animals do the same. Horses neigh and rear, and dogs bark and growl in their sleep. Probably, at such times, the remembrance of the chase or the combat was passing through the minds of these creatures; and they also not unfrequently manifest signs of fear, joy, playfulness, and almost every other passion.* Ruminating animals, such as the sheep and cow, dream less; but even they are sometimes so affected, especially at the period of rearing their young. The parrot is said to dream, and I should suppose some other birds do the same. Indeed the more intellectual the animal is, the more likely it is to be subject to dreaming. Whether fishes dream it is impossible to conjecture: nor can it be guessed, with any thing like certainty, at what point in the scale of animal intellect, the capability of dreaming ceases, although it is very certain there is such a point. I apprehend that dreaming is a much more general law than is commonly supposed, and that many animals dream which are never suspected of doing so. Some men are said never to dream, and others only when their health is disordered: Dr. Beattie mentions a case of the latter description. For many years before his death, Dr. Reid had no consciousness of ever having dreamed; and Mr. Locke takes notice of a person who never did so till his twenty-sixth year, when he began to dream in consequence of having had a fever. It is not impossible, however, but that, in these cases, the individuals may have had dreams from the same age as other people, and under the same circumstances, although probably they were of so vague a nature, as to have soon faded away from the memory. Dreams occur more frequently in the morning than in the carly part of the night; a proof that the sleep is much more profound in the latter period than in the former. Towards morning, the faculties, being refreshed by sleep, are more disposed to enter into activity; and this explains why, as we approach the hours of waking, our dreams are more fresh and vivid. Owing to the comparatively active state of the faculties, morning dreams are more rational-whence the old adage, that such dreams are true. Children dream almost from their birth; and if we may judge from what, on many occasions, they endure during sleep, we must suppose that the visions which haunt their young minds are often of a very frightful kind. Children, from many causes, are more apt to have dreams of terror than adults. In the first place, they are peculiarly subject to various diseases, such as teething, convulsions, and bowel complaints, those fertile sources of mental terror in sleep; and, in the second place, their minds are exceedingly susceptible of dread in all forms, and prone to be acted on by it, whatever shape it assume. Many of the dreams experienced at this early period, leave au indelible impression upon the mind. They are remembered in after-years with feelings of pain; and, blending with the more delighful reminiscences of childhood, demonstrate that this era, which we are apt to consider one varied scene of sunshine and happiness, had, as well as future life, its shadows of melancholy, and was not untinged with hues of sorrow and care. The sleep of infancy, therefore, is far from being that ideal state of felicity which is commonly supposed. It is haunted with its own terrors, even more than that of adults; and, if many of the visions which people it are equally delightful, there can be little doubt that it is also tortured by dreams of a more painful character than often fall to the share of after-life. In health, when the mind is at ease, we seldom dream; and when we do so our visions are generally of a pleasing character. In disease, especially of the The stag-hounds, weary with the chase, And urged in dreams the forest race brain, liver, and stomach, dreams are both common and of a very distressing kind. Some writers imagine, that as we grow older, our dreams become less absurd and inconsistent, but this is extremely doubtful. Probably, as we advance m life, we are less troubled with these phenomena than at the period of youth, when imagination is full of activity. and the mind peculiarly liable to impressions of every kind; but when they do take place, we shall find them equally preposterous, unphilosophical, and crude, with those which haunted our early years. Old people dream more, however, than the middle-aged, owing doubtless to the more broken and disturbed nature of their repose. I believe that dreams are uniformly the resuscitatie or re-embodiment of thoughts which have formerly, in some shape or other, occupied the mind. They are old ideas revived either in an entire state, or heteroge neously mingled together. I doubt if it be possible for a person to have, in a dream, any idea whose elements did not, in some form, strike him at a previous penod If these break loose from their connecting chain, and become jumbled together incoherently, as is often the case, they give rise to absurd combinations; but the elements still subsist, and only manifest themselves in a new and unconnected shape. As this is an imperiet point, and one which has