{"collection":"ritual-magic","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_56822/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_56822","id":"gutenberg_56822","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/56822","summary":null,"tags":["Apparitions","Category: Philosophy & Ethics","Category: Psychiatry/Psychology","Dreams","Occultism -- Early works to 1900","Parapsychology -- Early works to 1900"],"text":"Produced by Mardi Desjardins & the online Distributed\nProofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net from\npage images generously made available by the Internet\nArchive (https://archive.org)\n\n\n\n\n\n THE\n PHILOSOPHY\n OF\n MYSTERY.\n\n[Illustration]\n\n \u201cWe so intreateth this serious and terrible matter of Spirites,\n that now and then insertyng some strange stories of\n counterfeyts, doth both very lybely display their falsehood, and\n also not a little recreate his reader: and yet in the ende he so\n aptly concludeth to the purpose, that his hystories seeme not\n idle tales, or impertinent vagaries, but very truethes,\n naturally falling under the compasse of his matter.\u201d\n\n * * * * *\n\n THE\n PHILOSOPHY\n OF\n MYSTERY.\n\n\n BY\n\n WALTER COOPER DENDY,\n FELLOW AND HONORARY LIBRARIAN OF THE MEDICAL SOCIETY OF LONDON;\n SENIOR SURGEON TO THE ROYAL INFIRMARY FOR CHILDREN, &c. &c.\n\n * * * * *\n\n LONDON:\n LONGMAN, ORME, BROWN, GREEN, & LONGMANS,\n PATERNOSTER ROW.\n \u2014\u2014\u2014\n 1841.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS,\n St. John\u2019s Square, London.\n\n * * * * *\n\n TO HIS COUSINS,\n\n STEPHEN DENDY, ESQ.\n\n OF PARIS,\n\n AND\n\n CHARLES COOK DENDY, ESQ.\n\n OF SOUTHGATE HOUSE, CHICHESTER;\n\n AND TO HIS BROTHER,\n\n EDWARD STEPHEN DENDY,\n\n THIS VOLUME IS INSCRIBED,\n\n IN TOKEN OF THE AFFECTIONATE REGARD\n\n OF THE AUTHOR.\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n\n\n CONTENTS.\n\n\n PAGE\n THE CHALLENGE.\n Scenery on the Wye\u2014A Ghost Seer\u2014Tintern 1-5\n Abbey\u2014Faith and Scepticism in the reality of\n Phantoms\n\n NATURE AND MOTIVES OF GHOSTS.\n Notions of the Ancients regarding the nature of 6-17\n Ghosts\u2014Confidence of the Ancients in their\n appearance\u2014Modern Incidents in illustration of\n real appearance\u2014Qualities of Ghosts\u2014Motives of\n Apparitions\u2014Ancient and modern Stories\n\n PROPHECY OF SPECTRES.\n Ancient spectral Prophecy\u2014Modern Stories in 18-33\n illustration of prophetic Spectres\u2014Philosophy\n and Poesy of Shakspere\u2014Holy influence of\n Spectral Visitations\u2014Stories of apparently\n special influence of the Deity\n\n ILLUSION OF SPECTRES.\n Reasons for early faith in Phantoms\u2014Modern errors 34-51\n regarding classic Superstitions\u2014Shallowness and\n Fallacy of modern Incidents\u2014Explanation of Ghost\n Stories by Coincidence\u2014Incidents in proof of\n Coincidence\u2014Proneness of intellectual Minds to\n credulity and exaggeration\u2014Innocent invention of\n an incident at Bowood\n\n PHANTASY FROM MENTAL ASSOCIATION.\n Influence of interesting localities\u2014Definition of 52-66\n a Phantom\u2014An intense idea\u2014Demonomania\u2014Stings of\n Conscience\u2014Curious effect of peculiar study or\n intense thought\u2014Darkness and Obscurity\u2014Romance\n of reality\u2014A mysterious incident\n\n PHANTASY FROM CEREBRAL EXCITEMENT.\n Second Sight\u2014National propensity to the 67-79\n Sight\u2014Romance and Poetry of the\n Mountains\u2014_Morbid_ predisposition to Second\n Sight\u2014Unearthly Visions on the eve of\n Dissolution\u2014Glimpses of Reason in dying Maniacs\n\n PHANTASY FROM CEREBRAL CONGESTION.\n Phantoms of intellectual Minds\u2014Illusion of 80-88\n Opium\u2014Illustrations of Narcotic Influence\n\n POETIC PHANTASY, OR FRENZY.\n Inspiration of Poesy and 89-100\n Painting\u2014Shakspere\u2014Fuseli\u2014Blake\u2014Philosophy and\n Madness\u2014Illusion of Tasso\u2014Truth of\n Poesy\u2014Splendid illusions at the onset of\n Mania\u2014Melancholy constitution and decay of\n Poetic Minds\u2014Letter of a\n Cheromaniac\u2014Sensibility\u2014Unhappy consequences of\n cherishing Romance\u2014Fragment of John Keats\n\n PHANTASY FROM SYMPATHY WITH THE BRAIN.\n Philosophy of Moral Causes\u2014Effect of thought and 101-112\n of the function of the Stomach in producing\n physical changes in the Brain\u2014Stories in proof\n of this influence\u2014Illusions from Derangements of\n Vision\u2014Curious cases of ocular Spectra from\n peculiar conditions of the Eye\n\n MYSTERIOUS FORMS AND SIGNS.\n Stories of Supernatural Appearances 113-122\n\n ANALYSIS AND CLASSIFICATION OF SPECTRAL ILLUSION.\n Credulity\u2014Arrangement of Causes of Spectral 123-140\n Illusion\u2014Illustration of Atmospheric\n Illusions\u2014Natural Phenomena\u2014Fata\n Morgana\u2014Schattenman of the Brocken\u2014Romance of\n unlettered minds\n\n ILLUSIONS OF ART.\n Monkish Impostures\u2014Optical Toys\u2014Spontaneous 141-146\n Combustion\n\n ILLUSTRATION OF MYSTERIOUS SOUNDS.\n Elemental Causes\u2014Impositions at 147-154\n Woodstock\u2014Tedworth\u2014Cock Lane\u2014Subterranean\n Sounds\u2014Currents of Air\u2014Memnon\u2014Phonic\n Instruments\u2014Vocal curiosity in young Richmond\n\n FAIRY MYTHOLOGY.\n Origin of Fa\u00ebry\u2014Legends of the Mythology of 155-165\n various Climes\u2014Cauld Lad of Hilton\n\n DEMONOLOGY.\n Classic and Indian Mythology\u2014Embodying of a 166-177\n Demon\u2014Stories illustrative of the Superstitions\n of Ireland and Cornwall\u2014Legend of the\n Changelings\u2014Poetry of Nature\u2014Preadamite Beings\n\n NATURE OF SOUL AND MIND.\n Psychology of the Greeks and of the 178-192\n Moderns\u2014Essence of Phrenology\u2014Lord\n Brougham\u2014Priestley\u2014Paley\u2014Johnson\u2014Modes of\n Sepulture\u2014Paradise\u2014Atheism\u2014Deity\u2014Hindu\n Mythology\u2014Senile Intellect\n\n NATURE OF SLEEP.\n Unconsciousness of Sleep\u2014Necessity of 193-204\n Slumber\u2014Malady of Collins\u2014Somnolency of the\n Brute and of Savages\u2014Periods of\n Sleep\u2014Sleeplessness and its Antidotes\n\n SUBLIMITY AND IMPERFECTION OF DREAMING.\n Unconsciousness of the Dream\u2014Arguments on this 205-213\n question\u2014Episode of a dreaming Life\n\n PROPHECY OF DREAMS.\n Ancient Prophetic Dreams\u2014Stories of modern 214-222\n Prophecies in Dreaming\n\n MORAL CAUSES OF DREAMING.\n Associations of Dreaming\u2014Incongruous 223-235\n Combinations\u2014Source of Ideas in Dreams\u2014Innate\n Idea\u2014Undreaming Minds\u2014Flitting of the\n Spirit\u2014Fallacy of Mental Energy in the\n Dream\u2014Illusion of Dreams\u2014Marmontel\n\n ANACHRONISM AND COINCIDENCE OF DREAMS.\n Celerity of Ideas in the Dream\u2014Sacred Records of 236-256\n Dreams\u2014Danger of profane Discussion of\n Scripture\u2014Fallacy of Dreams\u2014Consequences of\n Credulity in Dreams\n\n MATERIAL CAUSES OF DREAMS.\n Blending of Metaphysics and Philosophy\u2014Confusion 257-269\n of ancient and modern Classifications of\n Dreams\u2014Curious Cases of suspended\n Memory\u2014Anecdotes of Tenacity of\n Memory\u2014Physiology of Memory\u2014Ghost of an\n amputated Limb\n\n INTENSE IMPRESSION.\u2014MEMORY.\n Curious Cases of Associations\u2014Deranged 270-280\n Memory\u2014Dreams of Animals\u2014Poetic Illustrations\n\n INFLUENCE OF DARK BLOOD IN THE BRAIN.\n Conditions of the Brain\u2014Analogy of Dreaming and 281-294\n Mania\u2014Sympathetic Causes of\n Dreaming\u2014Repletion\u2014Effects of Posture in\n inducing Dreams\u2014Phrenological Illustrations\n\n INCUBUS OR NIGHT-MARE.\n Illustrative Incidents\u2014Night-mare of the Mind 295-303\n\n SOMNILOQUENCE.\u2014SOMNAMBULISM.\n Stories of Sleep-talking\u2014Stories of 304-328\n Sleep-walking\u2014Changes of disposition in\n Somnambulism\u2014Abeyance of Memory during the\n Interval\u2014Exactness and Energy during\n Somnambulism\u2014Concentration of\n Power\u2014Unconsciousness\u2014Analysis of\n Sleep-walking\u2014Theory of _Reflex Action_ of the\n Nervous System\u2014Irresistibility\u2014Disease of the\n Brain in Somnambulists\n\n IMITATIVE MONOMANIA.\n Dance of the Middle Ages\u2014Tarantulism\u2014Saint Vitus\u2019 329-340\n Dance\u2014Tigretier\u2014Lycanthropy\u2014Fanaticism during\n the Commonwealth\u2014Moravians\u2014The Kent\n Tragedy\u2014Stories of Imitative Suicide\u2014Effects of\n Stramonium, and of Gaseous Inhalation\n\n REVERIE.\n Abstraction of Idiocy\u2014Cretinism\u2014Wandering of the 341-352\n Mind\u2014Concentrativeness\u2014Anecdotes illustrative of\n Illusive Abstraction\n\n ABSTRACTION OF INTELLECT.\n Anecdotes in illustration\u2014Brown 353-366\n Study\u2014Apathy\u2014Heroism\u2014Reverie of\n Philosophy\u2014Sonata di Diavolo\u2014Reverie at\n Caerphilly\u2014Intense Impression\u2014Abstraction of\n Deep Study\u2014Reverie of the Dying\n\n SOMNOLENCE.\u2014TRANCE.\u2014CATALEPSY.\n Description of Trance\u2014Legends of Deep 367-377\n Sleepers\u2014Stories of Modern Trances\u2014Analogies\n from Intense Impression\u2014Periodical Catalepsy\n\n PREMATURE INTERMENT.\u2014RESUSCITATION.\n Stories in Illustration\u2014Romance, Life in 378-392\n Death\u2014Causes of Resuscitation\u2014Disunion of Mind\n and Body\u2014Insensibility of the Decollated\n Head\u2014Sensations during Hanging and Drowning\u2014Case\n of Dr. Adam Clarke\n\n TRANSMIGRATION.\u2014ANALYSIS OF TRANCE.\n State of the Spirit after Death\u2014Fables of 393-404\n Transmigration\u2014Superstition in India and\n England\u2014Tenacity of Life\u2014Hybernation\u2014Sleep of\n Plants\u2014Physiology of Trance\n\n MESMERISM.\n Its origin\u2014Commissions for its 405-430\n investigation\u2014Caspar Hauser\u2014Sensations of\n Magnetism\u2014Magnetized Trees\u2014Operations during\n Magnetic Trance\u2014Transference of Senses\u2014Mineral\n Traction\u2014Clairvoyance\u2014Trance of Santa\n Theresa\u2014Prophetess of Prevorst\u2014Magnetic\n Aura\u2014Personal Sympathy\u2014Socrates\u2014Fascino\u2014Prince\n Hohenlohe\n\n SIBYLLINE INFLUENCE.\n Occult Science\u2014A Gipsy\u2014Spells and 431-443\n Charms\u2014Relics\u2014Ordeals\u2014Philosophy of Prophetic\n Fulfilment\u2014Melancholy effects of\n Prophecy\u2014Astrology\u2014Conclusion\n\n * * * * *\n\n THE\n\n PHILOSOPHY OF MYSTERY.\n\n\n\n\n THE CHALLENGE.\n\n\n \u201cThere are more things in heav\u2019n and earth, Horatio,\n Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.\u201d\u2014HAMLET.\n\nTHERE was a shallop floating on the Wye, among the gray rocks and leafy\nwoods of Chepstow. Within it were two fair girls reclining: the one\nblending the romantic wildness of a maid of Italy with the exquisite\npurity of English nature; the other illuming, with the devotion of a\nvestal, the classic beauty of a Greek.\n\nThere was a young and learned bachelor sitting at the helm. Study had\nstamped an air of thoughtfulness on his brow; yet a smile was ever\nplaying on his lips, as his heart felt the truth and influence of the\nbeautiful life around him.\n\nListen, gentle reader, we pray thy courtesy and thy patience, as a rude\nunskilful pen traces the breathed thoughts of these wanderers of the\nWye.\n\n * * * * *\n\nCASTALY. We have roamed, dear Ida, among the classic lands of the\nfar-off Mediterranean: we have looked, from her pinnacles of snow, on\nthe silvery gleaminess of Switzerland, and from purple sierras on the\nsunny splendour of Spain; yet these English meadows, with their fringes\nof wild bloom, come o\u2019er the heart with all the freshness of an infant\u2019s\ndream. Yon majestic crag of Wyndcliff is flinging its purple shadows\nathwart the water, and floods of golden glory are streaming through the\nbeech-woods of Piercefield: and see, our little sail, white as the wing\nof a swan, is wafting us towards Abbey Tintern, along this beautiful\nvalley, where the river almost doubles on itself; meandering among its\nmead-flowers and its mosses, as loth to leave its luxuriant bed. Listen!\nthe breath of evening is among the trees that dip in the ripple of the\nWye their leaves of shivering gold. What a scene for minions of the moon\nto revel in! Say, shall we charm the lingering hours of this midsummer\nnight among the ivied cloisters of the abbey? But where is Astrophel,\nour moon-struck student, who, like Chaucer\u2019s scholar, keeps\n\n \u2014\u2014\u201cat his bed\u2019s head,\n A twenty books clothed in black and red,\n Of Aristotle and his philosophy?\u201d\u2014\u2014\n\nThey have not taught him courtesy, or he would not steal away from the\nlight of our eyes to commune with owls and ivy-bushes.\n\nYet we promise him our smile for _your_ sake, Evelyn. Indeed, I am\nthinking his mysteries will chime in admirably with the solemnity of\nthis lone abbey. We appoint him master of our revels.\n\nEVELYN. Let your smile be in pity, fair Castaly, on the illusions of\nAstrophel. Ensconced in his dark closet, within a charmed ring of\nblack-letter folios, he has wofully warped his studies, and has read\nhimself into the belief that he is a GIFTED SEER. Yet love him, lady,\nfor his virtues; for his history is a very paradox. His heart is melting\nwith charity for the beings of earth, yet his mind is half-weaned from\ntheir fellowship. At his imminent peril, he leaps into the Isis to save\na drowning boy, and the world calls him misanthrope, withal. It is the\nfate indeed of many a cloistered scholar, whose\n\n \u2014\u2014\u201cdesires are dolphin like,\n And soar above the element they live in.\u201d\n\nSuch is Astrophel.\n\nIDA. He looks his part to perfection. There is a shadowy expression in\nhis dark eye, as it were poring over the volume of his own thoughts.\nBeneath the slender shaft of yon eastern window, behold this proselyte\nto the sublime science of shadows. He approaches.\n\nEV. The _hour_ is on him yet.\u2014Astrophel!\n\nASTROPHEL. Whisper, and tread lightly, Evelyn, for this is haunted\nground. Underneath this velvet turf rest the mouldering bones of a\nnoble. I have held communion in my slumber with the spirit by which they\nwere once animated and moved; and the mysteries of the tomb have been\nunfolded to me. The _eid\u014dlon_ of Roger Bigod has thrice come across my\nsight.\n\nCAST. A ghost!\n\nEV. And Astrophel believes the truth of this vision! Such phantasy might\nwell become the Cistercian monks, who once stalked along these gloomy\ncloisters, but not an Oxford scholar.\n\nASTR. And why not an Oxford scholar, Evelyn? I _do_ believe in the\nexistence of beings out of the common course of nature; and, indeed, the\nhistory of the world has ever proved the _general_ leaning to this\nbelief, and my own mind feels that this universal adoption is a proof of\n_reality_ of existence. Smile at, or reason with me, you will not shake\nmy faith, for I believe it true; and even Johnson confessed, that\n\u201calthough all argument might be against it, yet all belief is for it.\u201d\n\nEV. The diffusion of this fallacy, Astrophel, proves only the universal\nsameness of the constitution of mind. You may, indeed, cite the high\nauthority of Johnson, that \u201ca belief in the apparitions of the dead\ncould become universal only by its truth.