleep, he dreamed that "he was fallen into a furnace of boiling wort: this 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 effectually as ever. Somnambulism appears to differ from dreaming chiefly in the degree in which the bodily functions are affected; in the former the will seems to control the body, and its organs are more susceptible of the mental impressions. The incipient form of somnambulism shows itself in talking in sleep; this is sometimes a dangerous disease, as occasionally the most important secrets are, by the very party himself, involuntarily revealedwhich in his wakings moments he would reserve with especial care. The second stage of the phenomena, from which indeed it derives its name, is that of walking during sleep. Numerous rcmarkable instances of sleep-walking are to be met with one of the most singular of which we remember to have read of, years ago-was that of a certain restless youth, who, so impetuous was he to obey the impulse of his nocturnal vision, that he rushed from his bed to the street clad only in the usual drapery of the dormitory, and was found pursuing his route in the London streets at midnight, till some humane guardian of a policeman startled him from his state of dreamy complacency, and remonstrated with him as to the paucity of his apparel, &c. A remarkable case of somnambulism is related in the Edinburg Encyclopedia, concerning Dr. Blacklock, whose accomplishments as a poet and a clergyman, though stuggling from his early infancy with all the privations of blindness, are well known to the literary world. This excellent man had received a presentation to the living of Kirkcudbright, and his settlement was violently opposed. He became deeply agitated with the hostility exhibited against him, and after dining with some friends on the day of his ordination, finding rest necessary for the restoration of his exhausted spirits, he left the table and retired to bed, when the following extraordinary circumstance occurred: One of his companions, uneasy at his absence from the company, went into his bedroom a few hours afterwards, and finding him, as he supposed, awake, prevailed on him to return again into the dining room. When he entered the room, two of his acquaintances were engaged in singing, and he joined in the concert, modulatiug his voice as usual with taste and elegance, without missing a note or syllable; and, after the words of the song were ended, he continued to sing, adding an extempore verse, which appeared to the company full of beauty, and quite in the spirit of the original. He then partook of and drank a glass or two of wine. His friends, however, observed him to be occasionally absent and inattentive. By and by, he was heard speaking to himself, but in so low and confused a manner as to be unintelligible. At last, being pretty forcibly aroused by Mrs. Blacklock, who began to be alarmed for his intellect, he awoke with a sudden start, unconscious of all that had happened, having been the whole time fast asleep. supper, Her Instances of trance are no less numerous, but the brief limit assigned us forbid any attempts at citation: the following, which we cut from a recent print, must suffice, of its class. It is the case of a young woman, named Ann Conner, Farrington, Devon, who has remained in a decided state of unconsciousness for the past fifteen years. It is thought by many that she is in a trance. mother assured the writer that for eleven years she had not partaken of the least particle of food. She is certainly in bed, has a placid smile, and, though possessing vitality, has no consciousness of the approach of any party, neither can she distinguish any object. She has been visited by some of the most eminent in the medical profession; and others, since her case has been made known, have called to witness what might be justly termed this phenomenon in nature. Dr. Abercrombie relates some curious instances of persons having performed literary exploits during a state of somnalency; among others he speaks of a certain member of a foreign university, who, after having devoted himself during his waking hours to the composition of some verses, which, however, he had not been able to complete, seems to have been honored with more success in a visitation from his muse during his nocturnal slumbers; for the following night he arose in his sleep, finished his poetic performance, and exulting in his success returned contentedly again to his couch-all in a state of unconsciousness. Take another case, and it is the only one we sometimes uttering long sentences without the shall cite: it is one even more remarkable,-and least hesitation. After a conversation of about an we might add a tax upon credulity were it not hour, he said, 'It is very cold on this grass, but I given by so respectable an authority. It is that am so tired I must lie down.' He soon after lay of a young botanical student who resided at the down and remained quiet during the rest of the house of his professor in London; and who was night. Next morning he had not the least knowzealously devoted to his pursuit, having indeed just ledge of what had passed, and was not even aware received the highest botanical prize from a public of having dreamt of anything whatever." Some institution. One night, about an hour after he find their wits much keener while fast asleep than had gone to bed, having returned from a long bo- when " wide awake." Mankind," says a learned tanical excursion, his master, who was sitting in writer, "are generally so indisposed to think his room below, heard a person coming down stairs that such drowsy souls really make the world a with a heavy measured step, and