never been properly insisted upon, I shall illustrate it by an example. I lately dreamed that I walked upon the banks of the great ca nal in the neighbourhood of Glasgow. On the side upposite to that on which I was, and within a few feet of the water, stood the splendid portico of the Roya. Exchange. A gentleman, whom I knew, was standing upon one of the steps, and we spoke to each other. then lifted a large stone, and poised it in my hand. when he said that he was certain I could not throw it to a certain spot which he pointed out. I made the attempt, and fell short of the mark. At this moment, a well known friend came up, whom I knew to excel at putting the stone; but, strange to say, he had lost both his legs, and walked upon wooden substitutes. This struck me as exceedingly curious; for my impression was that he had only lost one leg, and had but a single wooden one. At my desire he took up the stone, and, without difficulty, threw it beyond the point indicated by the gentleman upon the opposite side of the ceral The absurdity of this dream is extremely glaring; and yet, on strictly analyzing it, I find it to be wholly composed of ideas which passed through my mind on the previous day, assuming a new and ridiculous arrange ment. I can compare it to nothing but to cross readings in the newspapers, or to that well known amuses ment which consists in putting a number of sentences, each written on a separate piece of paper, into a hat, shaking the whole, then taking them out one by one as they come, and seeing what kind of medley the heterogeneous compound will make, when thus fortuitously put together. For instance, I had, on the above day, taken a walk to the canal, along with a friend. On returning from it, I pointed out to him a spot where a new road was forming, and where, a few days before, one of the workmen had been overwhelmed by a quantity of rubbish falling upon him, which fairly chopped off one of his legs, and so much damaged the other that it was feared amputation would be necessary. Nest this very spot there is a park, in which, about a month previously, I practised throwing the stone. On passing the Exchange on my way home, I expressed regre at the lowness of its situation, and remarked what a time effect the portico would have were it placed upon more elevated ground. Such were the previous circumstances, and let us see how they bear upon the dream. In the first place, the canal appeared before me. situation is an elevated one. 3. The portico of the exchange, occurring to my mind as being placed to low, became associated with the elevation of the canal, 2. Its and I placed it close by on a similar altitude. 4. The gentleman I had been walking with, was the same whom, in the dream, I saw standing upon the steps of the portico. 5. Having related to him the story of the man who lost one limb, and had a chance of losing another, this idea brings before me a friend with a brace of wooden legs, who, moreover, appears in connexion with putting the stone, as I know him to excel at that exercise. There is only one other element in the dream which the preceding events will not account for, and that is, the surprise at the individual referred to having more than one wooden leg. But why should he have even one, seeing that in reality he is limbed like other people? This also, I can account for. Some years ago he slightly injured his knee while leaping a ditch, and I remember of jocularly advising him to get it cut off. I am particular in illustrating this point with regard to dreams, for I hold, that if it were possible to analyze them all, they would invariably be found to stand in the same relation to the waking state as the above specimen. The more diversified and incongruous the character of a dream, and the more remote from the period of its occurrence the circumstances which suggest it, the more difficult does its analysis become; and, in point of fact, this process may be impossible, so totally are the elements of the dream often dissevered from their original source, and so ludicrously huddled together. This subject shall be more fully demonstrated in speaking of the remote causes of dreams. Dreams generally arise without any assignable cause, but sometimes we can very readily discover their origin. Whatever has much interested us during the day, is apt to resolve itself into a dream; and this will generally be pleasurable, or the reverse, according to the nature of the exciting cause. If, for instance, our reading or conversation be of horrible subjects, such as spectres, murders, or conflagrations, they will appear before us magnified and heightened in our dreams. Or if we have been previously sailing upon a rough sea, we are apt to suppose ourselves undergoing the perils of shipwreck. Pleasurable sensations during the day are also apt to assume a still more pleasurable aspect in dreams. In like manner, if we have a longing for any thing, we are apt to suppose that we possess it. Even objects altogether unattainable are placed within our reach: we achieve impossibilities, and triumph with ease over the invincible laws of nature. on