\u201d Yet, if this one word,\n_apparition_, be rightly interpreted, it will not imply the _existence_\nof real phantoms, however ethereal, _before_ the eye, for the notion so\nconstrued would have been a grand error of Imlac; no, he adopts an\n_indefinite_ expression, conscious that mere metaphysics were not\nillustrative of this subtle question.\n\nThere was one Theophilus Insulanus, who, I think, calls all those who\nhave not faith in phantoms, _irreligious_, because, forsooth, \u201cthese\nghosts are never employed on subjects of frivolous concern.\u201d I may be\nunder the ban of this flimsy enthusiast, but you will not gain me as a\nproselyte, Astrophel, for, like our great poet, I have seen too many\nghosts myself.\n\nYet I know some few self-created wizards, who have solved to their\nhearts\u2019 content those two grand mysteries, the _real_ existence and the\n_purpose_ of ghostly visitations; who, like Owain Glyndwr, \u201ccan call\nspirits from the vasty deep,\u201d and even expect that they will \u201ccome when\nthey do call for them.\u201d Others have laboured under self-glamourie, and\nbelieved themselves magicians, until put _to the proof_. I remember the\npainter, Richard Cosway, was under this illusion; and, when the old\ncynic Northcote desired him to raise Sir Joshua Reynolds, the\npseudo-magus confessed himself foiled, by advancing this simple excuse,\n\u201cI would, were it not _sinful_!\u201d\n\nIt were well if these monomaniacs were laid in the famous bed of St.\nHilary at Poitiers; for there, with the muttering of a prayer or two, as\nthe legend tells us, madmen may be cured.\n\nBut, in truth, the light of divine reason has so far dispelled these\nfancies for the supernatural, that very few of _us_, I presume, are\nconfident in the hope of raising a ghost when we want one; or of laying\nit in the Red Sea for a hundred years, by two clergymen, with \u201cbell,\nbook, and candle,\u201d and scraps of mystic Latin, when it becomes rude or\ntroublesome.\n\nIDA. Will you not concede that many visionaries have _believed_, and\nwritten from pure and even holy motives?\n\nEV. There is no doubt of this, lady; yet while it has fanned the flame\nof superstition in minds of lower intellect, with many, the endeavour to\n_prove too much_ has marred these motives, and weakened faith, even in\nthe credulous; so that we may hope the wild romances of Beaumont, and\nBurthogge, and Baxter, and Aubrey, and Glanville, and that\narch-mystagogue Moreton (whose book is half full of prolix dialogues\nbetween ghosts and ghost-seers), will soon be mere objects of interest\nand curiosity to the black-letter bibliomaniac and the more erudite\nlegend-hunter.\n\nCAST. We will not submit to your anathema, Evelyn. This learned clerk\nhas challenged our faith. What a treasury of secrets might he unfold to\nus from the mystic tomes of antiquity, the wonders of profane\npsychology; from the tales of Arabia to Vatheck and the Epicurean\u2014from\nthe classic mythology of Homer to the wild romances of his humble\nprototype Ossian.\n\nLet it be a match: we will listen, Astrophel, while you \u201cunsphere the\nspirit of Plato;\u201d and here we sit in judgment, on the velvet throne of\nthis our court of Tintern.\n\n\n\n\n NATURE AND MOTIVES OF GHOSTS.\n\n\n \u201cIn the most high and palmy state of Rome,\n A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,\n The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead\n Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets.\u201d\n HAMLET, 4to. B.\n\nASTR. It is not from the sources of _mythology_ alone, that I adduce my\nillustrations of the reality of ghosts, but from the myriads of\n_incidents_ which ancient and modern _history_ record. Yet may I well\ncrave your courtesy for the scraps of fable, and perchance of imposture,\nthat may unwittingly creep into my discourse. Listen to me.\n\nIt was believed by the ancients that each body possessed three\nghosts\u2014to be released on its dissolution. The _manes_ at once emigrated\nto the region of Pluto: the _spiritus_ ascended to the skies: the\n_umbra_ or shade still wandered on the earth. Or, as the poet has more\ncomprehensively sung,\n\n \u201cBis duo sunt homini, manes, caro, spiritus, umbra;\n Quatuor ista loci bis duo suscipiunt:\n Terra tegit carnem, tumulum circumvolat umbra,\n Orcus habet manes, spiritus astra petit.\u201d\n\nMeaning that there are four principles in man, and this is their\ndestiny:\u2014the _flesh_ to earth; the _ghost_ to the tomb; the _soul_ to\nHades; and the _spirit_ to heaven.\n\nThe queen of Carthage, confiding in this creed, threatens \u00c6neas that her\numbra will haunt him upon earth, while her manes will rejoice in his\ntorments.\n\nThe notions of other mystic scholars are thus recorded by old Burton, in\nhis \u201cAnatomy of Melancholy:\u201d as those of Surius\u2014\u201cthat there be certain\nmonsters of hell and places appointed for the punishment of men\u2019s souls,\nas at Hecla in Iceland, where the ghosts of dead men are familiarly\nseen, and sometimes talk with the living. Saint Gregory, Durand, and the\nrest of the schoolmen, derive as much from \u00c6tna in Sicily, Lipara,\nHiera\u2014and those volcanoes in America, and that fearful mount Heckleberg\nin Norway, where lamentable screeches and howlings are continually\nheard, which strike a terror to the auditors: fiery chariots are\ncontinually seen to bring in the souls of men in the likeness of crows,\nand devils ordinarily goe in and out.\u201d And then, to bring this phantasy\nto a climax by a pandemonium of ghosts, listen to Bredenbachius, in his\n\u201cPerigranions in the Holy Land,\u201d where \u201conce a yeare dead bodies arise\nabout March, and walk, and after awhile hide themselves again: thousands\nof people come yearly to see them.\u201d And this reminds me of the phantom\nof old Booty, who at the hour of his death in England was seen by the\ncrew of a ship running into the crater of Stromboli in the remote\nMediterranean,\u2014a story which even in the present century was made the\nsubject of discussion in a justice court.\n\nNow, you must know, the ancients believed that only those who died of\nthe sword possessed this privilege.\n\nThese are the words of Flavius Josephus: \u201cWhat man of virtue is there\nthat does not know that those souls which are severed from their fleshly\nbodies in battles by the sword are received by the ether, that purest of\nelements, and joined to that company which are placed among the\nstars:\u2014that they become good demons and propitious heroes, and shew\nthemselves as such to their posterity afterwards; while upon those souls\nthat wear away in and with their distempered bodies, comes a\nsubterranean night to dissolve them to nothing, and a deep oblivion to\ntake away all the remembrance of them? And this, notwithstanding they be\nclean from all spots and defilements of this world; so that in this case\nthe soul at the same time comes to the utmost bounds of its life, and of\nits body, and of its memorial also.\u201d\n\nThe mystery of the nature of these ghosts I may not presume to define;\nbut there are many learned writers of antiquity who believed in their\n_materiality_, and broached the intricate question of their quality and\nformation.\n\nThe alchymist Paracelsus writes of the _astral element_ or _spirit_\u2014one\nof the two bodies which compose our nature: being more ethereal, it\nsurvived some time after the death of the more substantial form, and\nsometimes became the familiar spirit of the magician. And what writes\nLucretius the Epicurean to illustrate his credence in apparitions? That\nthe surfaces of bodies are constantly thrown off by a sort of\ncentrifugal force; that an exact image is often presented to us by this\nsurface coming off as it were entire, like the cast skin of the\nrattle-snake or the shell of the chrysalis; and thus the ideas of our\nabsent or departed friends _strike_ on the mind.\n\nThe olden chymists, in the age of Louis XIV. accounted for spectral\nforms by the saline atoms of a putrid corpse being set free, and\ncombining again in their pristine form. Listen, I pray you, to this\ngrave philosophy of an abstruse essay, writ in 1794.\n\n\u201cThe apparitions of souls departed do, by the virtue of their formative\nplastic power, frame unto themselves the vehicles in which they appear\nout of the moisture of their bodies. So ghosts do often appear in\nchurch-yards, and that but for a short time, to wit, before the moisture\nis wholly dried up.\u201d\n\n \u201cSuch are those thick and gloomy shadows damp,\n Oft seen in charnel-vaults and sepulchres,\n Lingering and sitting by a new-made grave.\u201d\n\nAnd we read in the chronicles, that \u201cduring the time the ancients\n_burned_, not _buried_ their dead, there was no such appearance of\nghosts as is now.\u201d\n\nWhy waves the coarse grass ranker over the grave? It is touched by the\nlarva of the rotting carcase, which, ascending from its putrid\nchrysalis, a butterfly, or Psyche, flits awhile like an ephemera, and\ndrops again into the vault.\n\nA sentiment something like this, I believe, was the grand cause of the\nenrolment of the mummies by the Egyptians; for they thought while the\nbody remained entire, the soul was flitting about it: and the early\nChristians even believed that a portion at least of the soul remained,\nuncorrupted by the body.\n\nEvelyn will grant that among the Romans there was a devout wish to be\nburied near venerated beings and saints, an _emanation_ from whose\nbodies, they believed, would inspire the hearts of the believers.\n\nAnd here I will relate a story from the Dinan Journal of 1840, and also\nthe fragment of a very mysterious tale told with all the solemnity of a\nfaithful chronicle.\n\n\u201cWe had the curious spectacle of a long procession of girls from\nPleudiheus, passing through our streets to the chapel of Saint Anne, to\noffer up prayers for the repose of the soul of the mother of one of\nthem, who has been dead twenty-two years, and who every five years has\nappeared to her daughter, urging her to have masses said for her. This\ntime the troubled spirit prescribed the day, hour, and place of the\nservice, and even the precise dresses she would have the votaries wear.\nConsequently, they were all lightly clothed in white, although the rain\nfell and the streets were full of mud.\u2014Some of the inhabitants of Dinan\naffirm that they saw the ghost of the deceased, marching at the head of\nthe procession to the door of the chapel, where it remained till the\nmass was finished, and then suddenly vanished.\u201d\n\nReturning from the harbour to Cadiz with some Spanish do\u00f1as, the Baron\nGeramb heard a voice in French, crying, \u201cSave me! Help, help!\u201d but at\nthe time he took little or no heed of the matter. On the morrow was seen\non the shore of the harbour a body on a black board, with lighted tapers\nby its side, which was covered by the Baron\u2019s direction. During a\ntempest in the evening, some secret impulse directed him again to the\nshore. Before his bewildered sight arose from the spot a shapeless\nphantom wrapped in the black winding-sheet which he had provided.\n\nThe phantom moved along with gigantic strides, assuming a globular form,\nand then, whirling in spiral circles, bounded off, and appeared at a\ndistance like a giant. The spectre led the Baron to the streets of\nCadiz, its course being accompanied by a noise as of the tinkling of\nautumnal leaves. In Cadiz a door suddenly opened with force, and the\nspectre rushed like lightning into the house, and plunged into the\ncellar. There was the sound of deep groaning, and the Baron descended\ninto the vault: there lay the corpse naked and livid, and on it was\nprostrated an aged man, uttering the deep sighs of abject misery and\ndespair. In a gloomy corner of this cave of death leaned the phantom,\nrevolving in its spiral whirls, and then changing to a floating cloud of\nlight; and then there beamed forth the pale features of a youth,\nundulating as if on the bosom of a wave, which murmured in the ear. Then\ncame the chaunting of anthems and prayers for the dead, and a glittering\nyoung girl in white robes glided into the cellar, and knelt in devotion\nby the body.\n\nThe phantom\u2014and so the legend proceeds.\n\nThere is a wondrous mystery, I grant, enveloping this story; but if\nthere be any truth in that alchymic re-animation, _Palingenesy_\u2014\n\n \u201cIf chemists from a rose\u2019s ashes,\n Can raise the rose itself in glasses;\u201d\n\nnay, if the sparkling diamond shines forth from a mass of charcoal, why\nmay not the ashes of a body be made into a ghost, illustrative of the\nphilosophy of substantial apparitions, adopted by Kircher,\u2014a body\n_rebuilt_, after being resolved, for a time, into its constituent\nelements? The Parisian alchymists of the seventeenth century, indeed,\ndemonstrated this mystery, and raised a ph\u0153nix from its ashes. They\nsubmitted to the process of distillation some earth from the cemetery of\nthe Innocents; during which ceremony, they were scared by the appearance\nof perfect human shapes, struggling in the glass vessels they were\nemploying. And, lastly, Dr. Ferriar thus deposes:\u2014A ruffian was\nexecuted, his body dissected, and his skull pulverised by an anatomist.\nThe student, who slept in the chamber of experiment, saw, in the\nnight-time, a progressive getting together of the fragments, until the\ncriminal became perfect, and glided out at the door.\n\nAnd here is a legend of deeper mystery still.\n\nThere was a merry party collected in a town in France, and amongst all\nthe gay lords and ladies there assembled, there was none who caused so\ngreat a sensation as a beautiful young lady, who danced, played, and\nsang in the most exquisite style. There were only two unaccountable\ncircumstances belonging to her: one was, that she never went to church\nor attended family prayers; the other, that she always wore a slender,\nblack velvet band or girdle round her waist. She was often asked about\nthese peculiarities, but she always evaded the interrogatories; and\nstill, by her amiable manners and beauty won all hearts. One evening, in\na dance, her partner saw an opportunity of pulling the loop of her\nlittle black girdle behind: it fell to the ground, and immediately the\nlady became pale as a sheet; then, gradually shrunk and shrunk, till at\nlength nothing was to be seen in her place but a small heap of grey\nashes.\n\nAnd what think you now, Evelyn?\n\nEV. I think your candle burned very blue, Astrophel, when you were\nporing over these midnight legends; yet, I believe, I may, by and by,\nexplain the story of your Lady of the Ashes;\u2014all, excepting the mystery\nof the sable girdle. But, methinks, you should not have stopped short of\nthe qualities by which we may recognise the _genus_ of these phantoms.