on going into vast dormitory. The heaven-appointed destiny the passage, found his pupil with nothing on him under which they are placed, seems to protect but his hat and his shirt, his tin case swung across them from reflection; there is an opium ský his shoulders, and a large stick in his hand. "His stretched over all the world which continually eyes were even more open than natural," says the rains soporiffics." The masses of mankind seem narrator, "but I observed he never directed them to live a dronish, mechanical life-little beyond to me or to the candle which I held. While I vegetating; the higher aims of intellectual exist was contemplating the best method of getting him ence are too often kept dormant, while the ingeto bed again, he commenced the following dia- nuity and the energy of his mind come almost to logue: Are you going to Greenwich, sir? Yes, resemble a piece of mere mechanism-himself a sir. Going by water, sir?' 'Yes, sir.' May breathing automaton. But as this is the boasted I go with you, sir?' 'Yes, sir; but I am going age of progress, sleepers will probably be aroused directly, therefore please to follow me.' Upon by the din of the locomotive, and the world in its this I walked up to his room, and he followed me dotage at last begin to think. Undue indulgence without the least error in stepping up the stairs. of sleep may cheat us of much of our brief life; At the side of his bed, I begged he would get into but the listlessness of an undisciplined mind, may the boat, as I must be off immediately. I then accomplish as great a wrong upon us, and with removed the tin case from his shoulders, his hat as wily an artifice. dropped off, and he got into bed, observing, 'he knew my face very well,-he had often seen me The following paragraph, which is to our pur at the river's side.' A long conversation then en- pose, and well expresses the truth, we commend sued between him and the supposed boatman, in to the reader; and with it we take our leave of which he understood all that was said to him, and the subject; in the hope that if we have failed to answered quite correctly respecting botanical ex-stimulate his waking faculties, our random remarks cursions to Greenwich made by the professor and his pupils: and named a rare plant he had lately found, of which the superintendent of the botanic garden had seen only one specimen in his life, and the professor only two. After some further conversation he was asked whether he knew who had gained the highest botanical prize; when he named a gentleman, but did not name himself. 'Indeed,' was the reply; did he gain the highest prize? To this he made no answer. He was then asked, 'Do you know Mr. -,' naming himself: after much hesitation he replied, If I must confess it, my name is This conversation lasted three-quarters of an hour, during which time he never made an irrelevant answer, and never hesitated, excepting about the prize and his own name. He then lay down in bed saying, 'he was tired, and would lie upon the grass till the professor came:' but he soon sat up again, and held a long conversation with another gentleman who then came into the room; when he again understood everything that was said to him, to which he answered no less readily and accurately; may at least have contributed to beguile him of an idle half hour not unpleasantly. Says the writer referred to: "The mere lapse of years is not life. To eat, drink and sleep; to be exposed to darkness and the light; to pace around in the mill of habit, and turn the wheel of wealth; to make reason our book-keeper, and turn thought into an implement of trade-this is not life. In all this but a poor fraction of the unconsciousness of humanity is awakened; and the sanctities still slumber which make it most worth while to be. Knowledge, truth, love, beauty, goodness, faith, alone can give vitality to the mechanism of existence; the laugh of mirth which vibrates through the heart, the tears which freshen the dry wastes within, the music that brings childhood back, the prayer that calls the future near, the doubt which makes us meditate, the death which startles us with mystery, the hardship which forces us to struggle, the anxiety that ends in trust-are the true nourishment that end in being." THE Stour would scarcely be called a creek in | Canterbury. You meet them whichever way the United States, but in England, where they have no Mississippi, nor Ohio, nor Hudson, nor Connecticut, every stream of running water is dignified by the apellation of a river. The Stour derives its chief interest from the picturesque old buildings which may be found upon its banks. you turn. On arriving by the London-road, the Church of St. Dunstan mcets you in the suburb; and on crossing the threshold of the city, to the right-hand of old Westgate, and almost touching it, you have the still more ancient church of the Holy Cross. St. Dunstan's, which stands on As well within the town as without, the Stour gentle-rising ground, belonged to the Convent of affords some most picturesque views. As you St. Gregory in Canterbury. Archbishop Reynolds cross the branch by King's Bridge, in ascending erected it into a vicarage in the year 1322. Its from Saint Peter's to the High street and towards most marked architectural feature is a semi-circuthe Cathedral, the view on your left-hand along lar tower adjoining the western square tower. the river, with old houses rising on either side of The church has suffered much from the barbarism it perpendicularly from the bank and close to the of the last century; but it has recently been much water's edge, you have a picture at once quaint, improved by the present incumbent, the