whom any kind of dream could be induced, by his friends gently speaking in his presence upon the particular subject which they wished him to dream about. I have often tried this experiment upon persons asleep, and more than once with a like result. I apprehend, that when this takes place, the slumber must have been very imperfect. With regard to the possibility of dreams being produced by bodily impressions, Dr Gregory relates that having occasion to apply a bottle of hot water to his feet when he went to bed, he dreamed that he was making a journey to the top of Mount Etna, and that he found the heat of the ground almost insufferable. Another person having a blister applied to his head, imagined that he was scalped by a party of Indians; while a friend of mine happening to sleep in damp sheets, dreamed that he was dragged through a stream. A paroxysm of gout during sleep, has given rise to the persons supposing himself under the power of the Inquisition, and undergoing the torments of the rack. The bladder is sometimes emptied during sleep, from the dreaming idea being directed (in consequence of the unpleasant fullness of the viscus) to this particular want of nature. These results are not uniform, but such is the path in which particular bodily states are apt to lead the imagination; and dreams, occurring in these states, will more frequently possess a character analogous to them than to any other modified, of course, by the strength of the individual cause, and fertility of the fancy. Some curious experiments in regard to this point, were made by M. Giron de Buzareingues, which seems to establish the practicability of a person determining at will the nature of his dreams. By leaving his knees uncovered, he dreamed that he travelled during night in in a diligence: travellers, he observes, being aware that in a coach it is the knees that get cold during the night. On another occasion, having left the posterior part of his head uncovered, he dreamed that he was present at a religious ceremony performed in the open air. It was the custoin of the country in which he lived to have the head constantly covered, except on particular occasions, such as the above. On awaking, he felt the back of his neck cold, as he had often experienced during the real scenes, the representation of which had been conjured up by his fancy. Having repeated this experiment at the end of several days, to assure himself that the result was not the effect of chance, the second vision turned out precisely the same as the first. Even without making experiments, we have frequent evidence of similar facts; thus, if the clothes chance to fall off us, we are liable to suppose that we are parading the streets in a state of nakedness, and feel all the shame and inconvenience which such a condition would in reality produce. We see crowds of people following after us and mocking our nudity; and we wander from place to place, seeking a refuge under this ideal misfortune. Fancy, in truth, heightens every circumstance, and inspires us with greater vexation than we would feel if actually labouring under such an annoyance. The streets in which we wander are depict A disordered state of the stomach and liver will often produce dreams. Persons of bad digestion, especially hypochondriacs, are harassed with visions of the most frightful nature. This fact was well known to the celebrated Mrs Radcliffe, who, for the purpose of filling her sleep with those phantoms of horror which she has so forcibly embodied in the Mysteries of Udolpho,' and Romance of the Forest,' is said to have supped upon the most indigestible substances; while Dryden and Fuseli, with the opposite view of obtaining splendid dreams, are reported to have eaten raw flesh. Diseases of the chest, where the breathing is impeded, also give rise to horrible visions, and constitute the frequent causes of that most frightful modification of dreaming-ed with the force of reality; we see their windings, nightmare. The usual intoxicating agents have all the power of exciting dreams. The most exquisite visions, as well as the most frightful, are perhaps those occasioned by narcotics. These differences depend on the dose and the particular state of the system at the time of taking it. Dreams also may arise from the deprivation of customary stimuli, such as spirits, or supper before going to bed More frequently, however, they originate from indulging in such excitations. A change of bed will sometimes induce dreams; and, generally speaking, they are more apt to occur in a strange bed than in the one to which we are accustomed. Dreams often arise from the impressions made upon the senses during sleep. Dr Beattie speaks of a man their avenues, their dwelling-places, with intense truth. Even the inhabitants who follow us are exposed to view in all their various dresses and endless diversities of countenance. Sometimes we behold our intimate friends gazing upon us with indifference, or torturing with annoying impertinence. Sometimes we see multitudes whom we never beheld before; and each individual is exposed so vividly, that we could describe