\nThere was once, as I have heard, a ghost near Cirencester, which\nvanished in a very nice perfume, and a melodious twang; and Master\nLilly, therefore, concluded it to be a fairy: and Propertius, I know,\nwrites of another; and he decided, that the scent diffused on her\ndisappearance, proclaimed her to be a goddess! Glanville has set himself\nto argue upon, nay, demonstrate, all questions regarding materiality and\nimmateriality, and the nature of spirits; puzzling us with mathematical\ndiagrams, and occupying fifteen chapters on the nature of the witch of\nEndor: and Andrew Moreton, too, in his \u201cSecrets,\u201d comments, with\npedantic profanation, on the \u201cinfernal _paw-wawing_ of this condemned\ncreature.\u201d Coleridge, and even Sir Walter, who had a mighty love of\nlegends, propose a question, whether she was a ventriloquist or an\naristocratic fortune-teller, or an astrologer or a gipsy, imposing on\nthe credulity of Saul. And yet that same Sir Walter very shrewdly\nsuggested to Sir William Gell the _manufacture_ of a ghost, with a thin\nsheet of tin, painted white, so that by half a turn the spectre would\ninstantly vanish.\n\nCAST. A ghost, I believe, according to the rules of phantasy, ought to\nbe without matter or form, or indeed any sensible properties. Yet are\nvery serious tales related of guns bursting when fired at them, and\nswords broken by their contact, and of loud voices issuing from filmy\nphantoms through which the moonbeams are seen to glimmer. A spirit\nought, of course, to communicate with us in another way than that which\nwe know, and possess those ethereal faculties of creeping through chinks\nor keyholes, and of resuming its airy form, like the sylph of Belinda,\nwhen the \u201cglittering forfex\u201d had cut it in twain. An exquisite morceau\nof such a phantom just now flits across my memory. It is of two old\nladies dwelling in two border castles in Scotland. One of these dames\nwas visited by the spectre _bust_ of a man; and the other by the _lower\nhalf_ of him. Which had the better bargain, I know not, but I believe\u2014\n\nASTR. Nay, it were not difficult, lady, to overwhelm me with tales like\nyours\u2014the idle and unmeaning gossip of a winter\u2019s night: but there are\nmany spectral visitations so intimately associated with events, that the\nfaculty even of prophecy cannot be doubted. Bodine, as Burton writes, is\nfully satisfied that \u201cthese souls of men departed, _if_ corporeal, are\nof some shape, and that absolutely round, like sun and moone, because\nthat is the most perfect form: that they can assume other a\u00ebrial bodies,\nall manner of shapes at their pleasure, appear in what likeness they\nwill themselves: that they are most swift in motion, can pass many miles\nin an instant, and so likewise transform bodies of others into what form\nthey please, and, with admirable celerity, remove them from place to\nplace: that they can represent castles in the ayre, armies, spectrums,\nprodigies, and such strange objects to mortal men\u2019s eyes; cause smells,\nsavors, deceive all the senses; foretel future events, and do many\nstrange miracles.\u201d\n\nThen the eccentric Francis Grose has thus summed up many of their\nwondrous attributes:\u2014\n\n\u201cThe spirit of a person deceased is either commissioned to return for\nsome especial errand, such as the discovery of a murder, to procure\nrestitution of lands, or money unjustly withheld from an orphan or\nwidow: or, having committed some injustice whilst living, cannot rest\ntill that is redressed. Sometimes the occasion of spirits revisiting\nthis world is to inform their heir in what secret place or private\ndrawer in an old trunk they had hid the title-deeds of the estate, or\nwhere, in troublesome times, they had buried the money and plate. Some\nghosts of murdered persons, whose bodies have been secretly buried,\ncannot be at ease till their bones have been taken up and deposited in\nsacred ground, with all the rites of Christian burial.\u201d The ghost of\nHamlet\u2019s father walked on the platform at Elsineur, to incite his son to\nrevenge his murder; and many modern phantoms have enlivened the legends\nof our local histories, bent on the same mysterious errand.\n\nThe mythology of the ancients, and the fairy superstition of our own\nland, are also replete with legends of these apparitions. The rites of\nsepulture were essential for the repose of the manes. If the body was\nnot quietly entombed, the soul was wandering on the banks of Styx for\none hundred years, ere it was permitted Charon to ferry it across the\nriver. Thus spoke the shade of Patroclus to Achilles, in his dream:\n\n \u201cThou sleep\u2019st, Achilles, and Patroclus, erst\n Thy best belov\u2019d, in death forgotten lies.\n Haste, give me burial: I would pass the gates\n Of Hades, for the shadows of the dead\n Now drive me from their fellowship afar.\u201d\n\nAnd this is a prevailing sentiment among the North American Indians:\n\n\u201cThe bones of our countrymen lie uncovered, their bloody bed has not\nbeen washed clean, their spirits cry against us,\u2014they must be\nappeased.\u201d\n\nIn the letter of Pliny the Consul, to Sura, we learn that there was at\nAthens a house haunted by a chain-rattling ghost. Athenodorus, the\nphilosopher, hired the house, determined to quiet the restless spirit.\n\u201cWhen it grew towards evening, he ordered a couch to be prepared for him\nin the fore part of the house, and, after calling for a light, together\nwith his pencil and tablets, he directed all his people to retire. The\nfirst part of the night passed in usual silence, when at length the\nchains began to rattle. However he neither lifted up his eyes, nor laid\ndown his pencil, but diverted his observation by pursuing his studies\nwith greater earnestness. The noise increased, and advanced nearer, till\nit seemed at the door, and at last in the chamber. He looked up and saw\nthe ghost exactly in the manner it had been described to him\u2014it stood\nbefore him beckoning with the finger. Athenodorus made a sign with his\nhand that it should wait a little, and threw his eyes again upon his\npapers; but the ghost, still rattling his chains in his ears, he looked\nup and saw him beckoning him as before. Upon this he immediately arose,\nand, with the light in his hand, followed it. The spectre slowly stalked\nalong as if encumbered with his chains, and, turning into the area of\nthe house, suddenly vanished. Athenodorus, being thus deserted, made a\nmark with some grass and leaves where the spirit left him. The next day\nhe gave information to the magistrates, and advised them to order that\nspot to be dug up. This was accordingly done, and the skeleton of a man\nin chains was there found; for the body having lain a considerable time\nin the ground, was putrified, and had mouldered away from the fetters.\nThe bones, being collected together, were publicly buried; and thus,\nafter the ghost was appeased by the proper ceremonies, the house was\nhaunted no more.\u201d\n\nYet, not only to entreat the rites of sepulture, the phantom will walk\naccording to some law of those beings remote from the fellowship of\nhuman nature,\u2014it may be to obtain readmission to that earth from which\nit was, by some fairy spell, in exile.\n\nIn the wilds of Rob Roy\u2019s country, there is many a Highlander believing\nstill the traditions of the Daoine Shi, or Men of Peace: and among the\nlegends of Aberfoyle there is one phantom tale that is apropos to my\nillustrations.\n\nThere was one Master Robert Kirke. He was one evening taking his night\nwalk on a fairy hill, or dunshi, in the vicinity of his manse. On a\nsudden he fell to the ground, struck, as it appeared to many, by\napoplexy: the seers, however, believed it to be a trance inflicted on\nhim by the fairy people for thus invading the sacred bounds of their\nkingdom. After the interment, the phantom of the minister appeared to\none of his relatives, and desired him to go to Grahame of Duchray, his\ncousin, and assure him that he was not dead, but was at that time a\nprisoner in elf land, and the only moment in which the fairy charm could\nbe dissolved, was at the christening of his posthumous child. The\ncounter-spell was this: that Grahame should be present at the baptism,\nholding a dish in his hand, and that when the infant was brought, he\nshould throw the dish over the phantom; the appearance of which at that\nmoment was faithfully promised.\n\nWhen the child was at the font, and while the guests were seated, the\napparition sat with them at the table; but fear came upon the Gr\u00e6me at\nthis strange glamourie: he forgot the solemn injunction, and it is\nbelieved that Mr. Kirke, to this day, \u201cdrees his weird in fairy land.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n PROPHECY OF SPECTRES.\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019ll take the ghost\u2019s word for a thousand pound.\u201d\n HAMLET.\n\nEV. These are very meagre spectres, Astrophel, or accomplices, as the\nlawyer would say, _after_ the fact.\n\nASTR. I have reserved Prophecies for this evening. In the earliest\nprofane records of our globe, we read of the frequent visitations of\nprophetic phantoms. Listen, Evelyn, to a story of your own Pliny;\u2014the\nlegend of Curtius Rufus. When he was in low circumstances, and unknown\nin the world, he attended the governor of Africa into that province. One\nevening, as he was walking in the public portico, he was extremely\nsurprised with the apparition of a woman, whose figure and beauty were\nmore than human. She told him she was the tutelar power who presided\nover Africa, and was come to inform him of the future events of his\nlife: that he should go back to Rome, where he should be raised to the\nhighest honours, should return to that province invested with the\nproconsular dignity, and there should die. Upon his arrival at Carthage,\nas he was coming out of the ship, the same figure accosted him upon the\nshore. It is certain, at least, that being seized with a fit of illness,\nthough there were no symptoms in his case that led his attendants to\ndespair, he instantly gave up all hope of recovery, and this prediction\nwas in all its points accomplished.\n\nThe shade of Romulus appeared to Julius Proculus, a patrician,\nforetelling the splendour of Rome. The fate of the battle of Philippi\nwas shown to Brutus in his tent, by the evil spirit of C\u00e6sar; and\nCassius also saw the phantom of Julius on his horse, prepared to strike\nhim, shortly before his suicide. In the Talmud we read of the\nannouncement of the Rabbi Samuel\u2019s death to two of his friends, six\nhundred miles off. Then, the host of legends in that \u2018treasure-booke\u2019 of\nmystery, \u201cWanley\u2019s Wonders;\u201d the visions of Dion; of Alexander; of\nCrescentius; of the Pope\u2019s legate at the Council of Trent; of Cassius\nSeverus of Parma; and myriads of analogies to these; nay, may we not\nbelieve that the Grecian bards wrote fragments of real history, when\nPatroclus foretels the death of Hector, Hector that of Achilles, and\nMezentius of Orodes, or when \u0152dipus predicts the lofty fate of his\nfamily to Theseus?\n\nBut leave we the olden classics for the proofs of later ages. In the\npine-forests of Germany, and in wild Caledonia, the legends of spirits\nand shadows abound in the gossip of the old crones, both in the hut of\nthe jager and the sheiling of the Highland peasant.\n\nThe _Taisch_ (like the _Bodach Glas_ of Fergus Mac Ivor,) murmurs the\nprophecy of death, in the voice of the _Taishtar_, to one about to die;\nand the _Wraith_, _Swarth_, _Waft_, or _Death-Fetch_, appears in the\n_Eid\u014dlon_, or likeness, of the person so early doomed, to some loved\nfriend of the party, or sounds of wailing and prophetic voices scream\nand murmur in the mountain-blast. The wild romances of Ossian, and the\nshadowy mysteries so brightly illustrated in the poesy of the \u201cLay,\u201d the\n\u201cLady of the Lake,\u201d and \u201cMarmion,\u201d prove how deeply the common mind of\nScotland leans to her mysteries; how devoutly her seers foretell a doom.\nThe evidence of Martin, the historian of the Western Isles, is clear and\ndecisive testimony of the possession of a faculty of foresight; and in\nthe reflecting minds of many sages, who seek not to explain it by the\nterm _coincidence_, or to impute the vision to mere national\nsuperstition. Indeed, in their records we have rules noted down, by\nwhich the seer may overcome the imperfections of his vision. If this be\nfilmy or indistinct, the cloak or plaid must be turned, and the sight is\nclear; but then the fated seer is often presented with _his own_ wraith.\n\nIn Aubrey\u2019s \u201cMiscellanies\u201d we read how Sir Richard Napier, immediately\nbefore his death, was journeying from Bedfordshire to Berks, and saw his\nown apparition lying stark and stiff on the bed; how Lady Diana Rich,\nthe Earl of Holland\u2019s daughter, was met by her death-fetch in the garden\nat Kensington, a month ere she died of small-pox;\u2014and listen to this\nlegend of Aventine.\n\n\u201cThe emperor Henry went down through the Strudel: in another vessel was\nBruno, bishop of Wurtzberg, the emperor\u2019s kinsman. There sat upon a\nrock, that projected out of the water, a man blacker than a Moor, of a\nhorrible aspect, terrible to all who beheld it, who cried out, and said\nto Bishop Bruno, \u2018Hear! hear! Bishop: I am thine evil spirit; thou art\nmine own; go where thou wilt, thou shalt be mine: yet, now will I do\nnought to thee, but soon shalt thou see me again.\u2019 The bishop crossed\nand blessed himself; but the holy sign was powerless. At Posenbeis,\nwhere dwelt the Lady Richlita of Ebersberg, the floor of the\nbanqueting-room fell, in the evening: it was the death-fall of the\nbishop.\u201d\n\nAs the protector Seymour was walking with his duchess, at their country\nseat, they perceived a spectral bloody hand thrust forth from a wall;\nand he was soon after beheaded.\n\nIt is recorded, that, like Julius C\u00e6sar, James of Scotland had three\nwarnings. The saintly man in Lithgow palace, and another phantom, in\nJedburgh, warned King James of his fate: the latter wrote a Latin\ncouplet on the mantel-piece in the hall: had he read it wisely, he had\nnot died at Flodden.\n\nThe demon, or the guardian angel of Socrates, was also a prophetic\nmentor\u2014not only to the sage himself, but even to his companions in his\npresence; and the slighting of its counsel often brought regret to those\nwho were the subjects of its warning.\n\nIn the minds of Xenophon and Plato its influence was devoutly believed,\nand from the hive of the Attic bee I steal this honied morsel:\u2014\u201cOne\nTimarchus, a noble Athenian, being at dinner in company with Socrates,\nhe rose up to go away, which Socrates observing, bade him sit down\nagain, for, said he, the demon has just now given me the accustomed\nsign. Some little time after, Timarchus offered again to be gone, and\nSocrates once more stopped him, saying, he had the same sign repeated to\nhim. At length, when Socrates was earnest in discourse, and did not mind\nhim, Timarchus stole away; and, in a few minutes after, committed a\nmurder, for which, being carried to execution, his last words were,\n\u2018That he had come to that untimely end for not obeying the demon of\nSocrates.