*

faculty of thought seems to wander without control. In the functions which serve for the support of life, on the contrary, there is no material interruption. All of them remain unsuspended, and some of them are maintained in full vigour and activity. The natural actions of respiration, circulation, and digestion, are little affected. The powers, which are merely mechanical or chemical, seem to proceed in the usual manner; and, whatever internal stimuli are necessary for keeping them in action, retain their sensibility. It is otherwise with the different senses. These fall into a state of obtuseness and relaxation, from which they are not easily roused, though the possibility of affecting them, even without putting an end to the state of sleep, is a matter of daily experience; and, indeed, the fact that a sleeper can be awaked at all, through the medium of his sense of hearing, or of touch, or of sight, or even of taste or smell, is a sufficient proof that these faculties are not completely suspended. Neither is there a suspension of the mental powers. Our thoughts succeed each other with inconceivable rapidity, and the imagination appears often to be peculiarly awake and brilliant. It is the power of volition alone, so far as the mind is concerned, which has ceased to be exerted, This is usually attended with a relaxation of the voluntary muscles, which occasions a total want of power in all the parts of the body - over which these muscles have control. I mention this, however, only as the usual condition of persons in a state of

* It seems that this should be taken with some limitation. 'Sleep,' says Mr. Macnish, 'produces rather important changes in the system. The rapidity of the circulation is diminished, and, as a natural consequence, that of respiration: the force of neither function, however, is impaired; but, on the contrary, rather increased. Vascular action is diminished in the brain and organs of volition; while digestion and absorption all proceed with increased energy.' 'Sleep lessens all the secretions, with one exception,-that of the skin.' 'Sleep produces peculiar effects on the organs of vision. On opening the eyelids cautiously, the pupil is seen to be contracted; it then quivers with an irregular motion, as if disposed to dilate; but at length ceases to move, and remains in a contracted state till the person awakes.'

omnolency; for it is one of the remarkable phenomena of reaming, to which we shall have occasion afterwards to dvert, that the mind does then frequently exert an influence, f a very extraordinary nature, over the bodily functions.

There is something at once interesting and strange in this state, which its familiar occurrence causes us often to lose sight of; but I must at present confine myself to a single observation. It is an essential characteristic of sleep, that, so far from being able to induce it when we please, the anxiety to obtain this refreshment only drives it away from us; and it is not till we cease to think about it, that it steals on us. This is doubtless a wise provision; but then, were it to invade our body and mind not only unsolicited, but unexpected, and were we unable, to any extent, to counteract its approaches, very distressing effects might be produced. Attend to this for a moment. If we were to drop asleep, without warning, in the midst of some active operation, it is easy to see how many daily occurrences, of the most disastrous nature, would ensue. Struck by the unexpected visitant, the seaman, as he ascended the top-mast, or clung on the yard-arm, would relax his grasp, and be plunged into the sea, or dashed to pieces on the deck. The coachman, in the middle of his stage, would drop his reins, and fall senseless from his box. The builder would tumble with his trowel from the wall. The porter would fall paralyzed under his burden. The orator in the senate, at the bar, or in the pulpit, would falter, and sink with the unfinished sentence on his lips; and, in one, the fire of his patriotism; in another, the acuteness of his reasoning, or adroitness of his statement; and, in a third, an exhibition of the high and holy doctrines of the gospel, or of impassioned eloquence in a heart full of zeal, or of the tender touches of christian love, would ludicrously expire in a sudden drawl, a closing eye, and a countenance in an instant relaxed into an expression of drowsy insensibility. Or rather, almost all these active and useful operations, and, indeed, most of the important business of life, would be prevented by the anticipation of so inconvenient and dangerous a catastrophe.

It is, therefore, no slight proof of the wisdom of the Divine Contriver, that, while he has rendered sleep a necessary function, superior to the human will, he has, at the same time, afforded such indications of its approach, as to allow man time and opportunity decently to compose his limbs, and has even bestowed upon him such power of temporary counteraction, especially in seasons of active exertion, as to enable him to carry on his operations for a considerable period, without serious inconvenience, or fear of interruption, by the unwelcome and death-like intruder.

THIRD WEEK-SATURDAY.

DREAMING.

THE phenomena of dreaming, which are so remarkable, and in some respects so inexplicable, seem to have been' afforded by Providence, as a kind of agreeable relaxation to the ever active powers of the mind, while the bodily functions are in a state of necessary repose.

The subject has attracted deep attention from the earliest times, and has given rise to views and theories of very different kinds, corresponding either with the prepossessions of a particular age, or with the speculative views of the individuals by whom it has been treated. In early times, when a miraculous intercourse was kept up between heaven and earth, in preparing the world for the reception of the Saviour, dreams were frequently employed as the medium of that intercourse; and it was perhaps owing to these real events, that a superstitious veneration for dreams was cherished, even in the most polished ages of the ancient world. The Greeks and Romans divided the action of the mind, in sleep, into five sorts, -the dream, the vision, the oracle, the insomnium, and the phantasm, of which the three first were supposed to be divinely inspired. To such height had the superstitious feeling with regard to dreams arisen in Rome, in the age of Augus

tus Cæsar, that this monarch procured the passing of a law, obliging all who had dreamed any thing respecting the state, to make it publicly known; and he himself, in consequence of a nocturnal vision, submitted to the degrading act of begging in the street.

More rational views have of late been adopted 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 I shall not enter;* but some facts present themselves to our notice, which seem worthy of remark.

What I have chiefly to observe is, that, whatever may have been the design of Providence in appointing the exist ence 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

* Should the reader wish to prosecute this subject, he may be referred to the interesting observations of Dr. Abercrombie, in his 'Inquiries concerning the Intellectual Powers,' and to the elaborate work of the late Mr. Robert Macnish of Glasgow, on 'The Philosophy of Sleep,' where the phenomena of sleep and dreaming are investigated with much ingenuity, and in a manner which has deservedly gained the author considerable celebrity. Dr. Abercrombie states that there is a strange analogy between dreaming and insanity; and he defines the difference between the two states to be, that, in the latter, the erroneous impression being permanent, affects the conduct; whereas, in dreaming, no influence on the conduct is produced, because the vision is dissipated on awaking. "This definition,' says Mr. Macnish, 'is nearly, but not wholly, correct; for, in somnambulism and sleep-talking, the conduct is influenced by the prevailing dream. Dr. Rush has, with great shrewdness, remarked, that a dream may be considered as a transient paroxysm of delirium, and delirium as a permanent dream.'

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

The same observations 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,