or even paint his aspect. In like manner, if we lie awry, or if our feet slip over the side of the bed, we often imagine ourselves standing upon the brink of a fearful precipice, or falling from its beetling summit into the abyss beneath. If the * Dr Currie,in allusion to the visions of the hypochondriac observes, that if he dream of falling into the sea, he awakes just as rain or hail patter against our windows, we have often the idea of a hundred cataracts pouring from the rocks; if the wind howl without, we are suddenly wrapt up in a thunderstorm, with all its terrible associations; if the head happen to slip under the pillow, a huge rock is hanging over us, and ready to crush us beneath its ponderous bulk. Should the heat of the body chance to be increased by febrile irritation or the temperature of the room, we may suppose ourselves basking under the fiery sun of Africa; or if, from any circumstance, we labour under a chill, we may then be careering and foundering among the icebergs of the pole, while the morse and the famished bear are prowling around us, and claiming us for their prey. Dr Beattie informs us, that once, after riding thirty miles in a high wind, he passed the night in visions terrible beyond description. The extent, in short, to which the mind is capable of being carried in such cases, is almost incredible. Stupendous events arise from the most insignificant causes -so completely does sleep magnify and distort every thing placed within its influence. The province of dreams is one of intense exaggeration exaggeration beyond even the wildest conceptions of Oriental ro mance. A smoky chamber, for instance, has given rise to the idea of a city in flames. The conflagrations of Rome and Moscow may then pass in terrific splendor before the dreamer's fancy. He may see Nero standing afar off, surrounded by his lictors and guards, gazing upon the imperial city wrapt in flames; or the sanguinary fight of Borodino, followed by the burning of the ancient capital of Russia, may be presented before him with all the intenseness of reality. Under these circumstances, his whole being may undergo a change. He is no longer a denizen of his native country, but of that land to which his visions have transported him. All the events of his own existence fade away; and he becomes a native of Rome or Russia, gazing upon the appalling spectacle. On the other hand, the mind may be filled with imagery equally exaggerated, but of a more pleasing character. The sound of a flute in the neighborhood may invoke a thousand beautiful and delightful associations. The air is, perhaps, filled with the tones of harps, and all other varieties of music-nay, the performers themselves are visible; and while the cause of this strange scene is one trivial instrument, we may be regaled with a rich and melodious concert. For the same reason a flower being applied to the nostrils may, by affecting the sense of the smell, excite powerfully the imagination, and give the dreamer the idea of walking in a garden. There is one fact connected with dreams which is highly remarkable. When we are suddenly awaked from a profound slumber by a loud knock at, or by the rapid opening of the door, a train of actions which it would take hours, or days, or even weeks to accomplish, sometimes passes through the mind. Time, in fact, seems to be in a great measure annihilated. An extensive period is reduced, as it were, to a single point, or rather a single point is made to embrace an extensive period. In one instant, we pass through many adventures, see many strange sights, and hear many strange sounds. If we are awaked by a loud knock, we have perhaps the idea of a tumult passing before us, and know all the characters engaged in ittheir aspects, and even their very names. If the door open viclently, the flood-gates of a canal may appear to be expanding, and we may see the individuals employed in the process, and hear their conversation, which may seem an hour in length. If a light be brought into the room, the notion of the house being in flames perhaps invades us, and we are witnesses to the waters close over him, and is sensible of the precise gurgling Bound which those experience who actually sink under water. In falling from heights, during dreams, we always awake before reaching the ground. the whole conflagration from its commencement till it be finally extinguished. The thoughts which arse in such situations are endless, and assume an infinite va riety of aspects. The whole, indeed, constitutes one of the strangest phenomena of the human mind, and calls to recollection the story of the Eastern monarch, who, on dipping his head into the magician's water pail, fancied he had travelled for years in various na tions, although he was only immersed for a single u stant. This curious psychological fact, though occur ring under somewhat different circumstances, has not escaped the notice of Mr De Quincey, better known as the English Opium-Eater.' The sense of space," says he, and, in the end, the sense of time were both powerfully affected. Buildings, landscapes, &c., were exhibited in