\u2019\u201d\n\nWhen Ben Jonson was sojourning at Hawthornden, he told Mr. Drummond of\nhis own prophetic vision, that, \u201cabout the time of the plague in London,\nbeing in the country at Sir Robert Cotton\u2019s house, with old Camden, he\nsaw, in a vision, his eldest son, then a young child, and at London,\nappear unto him, with the mark of a bloody cross on his forehead, as if\nit had been cut with a sword; at which, amazed, he prayed unto God; and\nin the morning, he came to Mr. Camden\u2019s chamber, to tell him, who\npersuaded him it was but an apprehension, at which he should not be\ndejected. In the mean time, there came letters from his wife, of the\ndeath of that boy in the plague. He appeared to him of a manly shape,\nand of that growth he thinks he shall be at the resurrection.\u201d\n\nFrom Walton\u2019s Lives I select the following fragment: it is a vision of\nDoctor Donne, the metaphysician, whose wife died after the birth of a\ndead child. \u201cSir Robert (Drury) returned about an hour afterwards. He\nfound his friend in a state of extasy, and so altered in his\ncountenance, that he could not look upon him without amazement. The\ndoctor was not able for some time to answer the question, what had\nbefallen him; but, after a long and perplexed pause, at last said, \u2018I\nhave seen a dreadful vision since I last saw you. I have seen my dear\nwife pass twice by me through this room, with her hair hanging about her\nshoulders, and a dead child in her arms: this I have seen since I saw\nyou.\u2019 To which Sir Robert answered, \u2018Sure, Sir, you have slept since I\nwent out, and this is the result of some melancholy dream, which I\ndesire you to forget, for you are now awake.\u2019 Donne replied, \u2018I cannot\nbe more sure that I now live, than that I have not slept since I saw\nyou; and am as sure, that at her second appearing, she stopped, looked\nme in the face, and vanished.\u2019\u201d\n\nThere was a _promise_ by Lord Tyrone to Lady Beresford of a visitation\nfrom the tomb. Even when the phantom appeared to her in the night, the\nlady expressed her diffidence in its reality, but it placed a mark upon\nher wrist, and adjusted her bed-curtains in some supernatural fashion,\nand even wrote something in her pocket-book: so that with earnestness\nshe related to her husband in the morning this impressive vision; and it\nwas not long ere missives came, which by announcing the death of Lord\nTyrone proved the spectre prophetic.\n\nThe tragedian John Palmer died on the stage at Liverpool. At the same\nhour and minute, a shopman in London, sleeping under a counter, saw\ndistinctly his shade glide through the shop, open the door, and pop into\nthe street. This, an hour or two after, he mentioned very coolly, as if\nMr. Palmer himself had been there.\n\nCardan saw, on the ring-finger of his right hand, the mark of a bloody\nsword, and heard at the same time a voice which bade him go directly to\nMilan. The redness progressively increased until midnight: the mark then\nfaded gradually, and disappeared. At that midnight hour his son was\nbeheaded at Milan.\n\nIt was told by Knowles, the governor of Lord Roscommon when a boy, that\nyoung Wentworth Dillon was one day seized with a mood of the wildest\neccentricity, contrary to his usual disposition. On a sudden he\nexclaimed, \u201cMy father is dead!\u201d And soon after missives came from\nIreland to announce the fact.\n\nThe father of Doctor Blomberg, clerk of the closet to George IV., was\ncaptain in an army serving in America. We are told by Doctor Rudge, that\nsix officers, three hundred miles from his position, were visited after\ndinner by this modern Banquo, who sat down in a vacant chair. One said\nto him, \u201cBlomberg, are you mad?\u201d He rose in silence, and slowly glided\nout at the door. He was slain on that day and hour.\n\nIn the \u201cDiary of a Physician\u201d (an embellished record of facts), we read\nthe story of the spectre-smitten Mr. M\u2014\u2014, whose leisure hours were\npassed in the perusal of legends of diablerie and witchcraft. One\nevening, when his brain was excited by champagne, he returned to his\nrooms, and saw a dear friend in his chair; and this friend had died\nsuddenly, and was at that moment _laid out_ in his chamber;\u2014a\ncombination of horrors so unexpected and intense, that monomania was the\nresult.\n\nMay I also recount to you this vision from Moore\u2019s Life of Byron? \u201cLord\nByron used sometimes to mention a strange story which the commander of\nthe packet, Captain Kidd, related to him on the passage. This officer\nstated, that being asleep one night in his berth, he was awakened by the\npressure of something heavy on his limbs, and, there being a faint light\nin the room, could see as he thought distinctly the figure of his\nbrother, who was at that time in the same service in the East Indies,\ndressed in his uniform, and stretched across the bed. Concluding it to\nbe an illusion of the senses, he shut his eyes and made an effort to\nsleep. But still the same pressure continued, and still as often as he\nventured to take another look, he saw the figure lying across him in the\nsame position. To add to the wonder, on pulling his hand forth to touch\nthis form, he found the uniform, in which it appeared to be dressed,\n_dripping wet_. On the entrance of one of his brother officers, to whom\nhe called out in alarm, the apparition vanished; but in a few months\nafter, he received the startling intelligence, that on that night his\nbrother had been drowned in the Indian seas. Of the supernatural\ncharacter of this appearance Captain Kidd himself did not appear to have\nthe slightest doubt.\u201d\n\nFrom Dr. Pritchard, I quote this fragment:\u2014\u201cA maid-servant, who lived\nin the house of an elderly lady, some years since deceased, had risen,\nearly on a winter\u2019s morning, and was employed in washing by candle-light\nthe entry of the house; when she was greatly surprised at seeing her\nmistress, who was then in a precarious state of health, coming down\nstairs in her night dress. The passage being narrow, she rose up to let\nher mistress pass, which the latter did with a hasty step, and walked\ninto the street, appearing, to the terrified imagination of the girl, to\npass through the door without opening it. The servant related the\ncircumstance to the son and daughter of the lady, as soon as they came\ndown stairs, who desired her to conceal it from their mother, and\nanxiously waited for her appearance. The old lady entered the room,\nwhile they were talking of the incident, but appeared languid and\nunwell, and complained of having been disturbed by an alarming dream.\nShe had dreamed that a dog had pursued her from her chamber _down the\nstaircase, and along the entry, and that she was obliged to take refuge\nin the streets_.\u201d\n\nIn the manuscripts of Lady Fanshawe, how evident is the fact of spectral\nprophecy! Sir Richard Fanshawe and his lady were sleeping in a baronial\ncastle in Ireland, surrounded by a moat. At midnight she was awoke by a\nghostly and fearful screaming; and, gleaming before the window in the\npale moonlight, a female spectre hovered, her light auburn hair\ndishevelled over her shoulders. While the lady looked in mute\nastonishment, the spectre vanished, uttering two distinct shrieks. Her\nterrific story was told in the morning to her host, who evinced no\nwonder at the mystery, \u201cIndeed,\u201d quoth he, \u201cI expected this. This was\nthe prophetic phantom of our house, the spectre of a lady wedded to an\nancestor, and drowned by him in the moat from false notions of dignity,\nbecause she was not of noble blood. Since this expiation, the phantom\nappears before every death of my near relations, and one of these died\nlast night in my castle.\u201d\u2014Here may be the prototype of the \u201cWhite Lady\nof Avenel.\u201d\n\nAmong the most exalted families we have other confident records of the\nrecurrence of prophetic phantoms, antecedent to great events. A spectre\nof this kind formed a part of the household establishment of the\nMacleans. During the peninsular war, at the moment that the head of the\nclan died at Lisbon, this wraith was seen to ride screaming along the\nshore in Scotland.\n\nArise Evans, in a 12mo. tract, \u201csold at his house in Long Alley in\nBlackfriars in 1653,\u201d entitled \u201cAn Echo from Heaven,\u201d foretold the\nrestoration of Charles II.; and his true prophecy was based on the\nvision of a young face with a crown on, appearing after the shades of\nFairfax and of Cromwell.\n\nThere is an incident in Roman history so impressive in its catastrophe,\nso exact in its periods, that few, I think, will deny the inspiration.\nAt the moment that Stephanus stabbed Domitian in his palace at Rome, the\nphilosopher Apollonius Tyaneus, in his school at Ephesus, exclaimed:\n\u201cCourage, Stephanus! strike the tyrant home!\u201d and a minute after, _when\nParthenius completed this homicide_, he added, \u201che suffers for his\ncrimes\u2014he dies.\u201d\n\nI have slightly sketched these illustrations, and I presume to term them\nprophecies. There are others so complex, yet so complete in every part,\nas to convert, I might hope, even the unbelief of Evelyn. To the\nrelations of Sir Walter and Dr. Abercrombie, I will add one from\nMoreton, in his \u201cEssay on Apparitions:\u201d \u201cThe Reverend D. Scott, of Broad\nStreet, was sitting alone in his study. On a sudden the phantom of an\nold gentleman, dressed in a black velvet gown, and full bottom wig,\nentered, and sat himself down in a chair opposite to the doctor. The\nvisitor informed him of a dilemma in which his grandson, who lived in\nthe west country, was placed, by the suit of his nephew for the recovery\nof an estate. This suit would be successful, unless a deed of conveyance\nwas found, which had been hidden in an old chest in a loft of the house.\nOn his arrival at this house, he learned that his grandson had dreamed\nof this visit, and that his grandfather was coming to aid him in the\nsearch. The deed was found in a false bottom of the old chest, as the\nvision had promised.\u201d\n\nIn a letter of Philip, the second Earl of Chesterfield, is told the\nfollowing strange story, which, although not a prophecy, cannot be\nwithin the pale of our philosophy. \u201cOn a morning in 1652, the earl saw a\nthing in white, like a standing sheet, within a yard of his bedside. He\nattempted to catch it, but it slid to the foot of the bed, and he saw it\nno more. His thoughts turned to his lady, who was then at Networth, with\nher father, the Earl of Northumberland. On his arrival at Networth, a\nfootman met him on the stairs, with a packet directed to him from his\nwife, whom he found with Lady Essex her sister, and Mrs. Ramsey. He was\nasked why he returned so suddenly. He told his motive; and on perusing\nthe letters in the packet, he found that his lady had written to him\nrequesting his return, for she had seen a thing in white, with a black\nface, by her bedside. These apparitions were seen by the earl and\ncountess, _at the same moment_, when they were forty miles asunder.\u201d\n\nThe miraculous spirit which the influence of Joan of Arc infused into\nthe desponding hearts of the French army, is writ on the page of\nhistory. Before her proposition for the inauguration of Charles VII. at\nRheims, she heard a celestial voice in her prayer, \u201cFille, va, va! je\nseray \u00e0 ton ayde\u2014va!\u201d and her revelation of secrets to the king, which\nhe thought were locked within his own bosom, raised in the court\nimplicit belief in her inspiration.\n\nAnd now, Evelyn, I ask you,\n\n \u201cCan such things be,\n And overcome us like a summer cloud,\n Without our special wonder?\u201d\u2014\u2014\n\nEre you smile at my phantasie, and overwhelm me with doubts and\nsolutions, I pr\u2019ythee let me counsel your philosophy. Dig to a certain\ndepth in the field of science, and you may find the roots and the gold\ndust of knowledge: penetrate deeper, and you will strike against the\ngranite rock, on which rest the cold and profitless reasonings of the\nsceptic.\n\nCAST. You look on me, Astrophel, as on a bending proselyte. Yet, sooth\nto tell, it may be difficult to convert me, although I am half won to\nromance already by the witch-thoughts of him who gilded the science of\nthe heart and mind, with all the iridescent charm of poesy; an\n_unprofessing_ philosopher, yet with marvellous insight of human\nhearts,\u2014my own loved Shakspere. And you listen to my Lord Lyttelton, he\nwill tell you, in his \u201cDialogues of the Dead,\u201d that \u201cin the annihilation\nof our globe, were Shakspere\u2019s works preserved, the whole science of\nman\u2019s nature might still be read therein.\u201d And so beautifully are his\nsketches of the heart and the fancy blended withal, that we hang with\nequal delight on the mystic philosophy of Hamlet, the witchcraft of Mab,\nand Ariel, and Oberon, with their golden wreaths of gay blossoms, as on\nthe dying visions of Katherine, as pure and holy as the\nvesper-breathings of a novice. Yet the shade of superstition never\ndarkened the brow of Shakspere. Therefore, plume not yourself on your\nhope of conquest, Astrophel: Evelyn may win me yet. Philosophy may frown\non the visions of an enthusiast, while she doth grace her pages with a\npoet\u2019s dream. But you will not wear the willow, Astrophel: there is a\nbeam of pity for you in the eyes of yon pensive Ida.\n\nIDA. You are a witch, Castaly. Yet _I_ have as little faith in the\nquaint stories of Astrophel. A mystery must be purified and chastened by\nsacred solemnity, ere it may be blended with the contemplation of holy\nstudy. And yet there is an arch voluptuary, Boccacio, the coryph\u00e6us of a\nloose band of novelists, who has stained a volume by his profane union\nof holiness and passion. The scenes of his Decameron are played amidst\nthe raging of the plague, by flaunting youths and maidens, but that\nmoment arisen from the solemnity of a cathedral prayer!\n\nASTR. You will call up the shade of Valdarfar, Ida, that idol of the\nRoxburghe club, and printer of the Decameron\u2014\u2014\n\nIDA. If he appear, he shall vanish at a word, Astrophel. Yet we may not\nlightly yield the influence of special visitations, even in our own\ndays, when solemn belief is _chastened by holy motives_, and becomes the\nspring of living waters. Even the taint of superstition may be almost\nsanctified on such a plea; and Baxter may be forgiven half his credulity\nwhen he wrote his \u201cSaints\u2019 Rest,\u201d and the \u201cEssay on Apparitions,\u201d to\nconvert the sceptics of London, who, in the dearth of signs and wonders,\nexpressed their willingness to believe the soul\u2019s immortality, _if_ they\nhad proofs of ghostly visitations.