Rev. B. foreign-looking, and picturesque-you might fancy B. Buace, who has removed most of the daubing yourself in some old town of Holland or of Bel- whitewash which spoiled the interior. And here gium. But the best inside town view of the we may say that, generally, the Clergy of the Stour is to be obtained from the Blackfriars, look-present day have shown, and are showing, a ing upwards to the tower of All Saints' Church, and over the old arches of the antique bridge which spans the narrow stream, and affords communication between King-street and St. Peter's. No English city can show anything like the same number of ancient unaltered churches as laudable desire to make up for want of taste and want of liberality of their predecessors. What is now the vestry-room was once a little chapel, founded by one Henry, the king's chaplain, in 1830. There are a few grave-stones of very ancient date, but stripped of their brasses. DOMINIC'S MONUMENT. A TALE OF THE IRISH WHITEBOYS. BY PHIL BRENGLE. "We are accounted poor citizens; the patricians good. What anthority surfeits on would relieve us. If they would yield us but the superfluity while it were wholesome, we might guess they relieved us humanely; but they think we are too dear; the leanness that afflicts us, the object of our misery, is as an inventory to particularize their abundance: our sufferance is a gain to them. Let us revenge this with our pikes. I speak this in hunger for bread and in thirst for revenge." [CORIOLANUS. CHAPTER I. JUST at that time when soft nightfall sobers the ruddy sunset, two horsemen stopped upon the brow of a hill, and gazed upon a land smiling in true Irish loveliness though dim clouds frowned overhead. They gazed, too, upon scattered huts and forms of miserable men, all visible through the dusky light in true Irish deformity and wretchedness. Both wore the garb of clergymen of the Established Church. One of them seemed about thirty five years of age; tall, large and rigid in his form, immoveable in a kind of fixed enthusiasm accord. ing to the line of his countenance. His dress belied his face. One belonged to a Protestant Rector, the other to a monk of La Trappe. He was enthusiastic that was plainly marked in his whole appearance-but it was of a peculiar kind, for he also seemed unyielding to emotion or circumstances. His enthusiasm resulted from the arguments of his reason, and went straight onward in the direction of what he conceived to be duty. It did not spring from the belief of his heart, nor did it work in eager faith. It had once looked and heard; it had once argued: after that it was deaf and blind. This was the Rev. Mr. Stoughton, lately arrived from England to take charge of a large benefice, the parishioners and tithe-payers of which were mostly Irish Catholics. It was in England that he had examined the peculiar features of the Irish Church, and in England he had firmly settled his views. The other was a much younger man-scarcely three and twenty, by his appearance. He too carried a look of strong determination, but it was untainted by bigotry and softened by benevolence. He seemed neither an austere monk or wily Jesuit, a stern Puritan or a lofty single-sighted churchman, but a mild pastor, like the 66 poor clerke of Oxenforde," “And gladly would he learn and gladly teach." There was little enthusiasm of either kind manifested upon his countenance. The fountain of benevolence within him seemed willing to flow forth in peace and largely, unlike a swift torrent or the long swell of a mighty tide. He had evidently learned mostly from books, but was not entirely unskilled in the character of men. And wherein he was ignorant, he was always ready to learn. This young man's name was Howard, and he was a curate of the rector who rode by his side. Both were about to see their churches for the first time. They stopped upon the brow of a hill and looked in silence upon that scene of Irish loveliness, upon that spectacle of Irish deformity and wretchedness. At last Howard spoke, half to himself. This is a beautiful country, but how mournful in its beauty!" "The country was made by God," said the rector," and is beautiful. It has been cursed by the presence of man, and may well mourn in desolation. All that is needed for the happiness of this land is, simply, good-will and peace among its inhabitants. They are bigoted and ferocious, scorning the messengers of the Prince of Peace. They are ignorant, yet reject the light which is freely offered them. Can we wonder then at this sight? Shall we pity or rather condemn ?" "We should pity them in their ignorance, and never condemn until they act with full knowledge of their crime." "Not so!" returned the rector harshly. "They have made ignorance their fault and not their misfortune; they sin in darkness, only because they will shut their eyes in hatred of the light." "But they cannot always do this," urged Howard earnestly. "It is an unnatural state. Keep mild day constantly about them, and they must finally look around." A man, who had been lying at the roadside, unnoticed, rose as he said these words, and shaking his fist at them, hurried away. "A fair specimen!" cried the rector. "But I am glad that he interrupted us, for I have no patience on the subject. We must hurry on-it will be late before we reach home. That tall building, some miles farther on, is my church if I am not mistaken. Yours, in that direction I suppose, is not yet visible. Come." They rode silently onward until full darkness came upon the road. Then half a dozen men sprung before them and seized their bridles. You must come with us!" "Who are you?" cried the rector. violating the peace." "This is |