proportions so vast as the bodily eye is not fitted to receive. Space swelled, and was amplified to an extent of unutterable infinity. This, however, did not disturb me so much as the expansion of time 1 sometimes seemed to have lived for seventy or a hun dred years in one night; nay, sometimes had feelings representative of a millennium passed in that time, or however, of a duration beyond the limits of any buman experience.' It is more easy to state the fact of this apparent expansion of time in dreams than to give any theory which will satisfactorily account for it I believe that, whenever it occurs, the dream bas abounded in events and circumstances which, had they occurred in reality, would have required a long period for their accomplishment. For instance, I lately dreamed that I made a voyage to India-remained some days in Calcutta-then took ship for Egypt, where I visited the cataracts of the Nile, and the pyramids and, to crown the whole, had the honor of an interview with Mchemit Ali, Cleopatra, and the Sultan Saladin. All this was the work of a single night, probably of a single hour, or even a few minutes; and yet it appeared to occupy many months. I must also mention another circumstance of a somewhat similar kind, which though it occur in the waking condition, is produced by the peculiar effect of previous sleep upon the mind. Thus, when we awake in a melancholy mood, the result probably of some distressing dream, the remembrance of all our former actions, especially those of an evil character, often rushes upon us as from a dark and troubled sea They do not appear individually, one by one, but come linked together in a close phalanx, as if to take the conscience by storm, and crush it beneath their imposing front. The whole span of our existence, from childhood downwards, sends them on; oblivion opens its gulphs snd impels them forwards; and the mind is robed ma cloud of wretchedness, without one ray of hope to brighten up its gloom. In common circumstances, we possess no such power of grouping so instantaneously the most distant and proximate events of life; the spell of memory is invoked to call them successively from the past; and they glide before us like shadows, more or less distinct according to their remoteness, or the force of their impress upon the mind. But in the case of which I speak, they start abruptly forth from the bosom of time, and overwhelm the spart with a crowd of most sad and appalling reminiscences. In the crucible of our distorted imagination, every thing is exaggerated and invested with a blacker gloom than belongs to it; we see, at one glance, down the whole vista of time; and each event of our life is written there in gloomy and distressing characters. Hence the mental depression occurring under these circumstances, and even the remorse which falls, like bitter and unrefreshing dews, upon the heart. We have seldom any idea of past events in dreams; if such are called forth, they generally seem to be pre *Something similar occurs in drowning. Persone recovered from this state have mentioned that, in the course of a single minute, almost every event of their life has been brought to their recollection. PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP. sent and in the process of actual occurrence. We may dream of Alexander the Great, but it is as of a person who is co-existent with ourselves. Dreams being produced by the active state of such organs as are dissociated from, or have not sympathised in, the general slumber, partake of the character of those whose powers are in greatest vigour, or farthest A person's naturremoved from the somnolent state. al character, therefore, or his pursuits in life, by strengthening one faculty, make it less susceptible, than such as are weaker, of being overcome, by complete sleep; or, if it be overcome, it awakes more rapidly from its dormant state, and exhibits its proper characteristics in dreams. Thus, the miser dreams of wealth, the lover of his mistress, the musician of melody, the philosopher of science, the merchant of trade, and the In like manner, a choleric debtor of duns and bailiffs. man is often passionate in his sleep; a vicious man's mind is filled with wicked actions; a virtuous man's with deeds of benevolence; a humorist's with ludicrous ideas. Pugnacious people often fight on such occasions, and do themselves serious injury by striking against the posts of the bed; while persons addicted to lying, frequently dream of exercising their favourite vo cation. For such reasons 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. Tartini, a celebrated violin player, is said to have composed his famous Devil's Sonata from the inspiration of a dream, in which the Devil appeared to him and challenged him to a trial of skill upon his own fiddle. 