\n\n_I_ will myself even quote a mystery, (I believe recorded in Sandys\u2019s\nOvid,) for the sake of the moral which it bears. It is the legend of\n\u201cThe Room of the Ladyes Figure:\u201d whether it be a tale of Bavaria, or a\nmere paraphrase from the Saxon Sabinus, I know not.\n\nThis is the story of Otto, a Bavarian gentleman, of passionate nature,\nmourning for his wife. On one of his visits to her tomb, a mournful\nvoice, which murmured, \u201cA blessed evening, sir!\u201d came o\u2019er his ear; and\nwhile his eyes fell on the form of a young chorister, he placed a letter\nin his hands, and vanished. His wonder was extreme, while he read this\nmysterious despatch, which was addressed \u201cTo my dear husband, who\nsorrows for his wife,\u201d and signed, \u201cThis, with a warm hand, from the\nliving Bertha,\u201d and appointing an interview in the public walk. Thither,\non a beautiful evening, sped the Bavarian, and there, among the crowd,\nsat a lady covered by a veil. With a trembling voice he whispered\n\u201cBertha,\u201d when she arose, and, with her warm and living arm on his,\nreturned to his once desolate home. There were odd thoughts, surmises,\nand wonderings, passing among the friends of Otto, and suspicions of a\nmock funeral and a solemn cheat; but all subsided as time stole over,\nand their wedded life was without a cloud: until a paroxysm of his rage\none fatal day was vented on the lady, who cried, \u201cThis to me! what if\nthe world knew all!\u201d\u2014with this broken sentence she vanished from the\nroom. In her chamber, whither the search led, erect, as it were gazing\non the fire, her form stood; but when they looked on it in front, there\nwas a headless hood, and the clothes were standing as if enveloping a\nform, but no _body_ was there! Need I say, that a thrill of horror crept\nthrough all at the mystery, and a fear at the approach of Otto, who,\nthough deeply penitent, was deserted by all but a graceless reprobate,\nhis companion, and his almoner to many a stranger, who knew not the\nunhallowed source of bounty?\n\n_That_ belief cannot be an error, which associates divine thoughts with\nthe events of human life. I remember, as I was roaming over the wild\nregion of Snowdonia, we sat above the valley and the lakes of Nant\nGwinant, on which the red ridge of Clwd Coch threw a broad and purple\nshadow, while over Moel Elion and Myneth Mawr, the sun was bathed in a\nflood of crimson light. The Welsh guide was looking down in deep thought\non Llyn Gwinant; and, with a tear in his eye, he told us a pathetic\nstory of two young pedestrians, who were benighted among the mountains,\non their ascent from Beddgelert. They had parted company in the gloom of\nthe evening, and each was alone in a desert. On a sudden, the voice of\none of them was distinctly heard by the other, in the direction of the\ngorge which bounds the pass of Llanberis, as if encouraging him to\nproceed. The wanderer followed its sound, and at length escaped from\nthis labyrinth of rocks, and arrived safely at Capel Currig. In the\nmorning, his friend\u2019s body was found lying far behind the spot where the\nphantom voice was first heard, and _away from the course of their\nroute_. Was this a special spirit, a solemn instance of friendship after\ndeath, as if the phantom had been endowed with supernatural power, and\nbecome the guardian angel of his friend; or the special whisper of the\nDeity in the ear of the living? A belief in this spiritual visitation is\noften the consolation of pure Christianity, for \u201cthe shadow of God is\nlight!\u201d With some the hope of heaven rests on it; and holy men have\nthought, that the presence of a spirit may even sanctify the being which\nit approaches with an emanation of its own holiness. Nay, do we not\nwitness a blessing like this in the common walks of life; as in that\nbeautiful story (told by the Bishop of Gloucester) of the vision of her\ndead mother, by the daughter of Sir James Lee, in 1662?\n\nIs not the effect of these visitations, to a chastened mind, ever\nfraught with good? It may be merely a wisdom or a virtue in decision; as\nwhen my Lord Herbert, of Cherbury, prayed to God to declare whether he\nshould publish his book \u201cDe Veritate;\u201d he heard a gentle voice from\nheaven, which answered his prayer, with a solemn approval of his design.\nIt may be the checking of our pride of life, or our self-glory for\nsuccess; a divine lesson that may counsel us against worldly wisdom, in\nthis golden precept, \u201cSeek to be admired by angels rather than by men.\u201d\nSo that complete _conversion_ may follow the vision of a spirit.\nDoddridge has given us the stories of Colonel Gardiner and the Rev.\nVincent Perronet; and in the \u201cBaronii Annales\u201d we read of Ticinus, a\ndeparted friend of Michael Mercator, then a profane student in\nphilosophy, who, according to a preconcerted promise, appeared to him at\nthe moment that he died, afar off in Florence. The vision so alarmed his\nconscience, that he at once became a devout student in divinity.\n\nIn the city of Nantes, as we see it written by William of Malmsbury, in\nthe twelfth century, dwelt two young ecclesiastics. Between them was a\nsolemn compact, that within thirty days after the death of either, his\nshade should appear, sleeping or waking, to the survivor, to declare if\nthe true psychology was the doctrine of Plato, or of the Epicureans; if\nthe soul survived the body, or vanished into air. The shade appeared\nlike one dying, while the spirit passeth away; and discoursing, like the\nghost of Hamlet\u2019s father, of the pains of infernal punishments,\nstretched forth his ulcerous arm, and asked if \u201cit seemed as light;\u201d\nthen, dropping the caustic humour from his arm on the temples of the\nliving witness, which were corroded by the drop, he warned him of the\nsame penalties if he entered not into holy orders, in the city of\nRennes. This solemn warning worked his conversion, and he became a pious\nand exemplary devotee, under the holy wings of Saint Melanius.\n\nIn these instances, is not the special influence of the Deity evident?\nand why will our profane wisdom still draw us from our leaning to this\nholy creed, causing us to \u201cforsake the fountains of living water, and\nhew out unto ourselves broken cisterns that can hold no water?\u201d\n\nHow awfully beautiful is the Mosaic picture of the first mortal\ncommunion with the Creator, when the vision of God was heard by Adam and\nEve, walking in the garden in the cool of the day; or, when the Deity\nappeared to Abraham and to Moses, and his word came to Manoah, and to\nNoah, with the blessings of a promise; or, when his angels of light\ndescended to console, and to relieve from chains and from fire; or, when\nthe angel of the Lord first appears in the vision to Cornelius; and the\ntrance, or rather the counterpart of the vision, comes over St. Peter,\nat Joppa; and the arrival of the men, sent by the centurion, confirms\nthe miracle: and then, the last sublime revealings of the Apocalypse.\nYou will not call it presumption, Evelyn, that I adduce these holy\nrecords to confirm our modern faith; and ask you, why philosophy will\nyet chain our thoughts to earth, and affirm our visions to be a\nmeaningless phantasy?\n\n\n\n\n ILLUSION OF SPECTRES.\n\n\n \u201cMore strange than true. I never may believe\n These antique fables.\u201d\n MIDSUMMER NIGHT\u2019S DREAM.\n\nEV. Your holy thoughts, fair Ida, are but an echo of my own. The grand\ncauses and awful judgments of the inspired \u00e6ras of the world prove the\ntruth by the _necessity_ of the miracles, not only in answer to the\nPharisees and Sadducees, who _required a sign_, but even before the eyes\nof the early disciples, whose apathetic hearts soon forgot the miracles,\nand their divine Master himself; for, as he was walking on the sea, \u201cat\nthe fourth watch, they thought he was a spirit.\u201d\n\nI would fain, however, adopt the precept of Lord Bacon, to waive\ntheology in my discussions and my illustrations, because I am unwilling\nto blend the sacred truths of spiritual futurity with arguments on the\nimperfection of material existence.\n\nIn the abstract spiritual evidence of all modern superstition, I have\nlittle faith. These records are scarcely more to be confided in than\nfairy tales, or fictions like those of many antique sages: as the\nrabbins, that \u201cthe cherubim are the wisest, the seraphim the most\namiable, of angels;\u201d or of the visionary Jew of Burgundy, whom, in 1641,\nJohn Evelyn spoke with in Holland,\u2014\u201cHe told me that, when the Messias\ncame, all the ships, barkes, and vessels of Holland should, by the\npowere of certaine strange whirle winds, be loosed from their ankers, to\nconvey their brethren and tribes to the holy citty.\u201d Or even that of\nMelancthon, that his sable majesty once appeared to his own aunt in the\nshape of her husband, and grasping her hand, so scorched and shrivelled\nit, that it remained black ever after. These are fair samples of\ncredulity.\n\nYou will call me presumptuous, but, believe me, Astrophel, it is\nsuperstition which is presumptuous and positive, and not philosophy; for\ncredulity believes on profane tradition, or the mere assertion of a\nmortal. But the glory of philosophy is humility; for they who, like\nNewton, and Playfair, and Wollaston, and Davy, look deeply into the\nwonder and beauty of creation, will be ever humbled by the contemplation\nof their own being,\u2014an atom of the universe. A philosopher cannot be\nproud; for, like Socrates, he confesses his ignorance, because he is\never searching for truth. He cannot be a sceptic; for when he has dived\ninto the deeps of science, his thoughts will ascend the more toward the\nDeity: he has grasped all that science can afford him, and there is\nnothing left for his mighty mind but divine things and holy hopes.\nPhilosophy is not confident either, because she ever waits for more\nexperience and more weight of testimony.\n\nHow often, Astrophel, must we be deceived, like children, by distance,\nuntil experience teaches us truth. By this we know that the turrets of\ndistant towers are _high_, yet they dwindle in our sight to the mere\nvanishing point, _as the child believes them_. Such is the power of\ndemonstration.\n\nThe ancient polytheists could not be other than idolaters and believers\nin prophecy. The rabbins were schooled, in addition to the books of\nMoses, in those of Zoroaster, in the Talmud, which was the magic volume\nof the Jews, and the Takurni, or Persian Almanac, the annual expositor\nof natural and judicial astrology in the clime of the sun.\n\nThe sages who lived immediately after the light of Christianity had been\nshed over the Holy Land, had not forgotten the miracles wrought in the\nholy city; but they profaned Omnipotence by making them purposeless.\n\nSuperstition then formed a part of the national creed: even a mere word,\nas \u201cEpidamnum,\u201d they dreaded to pronounce, as it was of such awful\nimport; and credulity and blind faith in the prophetic truth of omens\nand oracles prevailed. We read in Montfaucon, that twelve hundred\nbelieved in this miracle of Virgil:\n\n \u201cCaptus a Romanis _invisibiliter_ exiit, ivitque Neapolim:\u201d\n\nthat he rendered himself _invisible_ to the Romans and escaped to\nNaples. The influence of this blind infatuation was the spring of many\nactions, which, like the daring of the Indian fatalist in battle, were\nvaunted as deeds of heroic self-martyrdom.\n\nMarcus Curtius, the trembling of the earth having opened a chasm in the\nRoman forum, leaped into it on horseback, when the soothsayers declared\nit would not close until the most valuable thing in the city was flung\ninto it. And the two Decii offered themselves as the willing sacrifice,\nto ensure a victory for their country,\u2014one in the war with the Latins,\nthe other in that of the Etrurians and Umbrians.\n\nAristotle and Galen were exceptions. It is true, that Socrates believed\nhimself under the influence of a demon, a sort of delegate from the\nDeity,\u2014indeed, that God willed his death; for when his friend pressed\nhim on his trial to compose his defence, he answered thus:\u2014\u201cThe truth\nis, I was twice going about to make my apology, but was twice withheld\nby my demon.\u201d But remember, Astrophel, the Greek word which the\nphilosopher employed, \u03c4\u00f2 \u03b4\u03b1\u03b9\u03bc\u00f3\u03bd\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd, and you will rather confess that it\nimplies the _Deity_, as if some divine inspiration taught him; or\nperchance, as some of his commentators believe, this invisible monitor\nwas merely the impersonation of the faculty of judgment, and of that\ndeep knowledge and forethought with which his mind was fraught.\n\nCicero, too, is said to have written arguments to prove the divine\norigin of the oracle of Delphi; but it is well believed by classics,\nthat Addison has, in his letter in the Spectator, mistaken Cicero for\nCato.\n\nRecollect, Astrophel, this is an old point with us, when we were reading\nthe subject of _Auguries_, in his book, \u201cDe Divinatione,\u201d in which he\nwonders \u201cthat one soothsayer can look another in the face without\nlaughing;\u201d and you remember Lucian ridicules ghost-seeing as the whim of\nimagination. You have cited Pliny. True,\u2014Pliny is an interesting\nstory-teller; although he warps somewhat the phantoms of his dreams. But\nwhat is the first sentence of his letter to Sura?\u2014\u201cI am very desirous\nto know your opinion concerning spectres; whether you believe them to\nhave a real existence, and are a sort of divinities, or are only the\nvisionary impressions of a terrified imagination.\u201d\n\nAnd what did Johnson confess?\u2014That \u201cthis is a question, which, after\nfive thousand years, is still undecided; a question, whether in theology\nor philosophy, one of the most important that can come before the human\nunderstanding.\u201d So you see the vaunted creed of Johnson was at least\nlike the coffin of Mahomet, poised between the affirmative and negative\nof the proposition. The sage was a strict spiritualist, and, as Boswell\nsays, \u201cwished for more evidence of spirit in opposition to materialism.\u201d\nOn some points he was also mighty superstitious, and constantly affirmed\nhis conviction that he should himself run mad. This augury failed, and\ntherefore the prophetic nature of second sight needs more convincing\nproof than the creed of Johnson.\u2014In his own words, \u201cForesight is not\nprescience.\u201d\n\nAs to the second sight of Caledon, he confesses that, although in his\njourney he searched diligently, he saw but one seer, and he was grossly\nignorant, as indeed they usually are. \u201cHe came away only _willing_ to\nbelieve;\u201d the learned and literary even in the far Hebrides, especially\nthe clergy, being altogether sceptics.