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 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 lately-published Discourse on Natural Theology, 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 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."

Edinburgh Encyclopedia,—Article, Blacklock,

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 sensation 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, 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."*

* 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 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 afterwards 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 compelled 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 contradict this view; and, in particular, the phenomena of somnambulism, and of speaking during sleep, are conclusive against it. The case of Dr. Blacklock, for example, cannot possibly be explained on his lordship's hypothesis.

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.

FOURTH WEEK-SUNDAY.

THIS WORLD A STATE OF DISCIPLINE.

THE peculiar condition of sublunary things, as imperfect and transitory, is forced on our notice by the circumstances of the external world during the period of winter. The beauty of the year is gone,-the cheerful notes of the lark, of the blackbird, of the thrush, and of the whole choir which poured the voice of love and enjoyment from earth and sky, have ceased in our land, and a brooding, ominous melancholy reigns around. This is but one instance of a character impressed, as we have seen, on every thing under the sun. All are full of change and decay; and the state of the natural world is only an emblem of that which subsists in the moral world, where temptation, and sin, and sorrow, have shed their fatal blight over the glorious prospects of rational and immortal beings.

This condition would be totally inexplicable, were it not for the light thrown on the subject by Revelation. When we are told that we are at present only in the infancy of our existence, placed here in a state of discipline, to prepare us for a higher and more perfect residence, the mystery is unravelled, and we are made to understand, in some degree at least, why it has pleased the All-wise Disposer of events to place us in a world where

I.

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VII.

He only displays the brightness of His perfections as it were by glimpses, and casts clouds and darkness over the rest of the scene.

It is true that evil exists; but the Christian knows that it is overruled for good. Our Creator does not, indeed, remove calamity, but He changes its nature, and gives us power cheerfully to endure it. As our religion shows us the hand of a God of love in every thing, it causes us to regard distress, from whatever earthly source it arises, as "the chastisement of a Father, who chastens us for our profit, that we may become partakers of his holiness." Hence the Christian is in a condition to feel a constant and delightful dependence on Providence. Thus instructed, he may grieve, but he cannot repine; he may be humbled and afflicted, but he cannot despair. Shall a child, who knows that a Father corrects him in love, murmur under the rod ? Shall he not rather bend with humble resignation, and look up with affectionate joy, to the hand which wounds that it may heal?

This would be the effect of faith in the promises of the Gospel, even although the operations of Providence were surrounded with such mysterious darkness, that our limited faculties could perceive in them no traces of Divine wisdom and goodness. But it is no trifling addition to the satisfaction with which we rest in these promises, that God frequently condescends to make bare His holy arm in our sight, that we may follow His hand, as it overrules earthly events, and controls human passions and affections, so as to render both moral and physical evil an instrument of good.

In reference to our condition as moral agents, and with a view to the powers and faculties, which, as sinful but rational creatures, we possess, it is not difficult to perceive in what manner the afflictive vicissitudes of life operate in elevating and ameliorating our character. If life were free from evil, there would be little to employ the judgement, or call into action the latent faculties,little to rouse, to affect, and to invigorate the human soul. The heroic virtues of fortitude and courage, for example, would be without an object, were there no

perils to encounter, and no enemies to subdue. What self-abasement could there be where there was no infirmity? What meekness, what patience, what forbearance, if there were no injustice to sustain, no calamities to suffer, and no injuries to forgive? Where were the exercise of resignation in a paradise of bliss? Where the trial of faith in a land of righteousness?

The social virtues, too, as well as the personal, could, under such circumstances, only be called into partial action. How could there be any pity, where there was no distress?—any sympathetic joy, where there was no escape from danger?-any compassionate charity, where there were no sins to cover, and no wants to relieve?

Were there no evils, then, either in the circumstances of the external world, or in the moral and physical condition of the society in which we dwell, some of our noblest faculties would remain unexercised and unim

proved. But it is not so. Under the discipline of Providence, the Christian is tutored in the school of adversity; and is rendered prudent by disappointment, humble by error, and magnanimous by endurance. Baffled, afflicted, persecuted, but rising superior to calamity, he unfolds his patience, his meekness, his resignation. Experiencing the hatred and contempt of those whom his heart desires to benefit, he learns the divine duty of forgiveness, and is taught to persevere in offices of kindness to the ungrateful. While engaged in these severe but exalted exercises, he becomes sensible of his own inability, and is forced to exclaim, "Who is sufficient. for these things?" Thus, he is led to apply to Him who has said, "My grace is sufficient for thee, my strength is made perfect in weakness." Weeping for his sins at the foot of the cross, he feels the virtue of humility taking deep root and growing in his soul; and the graces of faith, of hope, and of joy in the Saviour of sinners, rising to maturity.

In a word, the disciple of the Man of Sorrows is exposed to temptation, that he may guard against it; to difficulties, that he may overcome them; to dangers, that he may rise above them. He is taught, by expe