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 writing verses, or in deliberating upon the strains of such bards as are most familiar to his The following is the account he himself gives of the circumstance-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 Devon shire. In consequence of a slight indisposition, an anodyne had three hours in a profound sleep, at least of the external senses, player; language, a wrangler or philologist; secretive- Dreams are sometimes useful in affording prognostics of the probable termination of several diseases. Violent and impetuous dreams occurring in fevers generally indicate approaching delirium; those of a gloomy, terwhile dreams of a pleasant cast may be looked upon as rific nature give strong grounds to apprehend danger; deed, which occur in a state of fever are highly disharbingers of approaching recovery. The visions, intrain of ideas to another, and participates in the painful tressing; the mind is vehemently hurried on from one activity of the system. Those generated by hypochonfined to one unpleasant idea-the intellect being overdria or indigestion are equally afflicting, but more conpowered, as it were, under the pressure of a ponderous load, from which it experiences an utter incapacity to relieve itself. The febrile dream has a fiery, volatile, fugitive character: the other partakes of the nature of nightmare, in which the faculties seem frozen to torpor, by the presence of a loathsome and indolent fiend. Other diseases and feelings besides fever give a character to dreams. The dropsical subject often has the idea of fountains, and rivers, and seas, in his sleep; jaundice tinges the objects beheld with its own yellow and sickly hue; hunger induces dreams of eating agreeable food; an attack of inflammation disposes us to see all things of the colour of blood; excessive thirst presents us with visions of dried up streams, burning sandwith every thing bitter and nauseous in the vegetable plains, and immitigable heat; a bad taste in the mouth, world. *Such was the case with Cabanis, who often, during dreams, saw clearly into the bearings of political events which had baf fled him when awake; and with Condorcet, who, when, engaged in some deep and complicated calculations, was frequently obliged to leave them in an unfinished state, and retire to rest, when the results to which they led were at once unfolded in his dreams. If, from any cause, we chance to be relieved from the physical suffering occasioning such dreams, the dreams themselves also wear away, or are succeeded by others of a more pleasing description. Thus, if perspiration succeed to feverish heat, the person who, during the continuance of the latter, fancied himself on the brink of a volcano, or broiled beneath an African sun, is transported to some refreshing stream, and enjoys precisely the pleasure which such a transition would produce did it actually take place. Some authors imagine that we never dream of objects which we have not seen; but the absurdity of this notion is so glaring as to carry its own refutation along with it. I have a thousand times dreamed of such objects. dreaming that he was falling into a furnace of boiling a house on the road. He soon fell asleep; when, struggling with all his might to call out for help, he acwort, it put him into so great an agony of fright, that, tually did call out aloud, and recovered the use of his tongue that moment, as effectually as ever he had it in his life, without the least hoarseness or alteration in the old sound of his voice.' There have been instances where the terror of a fright Many years ago, a woman in the West Highlands, in ful dream has been so great as even to produce insanity. consequence of a dream of this kind, after being newly brought to bed, became deranged, and soon after made her escape to the mountains, where for seven years, she herds and others, by whom she was occasionally seen, herded with the deer, and became so fleet that the shepsevere storm brought her and her associates to the could never arrest her. At the end of this term. a very valley, when she was surrounded, caught, and convey. When a person has a strong desire to see any place or object which he has never seen before, he is apt to dream about it; while, as soon as his desire is gratified, he often ceases so to dream. I remember of hearing a great deal of the beauty of Rouen Cathedral, and ined to her husband, by whom she was cordially received one form or other it was constantly presented before my imagination in dreams; but having at last seen the cathedral I never again dreamed about it. This is not the invariable result of a gratified wish; but it happens so often that it may be considered a general rule. Sometimes we awake from dreams in a pleasing, at other times in a melancholy mood, without being able to recollect them. They leave a pleasurable or disagreeable impression upon the mind, according doubtless to their nature; and yet we cannot properly remember what we were dreaming about. Sometimes, though baffled at the time, we can recall them afterwards, but this seldom happens. and treated with the utmost kindness. In the course of three months, she regained her reason, and had aftersaid to have been covered with hair, thus giving a colwards several children. When caught, her body is or to the story of Orson and other wild men of the wood panic of a frightful vision, persons have actually