\n\nIn the consideration of this question in the study of psychology, it has\nbeen an error to conclude that, because in some certain works arguments\nare adduced by imaginary characters, in support of the appearance of\ndeparted spirits: such was the positive belief of their authors. If\nthen, for instance, the arguments of Imlac, in Rasselas, which aim at\nthe proof of spectral reality, or rather the appearance of departed\nbeings, be adduced as an evidence of Johnson\u2019s _own_ belief, I might\nobserve that it were equally rational to identify the minds or\ndispositions of Massinger and Sir Giles Overreach,\u2014of Shakspere and\nIago.\n\nLike the Catholic priesthood, who rule the ignorant by the force of\nsuperstition, leaders have been induced to profess the possession of\nthis faculty, to overawe their proselytes by their own deeper knowledge;\nas Numa vaunted his intimacy with the nymph Egeria at her fountain.\n\nFor this purpose, even the Corsican general, Pascal Paoli, assumed the\nprofession of a seer, and the mystery of his prescience was on the lips\nof every Corsican. When Boswell asked, if the fulfilments of his\nprophecies were frequent, a Corsican grasped a bundle of his hair, and\nwhispered, \u201cTante, tante, signore!\u201d\n\nBut I will not play the dullard, Astrophel, while you, with your\nlegendary romance, charm the listening ears of ladyes fayre. I will have\nmy turn of story-telling, (avoiding the myriads of queer tales, told by\nsuperstitious and unlettered visionaries, on the look out for marvels,\nby servant maids and rustics, and silly people, the chief actors in\nghost stories). And therefore, in the face of these negative\nconclusions, even of Johnson, hear one unparalleled story, culled from\nthe rich treasury of Master Aubrey\u2019s \u201cMiscellanies.\u201d It was of an earl\nof Caithness, who, desirous of ascertaining the distance of a vessel\nwhich was laden with wine for his cellars, proposed a question to a\nseer. The answer was, \u201cAt the distance of four hour\u2019s sail.\u201d It may be\nsome doubt was expressed of the truth of this oracle; for, to prove his\ngift of clairvoyance, he laid before the earl the cap of a seaman in the\nship, which he had that moment taken off his head. The vessel duly\narrived, and lo! a sailor claimed the cap in the seer\u2019s hand, affirming\nthat, four hours before, it had been blown from his head by the gale. Is\nnot this the very acme of effrontery?\n\nCarolan, the inspired bard of Erin, confessed he could not compose a\nplanxty for a certain lady of Sligo, even when he made an effort to\ncelebrate her wondrous beauty; and one day in despair he threw away his\nharp and fell into a lament, that some evil genius was hovering over\nhim: from his harp strings, (in contrast with those of Anacreon,) he\ncould sweep only a mournful music, and he thence _prophesied_, and that\ntruly, the death of the lady within the year.\n\nDubuison, a dentist of Edinburgh, on the day preceding the death of\nPresident Blair, met him in the street, and was addressed by the\npresident with a _peculiar_ expression. On the day before the death of\nLord Melville, the dentist was met by him exactly on the same spot, and\naccosted by my lord in the very same words. On the death of Lord\nMelville, Dubuison exclaimed that he should be the third. He became\nimmediately indisposed, and died within an hour.\n\nIn the \u201cMiscellanies\u201d of Aubrey, we read, that John Evelyn related to\nthe Royal Society the case of the curate of Deptford, Mr. Smith, who, in\nNovember, 1679, was sick of an ague. To this reverend clerk appeared the\nphantom of a master of arts, with a white wand in his hand, who promised\nthat if he lay on his back three hours, from ten to one, his ague would\nleave him. And this prophecy was also to the very letter fulfilled.\n\nNapoleon, when he was marching upon Acre, had a djerme, or Nile boat,\nwith some of his troops, destroyed; the boat\u2019s name was _L\u2019Italie_; and\nfrom this he said, \u201cItaly is lost to France.\u201d And so it was.\n\nDuring the siege of Jerusalem, for seven days a man paraded round the\nwalls, exclaiming with a solemn voice, \u201cWoe to Jerusalem!\u201d and on the\nseventh day he added, \u201cWoe to Jerusalem, and _myself_!\u201d When, at the\nmoment of this anathema, a missile from the enemy destroyed him.\n\nDo you wonder that the prophecy of Monsieur Cazotte of his own\ndecapitation, recorded in his \u201c\u0152uvres de M. de la Harpe,\u201d should have\nbeen fulfilled? for in 1788, when this prophecy was uttered, the\nguillotine was daily reeking with patrician blood; and the Duchess of\nGrammont, Vicq d\u2019Azyr, Condorcet, and Cazotte himself, among a host of\nothers, were dragged to the scaffold.\n\nWhen dark events were overclouding Poland, to Sorvenski the warrior, a\nconvert to magnetism, it was imparted in a vision, that Warsaw should be\ndeluged in blood, and that he should fall in battle. In two years these\nforebodings were fulfilled.\n\nIt is known that Lord Falkland and Archbishop Williams both warned\nCharles I. of his fate; but it required no ghost to tell him that. And I\nhave known many deeply interested in the fate of absent friends; and\nknowing their circumstances and locality, so prophesy, that they seemed\nto have all the faculty of clairvoyance. The young ladies of Britain,\nduring the Peninsular war, were often dreaming of the apparitions of\ntheir lovers, _perhaps_ at the hour of their expiring on the field of\nbattle: coincidences that must make a deep impression on sensitive\nminds. Were I justified in divulging secrets and confessions, I might\nrelate some curious stories of these inauspicious dreams.\n\nAt the moment of the duel between Mr. Pitt and Mr. Tierney, on Wimbledon\nCommon, a lady of fashion in London exclaimed, \u201cThis is the important\nmoment!\u201d\n\nOliver Cromwell had reclined on his couch, and extreme fatigue forbad\nthe coming on of sleep. On a sudden his curtains opened, and a gigantic\nfemale form imparted to him, that he should be the greatest man in\nEngland. The puritanical faith and ambition of Cromwell might have\nraised, during the distracted state of the kingdom, something even\nbeyond this; and who may decide, if the spectre had whispered, \u201cThou\nshalt be king hereafter,\u201d that the protector would have refused the\ncrown, as, on the feast of Lupercal, it had been refused by C\u00e6sar?\n\n\u201cGeneral Oglethorpe,\u201d writes Boswell, \u201ctold us that Prendergast, an\nofficer in the Duke of Marlborough\u2019s army, had mentioned to many of his\nfriends, that he should die on a particular day. Upon that day a battle\ntook place with the French; and after it was over, and Prendergast was\nstill alive, his brother officers, while they were yet in the field,\njestingly asked him, where was his prophecy now? Prendergast gravely\nanswered, \u2018I shall die, notwithstanding what you see.\u2019 Soon afterwards\nthere came a shot from a French battery, to which the orders for a\ncessation of arms had not yet reached, and he was killed upon the spot!\u201d\n\nBut can these shallow stories be cited as _prophecies_? The links in the\nchain of causation are evident, and the veriest sceptic cannot doubt\ntheir sequence, where there was so strong a probability. It is merely by\nreflecting on the past and judging the future by analogy. Natural events\nof human actions have laws to govern them, and there is seldom foresight\nwithout the reflection _on_ these laws. Lord Mansfield, when asked how\nthe French revolution would end, replied, \u201cIt is an event without a\nprecedent, and therefore without a prophecy.\u201d\n\nASTR. Then you do not believe, where you cannot develop the _causes_ of\nevents. Like all _rational_ philosophers, you must have demonstrative\nproof. In which class of sceptics shall I enrol you, Evelyn?\u2014As a\nproselyte of Aristotle, who will deny not only the existence of spirits,\nbut affirm heaven and hell to be a fable, and that the world is\nself-existent: or with the Epicureans, who believed the impious doctrine\nof blind chance,\u2014that the sun and stars were vapours, and the soul\nperishable; or with the modern lights of reason,\u2014Sir Isaac Newton, who\nconfessed the Paradise Lost to be a fine poem, though it proved nothing;\nor the Abb\u00e9 Lauguerne, who, for the self-same reason, despised the\nbrilliancy of Racine and Corneille; or with the Sadducees themselves,\nwho denied both prophecy and spirit?\n\nEV. Perhaps the Sadducees might have referred visions to the _right_\ncause, for phantoms differ little from Locke\u2019s \u201csubstance which thinks.\u201d\nBut the mere metaphysician blinks the question (as Lord Bacon does that\nof experimental chemistry,\u2014\u201cVix unum experimentum adduci potest quod ad\nhominum statum levandum et juvandum spectat\u201d); thus wofully depreciating\nthe progress of chemical science, as if the discoveries of Wollaston, of\nDavy, of Dalton, and of Faraday were fruitless. Remember, modern\nphilosophers are not like Xenophon, who (says Socrates) called all\n_fools_ who differed from his opinion.\n\nEven Baxter confesses the frequency of imposture in ghost stories, yet\nleans to the belief of all which he _cannot account for_.\n\nNow if philosophy had not doubted, science would be stationary. We might\nstill believe, with Heraclitus, that the sun was only a foot in breadth;\nor, with Copernicus, that it revolved in its orbit, while the earth was\nat rest. Remember, Astrophel, the way to the temple of Science is\nthrough the portals of doubt: it is a mark of weakness, \u201cjurare in verba\nmagistri.\u201d Even the prince philosopher of Denmark doubted the prophetic\ntruth of his father\u2019s ghost on its mere appearance\u2014(\u201cThe spirit I have\nseen may be a devil,\u201d)\u2014until the scene of the play, and the stricken\nconscience of the king, and _then only_, he believed that \u201cit was an\nhonest ghost.\u201d\n\n\u201cIt is true,\u201d as Lord Chesterfield wrote in 1653, \u201cI know that God can\nmake any such things to appear, but because he _can_, therefore to\nconclude that he _doth_, is ill argued: and though divers books are full\nof such stories, yet the soberest sort of men in all ages have doubted\nthe truth of them.\u201d I might add to these the visions which have been so\nstrangely warped to interpret a subsequent event. Those of William\nRufus, and Innocent the Fourth, and Henry the Second of France, and a\nthousand others from ancient history, between the assumed prophecy and\nfulfilment of which, there is about as much truth as when Lady Seymour\ndreamt of having found a nest of nine finches, and soon after was\nmarried to Finch, Earl of Winchelsea, and was blessed with a brood of\nnine children.\n\nWith the coincidences of life we have all been struck; the ignorant and\ntimid and superstitious among us with wonder: but how comparatively\ntrivial are these tiny drops in the wide ocean of events, and what\nmyriads of dreams and visions from which there are no results!\n\nA simple incident occurred to me in the autumn of last year, which was\nso complete in its association as to be for a moment startling to\nmyself.\n\nInfluenced by a sort of veneration for the memory of the good Gilbert\nWhite of Selborne, I made a pilgrimage to that calm and rustic village,\nso exquisitely embosomed among green meads, and beech-crowned chalk\nhills, and forests embrowned with heath and fern.\n\nOn my entrance to the village, I was reflecting on the \u201cidiot boy\u201d who\nfed on honey which he pressed from the bees he caught, when lo! at the\nfirst door a figure, which grinned at me, and mowed and muttered, but\nwithout the slightest _verbal_ utterance. He was an idiot, but not\nWhite\u2019s idiot; yet a visionary mind might readily for a moment believe\nit to be a phantom of the foolish boy, immortalized, as it were, in the\n\u201cNatural History of Selborne.\u201d\n\nThere was an imposing occurrence also, during the funeral procession of\nSir Walter Scott to Dryburgh. A halt took place for many minutes (in\nconsequence of an accident) precisely on the summit of the hill at\nBemerside, where a beautiful prospect opens, to contemplate which, Sir\nWalter was ever wont to rein up his horse.\n\n\u201cIn 1811,\u201d writes Lord Byron in a letter to Mr. Murray, \u201cmy old school\nand form fellow Peel, the Irish secretary, told me he saw me in St.\nJames\u2019s Street; I was then in Turkey. A day or two afterwards he pointed\nout to his brother a person across the way, and said, \u2018There is the man\nI took for Byron:\u2019 his brother answered, \u2018Why, it is Byron, and no one\nelse.\u2019 I was at this time _seen_ to write my name in the Palace Book. I\nwas then ill of a malaria fever. If I had died, here would have been a\nghost story.\u201d\n\nWhile Lord Byron was at Colonna, his dervish Tahiri, as we read in his\nnotes to the \u201cGiaour,\u201d who professed the faculty of _second hearing_,\nprophesied an attack of the Mainotes as they passed a certain perilous\ndefile, but _nothing came of it_: the attack was not made; and it is\nprobable that some ringing in the ears of the dervish, and a knowledge\nthat the defile was a haunt of brigands, were the springs of this\nnotion.\n\nAnd there are events, too, which have all the intensity of romance and\nseem involved in the deepest mystery, and which, like Washington\nIrving\u2019s tale of the \u201cSpectre Bridegroom,\u201d assume all the air of the\nsupernatural, until the enigma is solved, and then we cry, \u201cHow clear\nthe solution!\u201d\n\nAmong the myriads of _explained_ mysteries in the north, I will cite\nthat of the farmer of Teviotdale, who, in the gloom of evening, saw on\nthe wall of a cemetery a pale form throwing about her arms, and mowing\nand chattering to the moon. With not a little terror he spurred his\nhorse, but as he passed the phantom it dropped from its perch, and, like\nTam o\u2019 Shanter\u2019s Nannie, fixing itself on the croup, clasped him tightly\nround the waist with arms of icy coldness. He arrived at home; with a\nthrill of horror exclaimed, \u201cTak aff the ghaist!\u201d and was carried\nshivering to bed. And what was the phantom? A maniac widow, on her\ndistracted pilgrimage to the grave of her husband, for whom she had\nindeed mistaken the ill-fated farmer.\n\nThe president of a literary club at Plymouth being very ill during its\nsession, the chair out of respect was left vacant. While they were\nsitting, his apparition, in a white dress, glided in and took formal\npossession of the chair. His face was \u201cwan like the cauliflower;\u201d he\nbowed in silence to the company, carried his empty glass to his lips,\nand solemnly retired. They went to his house, and learned that he had\njust expired! The strange event was kept a profound secret, until the\nnurse confessed on her death-bed that she had fallen asleep, that the\npatient had stolen out, and, having the pass-key of the garden, had\nreturned to his bed by a short path before the deputation, and had died\na few seconds after.\n\nIn the records of his life, by Taylor, we read of a trick of the great\nactor, who, like Brinsley Sheridan, had an inkling for practical jokes.