CHAPTER IV.

PROPHETIC POWER OF DREAMS.

- DREAMS have been looked upon by some, as the occasional means of giving us an insight into futurity. This opinion is so singularly unphilosophical, that I would not have noticed it, were it not advocated even by persons of good sense and education. In ancient times, it was so common as to obtain universal belief; and the greatest men placed as implicit faith in it as in any fact of which their own senses afforded them cognizance. That it is wholly erroneous, however, cannot be doubted; and any person who examines the nature of the human mind, and the manner in which it operates in dreams, must be convinced, that under no circumstances, except those of a miracle, in which the ordinary laws of nature are triumphed over, can such an event ever take place. The Sacred Writings testify that miracles were common in former times; but I believe no man of sane mind will contend that they ever occur in the

present state of the world. In judging of things as now constituted, we must discard supernatural influence altogether, and estimate events according to the general laws which the Great Ruler of Nature has appointed for the guidance of the universe. If, in the present day, it were possible to conceive a suspension of these laws, it must, as in former ages, be in reference to some great event, and to serve some mighty purpose connected with the general interests of the human race; but if faith is to be placed in modern miracles, we must suppose that God suspended the above laws for the most trivial and useless of purposes-as, for instance, to intimate to a man that his grandmother will die on a particular day, that a favorite mare has broke her neck, that he has received a present of a brace of game, or that a certain friend will step in and take pot-luck with him on the morrow,

-At the same time, there can be no doubt that many circumstances occurring in our dreams have been actually verified; but this must be regarded as altogether the effect of chance; and for one dream which turns out to be true, at least a thousand are false. In fact, it is only when they are of the former description, that we take any notice of them; the latter are looked upon as mere idle vagaries, and speedily forgotten. If a man, for instance, dreams that he has gained a law-suit in which he is engaged, and if this circumstance actually takes place, there is nothing at all extraordinary in the coincidence: his mind was full of

tion, and see what, in our waking hours, would cause us unmitigated grief, without the smallest feeling of sorrow."

Persons are to be found, who, when they speak much during sleep, are unable to remember their dreams on awaking, yet recollect them perfectly if they do not speak. This fact is not very easily accounted for. Probably when we are silent, the mind is more directed upon the subject of the dream, and not so likely to be distracted from it. There is perhaps another explanation. When we dream of speaking, or actually speak, the necessity of using language infers the exercise of some degree of reason; and, thus the incongruities of the dream being diminished, its nature becomes less striking, and consequently less likely to be remembered. Though we often dream of performing impossibilities, we seldom imagine that we are relating them to others.

When we dream of visible objects, the sensibility of the eyes is diminished in a most remarkable manner; and on opening them, they are much less dazzled by the light than if we awoke from a slumber altogether unvisited by such dreams. A fact equally curious is noticed by Dr. Darwin, in his "Zoonomia," "If we sleep in the daytime, and endeavour to see some object in our dreams, the light is exceedingly 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 measure opened

by the vehemence of our sensations; and the iris being dilated, shows as great, or greater sensibility than in our waking hours."

There are some persons to whom the objects of their dreams are always represented in a soft, mellow lustre, similar to twilight. They never seem to behold any thing in the broad glare of sunshine; and, in general, the atmosphere of our vision is less brilliant than that through which we are accustomed to see things while awake.

The most vivid dreams are certainly those which have reference to sight. With regard to hearing, they are less distinctly impressed upon the mind, and still more feebly as regards smell, or taste. Indeed, some authors are of opinion that we never dream of sounds, unless when a sound takes place to provoke the dream: and the same with regard to smell and taste; but this doctrine is against analogy, and unsupported by proof. There are, beyond doubt, certain parts of the brain which take cognizance of tastes, odors, and sounds, for the same reason that there are others which recognise forms, dimensions, and colors. As the organs of the three latter sensations are capable of inward excitement, without any communication, by means of the senses, with the external world, it is no more than analogical to infer that, with the three former, the same thing may take place. In fever, although the individual is ever so well protected against the excitement of external sounds, the internal organ is often

violently stimulated, and he is harassed with tumultuous noises. For such reasons, it is evident that there may be in dreams a consciousness of sounds, of tastes, and of odors, where such have no real existence from without.

Dreams are sometimes exceedingly obscure, and float like faint clouds over the spirit. We can then resolve them into nothing like shape or consistence, but have an idea of our minds being filled with dim, impalpable imagery, which is so feebly impressed upon the tablet of memory, that

are unable to embody it in language, or communicate its likeness to others.

At other times, the objects of sleep are stamped with almost supernatural energy. The dead, or the absent, whose appearance to our waking faculties had become faint and obscure, are depicted with intense truth and reality; and even their voices, which had become like the echo of a forgotten song, are recalled from the depths of oblivion, and speak to us as in former times. Dreams, therefore, have the power of brightening up the dim regions of the past, and presenting them with a force which the mere effects of unassisted remembrance could never have accomplished in our waking hours.

This property of reviving past images, is one of the most remarkable possessed by sleep. It even goes the length, in some cases, of recalling circumstances which had been entirely forgotten, and presenting them to the mind with more than the