com Instances have not been wanting where, under the mitted murder. They awake from such a dreamthey see some person standing in the room, whom they to desperation by terror, they seize the first weapon that mistake for an assassin, or dreadful apparition; driven occurs, and inflict a fatal wound upon the object of icine, relates a case of this kind. Although he does their alarm. Hoffbauer, in his Treatise on Legal Modnot state that the circumstances which occasioned the panic was a previous dream of terror, I do not doubt that such, in reality, must have been the case. Are port,' says he, 'of the murder committed by Bernard Schidmaizig was made by the Criminal College of Silesia. Schidmaizig awoke suddenly at midnight at the moment of awaking, he beheld a frightful phantom him,,(in consequence of the heat of the weather he slept (at least his imagination so depicted it) standing near in an open coach-house.) Fear, and the obscurity of the night, prevented him from recognizing any thing distinctly, and the object which struck his vision apIn a tremulous tone, answer, and imagined that the apparition was approachhe twice called out, who goes there?-he received no ing him. Frightened out of his judgment, he sprung from his bed, seized a hatchet which he generally kept aginary spectre. To see the apparition, to call out close by him, and with this weapon assaulted the inwho goes there? and to seize the hatchet where the work of a moment: he had not an instant for reflection, and with one blow the phantom was felled to the ground. Schidmaizig uttered a deep groan. This, and the noise occasioned by the fall of the phantom, completely restored him to his senses; and all at once the idea flashed across his mind that he must have struck down his stantly upon his knees, he raised the head of the woundwife, who slept in the same coach-house. Falling ined person, saw the wound which he had made, and the guish exclaimed Susannah, Susannah, come to yourblood that flowed from it; and in a voice full of anself! He then called his eldest daughter, aged eight years, ordered her to see if her mother was recovering, and to inform her grandmother that he had killed her. and she died the next day.'* In fact, it was his unhappy wife who received the blow, It often happens that the dreamer, under the influence of a frightful vision, leaps from his bed and calls aloud in a paroxysm of terror. This is very frequently the case with children and persons of weak nerves; but it may happen even with the strongest minded. There is something peculiarly horrible and paralyzing in the terror of sleep. It lays the energies of the soul prostrate before it, crushes them to the earth as beneath the weight of an enormous vampyre, and equalizes for a time the courage of the hero and the child. No firmness of mind can at all times withstand the influence of these deadly terrors. The person awakes panic-struck from some hideous vision; and even after reason returns and convinces him of the unreal nature of his appeared to him an actual spectre. prehensions, the panic for some time continues, his heart throbs violently, he is covered with cold perspiration, and hides his head beneath the bed-clothes, afraid to look around him, lest some dreadful object of alarm should start up before his affrighted vision. Courage and philosophy are frequently opposed in vain to these appalling terrors. The latter dreads what it disbelieves; and spectral forms, sepulchral voices, and all the other horrid superstitions of sleep arise to vindicate their power over that mind, which, under the fancied protection of reason and science, conceived itself shielded from all such attacks, but which, in the hour of trial, often sinks beneath their influence as completely as the ignorant and unreflecting mind, who never employed a thought as to the real nature of these fantastic and illusive sources of terror. The alarm of a frightful dream is sometimes so overpowering, that persons under the impression thus generated, of being pursued by some imminent danger, have actually leaped out of the window to the great danger and even loss of their lives. In the 9th volume of the Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society of London,' a curious case is given by Archdeacon Squire, of a person who, after having been dumb for years, recovered the use of his speech by means of a dream of this description: One day, in the year 1741, he got very much in liquor, so much so, that on his return at home at night to the Devizes, he fell from his horse three or four times, and was at last taken up by a neighbour, and put to bed in *This case is highly important in a legal point of view; and to punish a man for acting similarly in such a state would be as unjust as to inflict punishment for deeds committed under the in fluence of insanity or somnambulism. This man,' as Hoffbauer properly remarks, 'did not enjoy the free use of his senses: he knew not what he saw he believed that he was repulsing an unlooked for attack. He soon recognised the place where he usually slept; it was natural that he should seize the hatche |