\nIt was on a professional visit of Dr. Moncey. \u201cGarrick was announced for\nKing Lear on that night, and when Moncey saw him in bed he expressed his\nsurprise, and asked him if the play was to be changed. Garrick was\ndressed, but had his night-cap on, and the quilt was drawn over him to\ngive him the appearance of being too ill to rise. Dr. M. expressed his\nsurprise, as it was time for Garrick to be at the theatre to dress for\nKing Lear. Garrick, in a languid and whining tone, told him that he was\ntoo much indisposed to perform himself, but that there was an actor\nnamed Marr, so like him in figure, face, and voice, and so admirable a\nmimic, that he had ventured to trust the part to him, and was sure the\naudience would not perceive the difference. Pretending that he began to\nfeel worse, he requested Moncey to leave the room in order that he might\nget a little sleep, but desired him to attend the theatre, and let him\nknow the result. As soon as the Doctor quitted the room, Garrick jumped\nout of bed and hastened to the theatre. Moncey attended the performance.\nHaving left Garrick in bed, he was bewildered by the scene before him,\nsometimes doubting and sometimes being astonished at the resemblance\nbetween Garrick and Marr. At length, finding that the audience were\nconvinced of Garrick\u2019s identity, Moncey began to suspect a trick had\nbeen practised upon him, and instantly hurried to Garrick\u2019s house at the\nend of the play; but Garrick was too quick for him, and was found by\nMoncey in the same state of illness.\u201d These are truths which are indeed\nstranger than fiction.\n\nWere a miracle once authenticated, our scepticism might cease, but we\ncannot be convinced of supernatural agency till something be done or\nknown which could not be so by common means, or which through the medium\nof deception or contrivance _imposes_ on the mind such belief; of which\nimpression Alston the painter once told Coleridge a melancholy story.\n\u2019Twas of a youth at Cambridge, who dressed himself up in white as a\nghost to frighten his companion, having first drawn the bullets from\npistols which he kept at the head of his bed. As the apparition glided\nby his bed, the youth laughed and cried out, \u201cVanish! I fear you not.\u201d\nThe ghost did not obey him, and at length he reached a pistol and fired\nat it, when, seeing the ghost immoveable and invulnerable as he\nsupposed, a belief in a spirit instantly came over his mind, and\nconvulsion succeeding, his extreme terror was soon followed by his\ndeath.\n\nI have read (I believe in Clarendon), that the decapitation of Charles\nI. was augured (_after death_) from his coronation robes being of white\nvelvet instead of purple; and this it was remembered was the colour of a\nvictim\u2019s death-garment; and in Blennerhasset\u2019s history of James II.,\nthat the crown at his coronation tottered on his head, and at the same\nmoment the royal arms fell from the altar of some London church. All\nthis is too childish to be spoken of seriously, and reminds me of the\nGeneral Montecuculi, who on some saint\u2019s day had ordered bacon in his\nomelette. At the moment it was served, a peal of thunder shook his\nhouse, when he exclaimed, \u201cVoil\u00e0 bien du bruit pour une omelette!\u201d\n\nWe wonder not to find Lily, into whose moth-eaten tomes I have sometimes\npeeped for amusement, prating thus of consequences. There is an old\npaper of his graced with \u201cthe effigies of Master Praise God Barebone,\u201d\nwhere, among other _judgments_, the blindness of Milton is recorded as a\npenal infliction of the Deity, for \u201cthat he writ two books against the\nkings, and Salmasius his defence of kings.\u201d But we do wonder at such a\nweakness in Sir Walter Raleigh, that he should thus write in his History\nof the World,\u2014\u201cThe strangest thing I have read of in this kind being\ncertainly true, was, that the night before the battle of Novara, all the\ndogs which followed the French army ran from them to the Switzers; and\nlo! next morning the Switzers were beaten by the French.\u201d\n\nAnd yet a greater wonder is, that so many solemn stories should have\ncrept into our national legends, in which there is _no truth_: in which\nphilosophers and divines have very innocently combined to bewilder us.\n\nThere is an _assumed_ incident associated with a melancholy event in the\nnoble family of Lansdowne, most illustrative of my observation. In the\n\u201cLiterary Recollections\u201d of the Rev. Richard Warner, is recorded the\ninteresting story of the apparition of Lord William Petty, at Bowood,\nrelated to Mr. Warner by the Rev. Joseph Townsend, rector of Pewsey in\nWiltshire, and \u201cconfirmed by the dying declaration of Dr. Alsop, of\nCalne.\u201d\n\nIt is affirmed that Lord William Petty, who was under the care of Dr.\nPriestley, the librarian, and the Rev. Mr. Jervis, his tutor, was\nattacked, at the age of seven, with inflammation of the lungs, for which\nMr. Alsop was summoned to Bowood. After a few days, the young nobleman\nseemed to be out of danger; but, on a sudden relapse, the surgeon was\nagain sent for in the evening.\n\n\u201cIt was night before this gentleman reached Bowood but an unclouded moon\nshowed every object in unequivocal distinctness. Mr. Alsop had passed\nthrough the lodge-gate, and was proceeding to the house, when, to his\nastonishment, he saw Lord William coming towards him, in all the\nbuoyancy of childhood, restored apparently to health and vigour. \u2018I am\ndelighted, my dear lord,\u2019 he exclaimed, \u2018to see you, but, for Heaven\u2019s\nsake, go immediately within doors,\u2014it is death to you to be here at\nthis time of night.\u2019 The child made no reply, but, turning round, was\nquickly out of sight. Mr. Alsop, unspeakably surprised, hurried to the\nhouse. Here all was distress and confusion, for _Lord William, had\nexpired a few minutes before he reached the portico_.\n\n\u201cThis sad event being with all speed announced to the Marquis of\nLansdowne, in London, orders were soon received at Bowood, for the\ninterment of the corpse, and the arrangement of the funeral procession.\nThe former was directed to take place at High Wickham, in the vault\nwhich contained the remains of _Lord William\u2019s mother_; the latter was\nappointed to halt at two specified places, during the two nights on\nwhich it would be on the road. Mr. Jervis and Dr. Priestley attended the\nbody. On the first day of the melancholy journey, the latter gentleman,\nwho had hitherto said little on the subject of the appearance to Mr.\nAlsop, suddenly addressed his companion with considerable emotion in\nnearly these words: \u2018There are some very singular circumstances\nconnected with this event, Mr. Jervis, and a most remarkable coincidence\nbetween a dream of the late Lord William and our present mournful\nengagement. A few weeks ago, as I was passing by his room door one\nmorning, he called me to his bedside,\u2014\u2018Doctor,\u2019 said he, \u2018what is your\nChristian name?\u2019 \u2018Surely,\u2019 said I, \u2018you know it is Joseph.\u2019 \u2018Well,\nthen,\u2019 replied he, in a lively manner, \u2018if you are a _Joseph_, you can\ninterpret a _dream_ for me, which I had last night. I dreamed, Doctor,\nthat I set out upon a long journey; that I stopped the first night at\n_Hungerford_, whither I went without touching the ground; that I flew\nfrom thence to _Salt Hill_, where I remained the next night; and arrived\nat High Wickham on the third day, where my dear mamma, beautiful as an\nangel, stretched out her arms and caught me within them.\u2019 \u2018Now,\u2019\ncontinued the Doctor, \u2018these are precisely the places where the dear\nchild\u2019s corpse will remain on this and the succeeding night, before we\nreach his mother\u2019s vault, which is finally to receive it.\u2019\u201d\n\nNow here is a tissue of events, as strange as they are circumstantial;\nand I might set myself to illustrate the apparition by the agitated\nstate of Mr. Alsop\u2019s mind, were it not for the _utter fallacy_ of this\nmysterious story, on which the late Rev. Mr. Jervis, of Brompton, whom I\nknew and esteemed, deemed it essential to publish \u201cRemarks,\u201d in the year\n1831. From these, you will learn that Mr. Warner is in error regarding\nthe \u201caddress, designation, and age of the Hon. William Granville Petty,\nthe nature and duration of his disorder, and the name of the place of\ninterment.\u201d And then it comes out that neither Dr. Priestley nor Mr.\nJervis attended the funeral, nor conversed at any time on the\ncircumstance. And, regarding Mr. Alsop\u2019s death-bed declaration, Mr.\nJervis, who was in his intimate confidence, never heard of such a thing\nuntil Mr. Warner\u2019s volume was pointed out to him.\n\nThis strange story, believed by good and wise men, involved a seeming\nmystery, until we read in Mr. Jervis\u2019s \u201cRemarks,\u201d one simple sentence in\nreference to the gentleman by whom it was first told,\u2014that \u201cthe\nenthusiasm of his nature predisposed him to entertain some visionary and\nromantic notions of supernatural appearances.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n PHANTASY FROM MENTAL ASSOCIATION.\n\n\n \u201cThis is the very coinage of your brain:\n This bodiless creation, ecstacy\n Is very cunning in.\u201d\n HAMLET.\n\nCAST. How delightful to wander thus among the reliques of that age, when\nher citizens, the colonists of Britain, migrated from imperial Rome, and\nbuilt their Venta Silurum, or Caerwent, from the ruins of which these\nnow mouldering walls were formed. As we trod those pictured pavements of\nCaerwent beneath the blue sky of yesternoon, I felt all the inspiration\nof Astrophel, and a pageantry of Roman patricians seemed to sweep along\nthe fragments of those painted tessel\u00e6.\n\n \u201cLulled in the countless chambers of the brain,\n Our thoughts are link\u2019d by many a hidden chain;\n Awake but one, and lo! what myriads rise,\n Each stamps his image as the other flies.\u201d\n\nThere is a happy combination of antiquity and simplicity in this land of\nGwent. Almost within the shadow of the Roman Caerleon, the Monmouthshire\npeasants, at Easter and Whitsuntide, assemble to plant fresh flowers on\nthe graves of their relatives. How I love these old customs! the\nchanting of the carol at Christmas; its very homeliness so redolent of\nlove and friendship: and that quaint old Moresco dance which was\nintroduced to England by the noble Katherine of Arragon. Then the\npastimes of Halloween and Hogmanay in Scotland, and the Walpurgis night\nof Germany, and the May-day in Ireland, the festival of their patron\nsaint, and the Midsummer night when the bealfires cast an universal\nlumination over the fells of the green isle, and the still more sacred\nfire, lighted up in November in worship of their social deity, Samhuin,\nwhose potent influence charms the warm hearts of all the maids of Erin\naround the winter hearth of their homes. I listen unto these pleasures\nas if they were mine own: as children associate all the legends of their\nschool histories with themselves and their own time.\n\nIn every spot of this land of Wales the very names of the olden time are\nbefore us: the romaunt of Prince Arthur and his knights is ever present\nto our fancy, for he hath, as on the crag that towers over Edinburgh, a\nseat on many a mountain rock in Wales; as the Cadair Arthur over\nCrickhowel, and the semicircle on Little Doward, and Maen Arthur on the\nmoors of Cardigan.\n\nASTR. I never look on scenes like this without the echo of that\nbeautiful apostrophe of Johnson, among the ruins of Iona, whispering in\nmy ear.\n\nInspired by such an influence, I have roamed over the Isle of Elephanta,\nand gazed on its gorgeous pagoda hewn from the rock, and adorned by\ngigantic statues and mysterious symbols of the same eternal granite: on\nthe beauteous excavations of Salsette: on the wonders of Elora, and on\nthe classic reliques of Persepolis: on the beautiful columns of Palmyra,\nthe Tadmor in the wilderness, where Solomon built his \u201cfenced city;\u201d as\nwell as those arabesque and gothic temples, the abbeys and cathedrals of\nour own island. I too have almost dared to think that superstition and\nidolatry might be forgiven for the splendours of its architecture, even\nfor the elevation of those giant blocks of Stonehenge and Avebury, the\nmouldering altars of the druidical priesthood, in the city consecrated\nto their god.\n\nSo do I feel in this court-yard of Chepstow Castle, whilom the\nEst-brig-hoel of Doomsdaye Booke, and in later times so blended with\nEnglish history. See you not the Conqueror and his knights in panoply on\nprancing steeds before you? See you not Fitz Osborne and Warren, its\nformer lords, loom out upon your sight? And, lo! the portal opens, and\nthe dungeon of Henry Martin, the regicide, yawns like a bottomless pit\nbefore us. The shade of Charles Stewart rises; and again the phantom of\nCromwell, uttering his epithets of scorn, as if the wanton puritan were\nabout to dash the ink in the face of his colleague as he signed the\ndeath-warrant of the king. And now the scene changes, and behold the\ndoomed one is chained to those massive rings of iron, and there with\ngroaning dies.\n\nEV. I am most willing that you should thus indulge in your wild\nrhapsody, Astrophel, for it is the happy illustration of one potent\ncause of spectral illusion\u2014_association_. There are few whose minds are\nnot excited in some degree when they tread the localities of interesting\nevents. By memory and its combinations something like an inspired vision\nmay often seem to come over us\u2014a day-dream. Or, if we have been\nbrooding over a subject or gazing on the relics of departed or absent\nlove and friendship: or while we stand on a spot consecrated by genius,\nor when we have passed the scene of a murder, still will association\nfling around us its visionary shadows.\n\nShortly after the death of Maupertuis, the president of the Academy of\nBerlin, Mr. Gleditsch, the curator of natural history, was traversing\nthe hall in solitude, when he saw the phantom of the president standing\nin an angle of the room with his eyes intensely fixed on him: an effect\nperfectly explicable by the association of intense impression of memory\nin the very arena of the president\u2019s former dignity.\n\nYou will remember the story of a rich libertine, told by Sir Walter\nScott. Whenever he was alone in his drawing-room, he was so haunted by a\nspectral _corps de ballet_, that the very furniture was, as it were,\nconverted into phantoms. To release himself from this unwelcome\nintrusion he retired to his country house, and here, for a while, he\nobtained the quiet which he sought. But it chanced that the furniture of\nhis town house was sent to him in the country, and on the instant that\nhis eyes fell on his drawing-room chairs and tables, the illusion came\nafresh on his mind. By the influence of association the green figurantes\ncame frisking and capering into his room, shouting in his unwilling\nears, \u201cHere we are! here we are!