and he himself, in consequence of a nocturnal vision, submitted to the degrading act of begging in the streets.

More rational views have of late been entertained on this curious subject, though the philosophical theories which have been entertained regarding it, are still far from being either very satisfactory in themselves, or consistent with each other. On these we shall not enter; but some facts present themselves to our notice, which seem worthy of remark.

What we have chiefly to observe is, that, whatever may have been the design of Providence in appointing the existence of this mysterious state of mind, its functions are so guarded and qualified, as, speaking generally, to prevent injurious consequences, and often to afford an exhilarating play to the imagination. The dreamer is introduced into a kind of fairy land, where, as Addison, with his usual elegance and felicity, expresses it, “the soul converses with numberless beings of her own creation, and is transported into ten thousand scenes of her own raising: she is herself the theatre, the actor, and the beholder." In this state, when reason appears, for a time, to have given up the reins to fancy, it seems as if a very slight variation in the intensity of the feeling, or in the duration of the delusion, might be attended with fatal effects. Sometimes a deed of horror is supposed to be done, or the most overwhelming calamity is believed to have happened. The event is depicted in the strongest colours; it is actually seen, as it were, to take place before our eyes; the impression made on the mind is that of assured conviction of its truth, accompanied with the most intense agony; a moment longer, and the brain would be set on fire. That boundary, however, is never passed. A provision is made by which the very violence of the agitation effects the remedy, and the dreamer awakes with a heart ready to burst indeed, or with nerves strung and shaken to the very verge of their utmost endurance; but the phantoms disappear, the an

guish subsides; and, in a few minutes, the mind is as calm and serene as before.

The same observation will apply, with still greater force, to the phenomena of somnambulism, the most frightful and dangerous condition of persons in sleep. This is evidently not a natural and healthy, but a diseased state of the bodily and mental powers, and therefore forms such an exception to the general rule, as we would make in any other case of morbid action. It is worthy of remark, however, that while this irregular affection shows the distressing consequences which might ensue, were it to be the usual accompaniment of the dormant state, and thus very strikingly proves the wisdom of the natural provision, the law of which is, that the body shall not obey the dictates of the soul in sleep, it is at the same time kept within such bounds, that fatal, or even distressing accidents, seldom take place from the vagaries of the somnambulist. We hear of such persons climbing to the tops of houses, or walking along precipices, and performing other perilous feats, which in their waking hours they would have shuddered even to think of, yet, when left undisturbed, with astonishing dexterity surmounting every danger, and returning in safety to their beds, thus affording a pleasing conviction that He who permits the occasional irregularity, has condescended with paternal care to mitigate its unhappy effects. But we must further remark, that even these are extreme and very rare instances, and that, in by far the greatest variety of cases in which there is a tendency to this disease, the body only very partially and very harmlessly yields to the suggestions of the mind. A few muttered sentences, or a restless turning in bed, or at most, perhaps, a habit of occasionally rising and walking about the floor, are in general the only indications that the body has a tendency, under the excitement of dreaming, to obey the suggestions of the imagination.

Having mentioned the subject of somnambulism, I am reminded of a remarkable instance of it, recorded in the

Edinburgh Encyclopedia, in its memoir of Dr Blacklock, whose accomplishments as a poet and a clergyman, though struggling from his early infancy with all the privations of blindness, are so 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 was deeply agitated with the hostility which was manifested against him, and after dining with some friends on the day of his ordination, finding rest necessary to recruit his harassed and 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 bed-room a few hours afterward, 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, modulating his voice as usual with taste and elegance, without missing a note or a 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 went to supper, 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 slow and confused a manner as to be unintelligible. At last, being pretty forcibly roused by Mrs. Blacklock, who began to be alarmed for his intellects, he awoke with a sudden start, unconscious of all that had happened, having been the whole time fast asleep."

Lord Brougham, in his preliminary discourse to the edition of Paley's Natural Philosophy, lately published,* makes use of the phenomena of dreaming, as an argument for the mind's independence of matter, and capacity of existence without it. His argument, in a few words, is this: In the state of dreaming, all the bodily.

* Published in 1835.

functions which depend upon volition are suspended; and the bodily senses, though not entirely in a state of abeyance, become very obtuse. But this does not interrupt the activity of the mind; on the contrary, the power of imagination, and the celerity with which ideas pass through the mind, are increased by this cessation of communication through the senses. The mind therefore acts vigorously, when the powers of the body are unstrung; and it is only advancing another step to suppose, that it can act altogether independently of its material instrument, and survive it. To prove the extreme agility of the mental powers, and their total diversity from any material substances and actions, his lordship enters into some curious details of the phenomena of dreaming, which incontestably prove that it sometimes requires but an exceedingly short period to suggest and complete a long train of incidents. "A puncture made,” says he, in one of his illustrations, "will immediately produce a long dream, which seems to terminate in some such accident, as that the sleeper has been wandering through a wood, and received a severe wound from a spear, or the tooth of a wild animal, which at the same instant awakens him. A gun fired in one instance, during the alarm of invasion, made a military man at once dream the enemy had landed, so that he ran to his post, and repairing to the scene of action, was present when the first discharge took place, which also at the same moment awakened him."

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From these facts, Lord Brougham infers," the infinite rapidity of thought." Mark," he says, "what was done in an instant-in a mere point of time. The sensation of the pain or noise, beginning, is conveyed to the mind, and sets it a thinking of many things connected with such sensations. But that sensation is lost or forgotten, for a portion of the short instant during which the impression lasts; for the conclusion of the same impression gives rise to a new set of ideas. The walk in the wood, and the hurrying to the post, are suggested by the sen

sation beginning. Then follow many things unconnected with that sensation, except that they grew out of it; and lastly comes the wound, and the broadside, suggested by the continuance of the sensation; while, all the time, this continuance has been producing an effect on the mind wholly different from the train of ideas the dream consists of, nay, destructive of that train; namely, the effect of rousing it from the state of sleep, and restoring its dominion over the body. Nay, there may be said to be a third operation of the mind going on at the same time with these two-a looking forward to the denouement of the plot, for the fancy is all along so contriving as to fit that, by terminating in some event, some result consistent with the impression made on the senses, and which has given rise to the whole train of ideas."

Whether we entirely agree with this reasoning or not, there can be no doubt that the rapidity of thought, evinced in dreaming, is amazing; nor is it easy to elude the ingenious argument for the immateriality of the soul, which the author has founded on it; though, if we were to rely on this argument, it might land us in the belief, that the souls of the lower animals, many of which are known also to dream, must be immaterial too.

* I cannot, without diffidence, differ from such an authority; but I am by no means sure that the view the noble author has taken of these phenomena is perfectly correct. I should rather be inclined to think that the whole series of incidents in the dreams were suggested after the shock which at last put an end to sleep, had been received; and, during the period, somewhat more than an instant, though exceedingly short, which elapsed before the process of awaking had been accomplished; and that the wound and discharge of musketry, imagined in the dream, were not the same as the puncture and the shot which actually took place, but were afterward conceived, like the other parts of the dream. This view disembarrasses the matter of some of its difficulties; but, on any supposition, the dream must have been nearly instantaneous, and the rapidity of the succession of ideas is wonderful. I am disposed also to doubt the validity of the conclusion to which his Lordship comes, that "we only dream during the instant of transition into and out of sleep." Several facts seem to contradict this view; and, in particular, the phenomena of somnambulism, and of speaking during sleep, seem to be conclusive against it. The case of Dr Blacklock, for example, cannot possibly be explained on his Lordship's hypothesis.