\u201d\n\nIt is not, however, essential that there be substance at all to excite\nthese spectres. _Idea_ alone is sufficient.\n\nDo you think it strange that a ghost should appear fleshless and shadowy\nwithout some supernatural influence? Be assured that the only influence\nexists in the sublime and intricate workings of that mind which in its\npure state was itself an emanation from the Deity; which is only\nshadowed by illusion while in its earthly union with the brain, and\nwhich, on the dissolution of that brain, will again live uncombined, a\nchangeless and eternal spirit.\n\nIt is as easy to believe the power of mind in conjuring up a spectre as\nin entertaining a simple thought: it is not strange that this thought\nmay appear _embodied_, especially if the external senses be shut: if we\nthink of a distant friend, do we not _see_ a form in our mind\u2019s eye, and\nif this idea be intensely defined, does it not become a phantom?\n\n\u201cPhantasma est sentiendi actus, neque differt a sensione aliter quam\nfieri differt a factum esse.\u201d\n\n\u201cA phantom is an act of thinking,\u201d &c.\n\nYou have dipped deeply into Hobbes, Astrophel, and will correct me if I\nmisquote this philosopher of Malmsbury.\n\nIt was in Paris, at the soir\u00e9e of Mons. Bellart, and a few days after\nthe death of Marshal Ney, the servant, ushering in the Mareschal _A\u00een\u00e9_,\nannounced Mons. Le Mareschal _Ney_. We were startled; and may I confess\nto you, that the _eid\u014dlon_ of the Prince of Moskwa was for a moment as\nperfect to my sight as reality?\n\nNow it is as easy to imagine a fairy infinitely small as a giant\ninfinitely large. Between an idea and a phantom, then, there is only a\ndifference in degree; their essence is the same as between the simple\nand transient thought of a child, and the intense and beautiful ideas of\na Shakspere, a Milton, or a Dante.\n\n\u201cConsider your own conceptions,\u201d said Imlac, \u201cyou will find substance\nwithout extension. An ideal form is no less _real_ than material, but\nyet it has no extension.\u201d\n\nYou hear I adopt the word _idea_, as referring to the organ of _vision_,\nbut sight is not the only sense subject to illusion. Hearing, taste,\nsmell, touch, may be thus perverted, because the original impression was\non the focus of all the senses, _the brain_.\n\nIndeed, two of these illusions are often _synchronous_: as when a deep\nsepulchral voice is uttered by a thin filmy spectre, like the ghosts of\nOssian, through which the moonbeams and the stars were seen to glimmer.\nBut the illusion of the eye _is_ by far the most common, and hence our\nadopted terms refer chiefly to the sight: as spectre, phantom, phantasm,\napparition, _eid\u014dlon_, ghost, shadow, shade.\n\nThe ghost then is nothing more than an _intense idea_. And as I have\ncaught the mood of story-telling, listen to some analogies of those deep\nimpressions on the mind which are the spring of all this phantasy.\n\nThat destructive brainworm, Demonomania, is often excited in the mind of\na proselyte by designing religious fanatics. Let the life of the\nselected person be ever so virtuous and exemplary, she (for it is\nusually on the softer sex that these impostures are practised) becomes\nconvinced of the influence of the demon over her, and she is thus\ncriminally taught the necessity of conversion\u2014is won over to the\nerroneous doctrine of capricious and unqualified election.\n\nThese miseries do not always spring from self-interested impostors. The\nparent and the nurse, in addition to the nursery tales of fairies and of\ngenii, too often inspire the minds of children with these diabolical\nphantoms. The effect is always detrimental,\u2014too often permanently\ndestructive. I will quote one case from the fourth volume of the\nPsychological Magazine, related by a student of the university of\nJena.\u2014\u201cA young girl, about nine or ten years old, had spent her\nbirth-day with several companions of her own age, in all the gaiety of\nyouthful amusement. Her parents were of a rigorous devout sect, and had\nfilled the child\u2019s head with a number of strange and horrid notions\nabout the devil, hell, and eternal damnation. In the evening, as she was\nretiring to rest, the devil appeared to her, and threatened to devour\nher. She gave a loud shriek, fled to the apartment where her parents\nwere, and fell down apparently dead at their feet. A physician was\ncalled in, and she began to recover herself in a few hours. She then\nrelated what had happened, adding, that she was sure she was to be\ndamned. This accident was immediately followed by a severe and tedious\nnervous complaint.\u201d\n\nThe ghost will not appear to tell us what _will_ happen, but it _may_\nrise, and with awful solemnity too, to tell us that which _has_\nhappened. Such is the phantom of remorse,\u2014the shadow of\nconscience,\u2014which is indeed a natural penalty: a crime that carries\nwith it its own consecutive punishment. Were the lattice of Momus fixed\nin the bosom, that window through which the springs of passion could be\nseen, there would be, I fear, a dark spot on almost every heart,\u2014as\nthere is, to quote the Italian proverb, \u201ca skeleton in every house.\u201d Of\nthese pangs of memory, the pages both of history and fiction are\nteeming. Not in the visions of sleep alone, but in the glare of noonday,\nthe apparition of a victim comes upon the guilty mind,\u2014\n\n \u201cAs when a gryphon through the wilderness,\n With winged course, o\u2019er hill and moory dale,\n Pursues the Arimaspian, who, by stealth,\n Had from his wakeful custody purloined\n The guarded gold.\u201d\n\nBrutus, and Richard Plantagenet, and Clarence, and Macbeth, and Manfred,\nand Lorenzo, and Wallace, and Marmion, are but the archetypes of a very\nnumerous family in real life,\u2014for Shakspere, and Byron, and Schiller,\nand Scott, have painted in high relief these portraits _from_ the life.\n\nMany a real Manfred has trembled as he called up the phantom of Astarte;\nmany a modern Brutus has gazed at midnight on the evil spirit of his\nC\u00e6sar; many a modern Macbeth points to the vacant chair of his Banquo,\nthe ghost in his seat, and he mentally exclaims,\u2014\u201cHence, horrible\nshadow! unreal mockery, hence!\u201d\n\nIDA. Aye, and many a false heart, like Marmion, hears, as his life ebbs\non the battle-field, the phantom voice of Constance Beverly:\n\n \u201cThe monk, with unavailing cares,\n Exhausted all the church\u2019s prayers.\n Ever he said, that, close and near,\n A lady\u2019s voice was in his ear,\n And that the priest he could not hear,\n For that she ever sung:\n \u2018In the lost battle, borne down by the flying,\n Where mingles war\u2019s rattle with groans of the dying\u2019\u2014\n So the notes rung.\u201d\n\nWe read in Moreton an exquisite story of the trial of a murderer, who\nhad with firmness pleaded\u2014\u201cnot guilty.\u201d On a sudden, casting his eyes\non the witness-box, he exclaimed, \u201cThis is not fair; no one is allowed\nto be witness in his own case.\u201d The box was empty, as you may suppose;\nbut the eye of his conscience saw his bleeding victim glaring on him,\nand ready to swear to his murder. He felt that his fate was sealed, and\npleaded guilty to the crime.\n\n \u201c\u2014\u2014Deeds are done on earth,\n Which have their punishment ere the earth closes\n Upon the perpetrators. Be it the working\n Of the remorse-stained fancy, or the vision\n Distinct and real of unearthly being:\n All ages witness that, beside the couch\n Of the fell homicide, oft stalks the ghost\n Of him he slew, or shows his shadowy wound.\u201d\n\nIt is this utter humiliation of the spirit, and the conviction of our\npolluted nature, that rankle so intensely in the wounded heart; and\nthence the repentant sinner feels so deeply that awful truth, that there\nis a Being infinitely more pure and godlike than himself.\n\nEV. A very fertile source of spectral illusion is the devotion to\npeculiar studies and deep reflection on interesting subjects. Mons.\nEsquirol records the hallucination of a lady, who had been reading a\nterrific account of the execution of a criminal. Ever after, in all her\nwaking hours, and in every place, she saw above her left eye the phantom\nof a bloody head, wrapped in black crape,\u2014a thing so horrible to her,\nthat she repeatedly attempted the commission of suicide. And of another\nlady, who had dipped so deeply into a history of witches, that she\nbecame convinced of her having, like Tam O\u2019Shanter\u2019s lady of the \u201ccutty\nsark,\u201d been initiated into their mysteries, and officiated at their\n\u201csabbath\u201d ceremonies.\n\nMonsieur Andral, in his youth, saw in La Piti\u00e9 the putrid body of a\nchild covered with _larv\u00e6_, and during the next morning, the spectre of\nthis corpse lying on his table was as perfect as reality.\n\nWe have known mathematicians whose ghosts even appeared in the shape of\ncoloured circles and squares, and Justus Martyr was haunted by the\nphantoms of flowers. Nay, our own Sir Joshua, after he had been painting\nportraits, sometimes believed the trees, and flowers, and posts to be\nmen and women.\n\nI knew myself a bombardier, whose brain had been wounded in a battle. To\nthis man a post was an enemy, and he would, when a sudden frenzy came on\nhim, attack it in the street with his cane, and not leave it until he\nbelieved that his foeman was beaten or lay prostrate at his feet.\n\nIntense feeling, especially if combined with apprehension, often raises\na phantom. The unhappy Sir R\u2014\u2014 C\u2014\u2014, on being summoned to attend the\nPrincess Charlotte of Wales, saw her form robed in white distinctly\nglide along before him as he sat in his carriage: a parallel, nay, an\n_explanation_, to the interesting stories of Astrophel.\n\nThen the sting of conscience may warp a _common_ object thus. Theodric,\nthe Gothic king, unjustly condemned and put to death Bo\u00ebthius and\nSymmachus. It chanced at that time, that a large fish was served to him\nat dinner, when his imagination directly changed the fish\u2019s head into\nthe ghastly face of Symmachus, upbraiding him with the murder of\ninnocence; and such was the effect of the phantom, that in a few days he\ndied. But these spectral forms were seen, like the dagger of Macbeth,\nand the hand-writing on the wall, by none but the _conscience-stricken_,\na proof of their being ideal and not real.\n\nNot long after the death of Byron, Sir Walter Scott was engaged in his\nstudy during the darkening twilight of an autumnal evening, in reading a\nsketch of his form and habits, his manners and opinions. On a sudden he\nsaw as he laid down his book, and passed into his hall, the _eid\u014dlon_ of\nhis departed friend before him. He remained for some time impressed by\nthe intensity of the illusion, which had thus created a phantom out of\nskins, and scarfs, and plaids, hanging on a screen in the gothic hall of\nAbbotsford.\n\nI learn from Doctor T. that a certain lady was on the eve of her\nmarriage, but her lover was killed as he was on his way to join her. An\nacute fever immediately followed this impression; and on each subsequent\nday, when the same hour struck on the clock, she fell into a state of\necstacy, and believed that the phantom of her lover wafted her to the\nskies; then followed a swoon of two or three hours\u2019 duration, and her\ndiurnal recovery ensued.\n\nCAST. I know not if it will make me happier, Evelyn, but I have learned\nfrom your lips to believe that many of those legends which I held as\npoetic fictions, may be the stories of minds, in which, under the\ninfluence of devoted affection, the slightest semblance to an object so\nbeloved may work up the phantom of far distant or departed forms. You\nmay have read the romantic devotion of Henry Howard to the fair\nGeraldine, the flower of England\u2019s court, and the chivalrous challenge\nof her beauty to the knights of France. During his travels on the\ncontinent, he fell in with the alchymist Cornelius Agrippa, who by his\nsleight cunning showed in a magic mirror (as he said) to the doting mind\nof the earl, his absent beauty reclining on a couch, and reading by the\nlight of a waxen taper the homage of his pen to her exquisite beauty.\nThen there was an archbishop of the Euchaites, a professor of magic in\nthe ninth century. The Emperor Basil besought this pseudo-magus\nSantabaran, for a sight of his long lost and beloved son. He appeared\nbefore the emperor in a costume of splendour and mounted on a charger,\nand sinking into his arms, instantly vanished. This phantasy, and the\nglamourie of the witch of Falsehope over Michael Scott, and the vision\nof the wondrous tale of Vatheck, and the legend of the Duke of Anjou in\nFroissart, might be the rude shadows of some slight phantasmagoria\nworking on a sensitive or impassioned mind; may they not?\n\nEV. I am proud of my proselyte, lady.\n\nIDA. I presume these illusions may be wrought without the outlines of\n_distinct shapes_. I have ever thought the vision of Eliphaz the\nTemanite more solemn, because an _undefined_ shadow: \u201cA vision is before\nour face, but we cannot discern the form thereof.\u201d And where the\n_profane_ poets have written thus mystically, they have risen in\nsublimity. Such is Milton\u2019s portraiture of death:\n\n \u201c\u2014\u2014the other shape,\n If shape it could be called, which shape had none\n Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb;\n Or substance might be called that shadow seemed,\n For each seemed neither.\u201d\n\nAnd in the splendid vision of Manfred, whose thoughts were, alas! so\npolluted by passion\u2014\n\n \u201cI see\n The steady aspect of a clear large star,\n But nothing more.\n\n SPIRIT. We have _no form_ beyond the elements,\n Of which we are the mind and principle.\u201d\n\nAnd the idolaters profanely adopted this mystic metaphor when they\ninscribed their Temple of Isis, at Sais\u2014\n\n \u201cI am whatever has been, is, and shall be, and no one hath taken\n off my veil.\u201d\n\nEV. The phantom is often described as destitute of form. When Johnson\nwas asked to define the ghost which appeared to old Cave, he answered:\n\u201cWhy, sir, something of a _shadowy_ being.\u201d And there is a sublimity and\na mystery in that which is indefinite. Two very deep philosophers have\nhowever differed in opinion regarding the effect of darkness and\nobscurity on the mind. Burke alludes to darkness as a cause of the\nsublime and terrific: (and he is supported by Tacitus\u2014\u201cOmne ignotum pro\nmagnifico est:\u201d) Locke, as not naturally a cause of terror, but as it is\nassociated by nurses and old crones with ghosts and goblins.\n\nI will not split this difference, but I believe Burke is in the right.\nObscurity is doubtless deeply influential in raising phantoms; that\nwhich is indefinable becomes almost of necessity a ghost. If the ghosts\nof Shakspere did not appear, the illusion would be more impressive. In\ndarkness and night, therefore, the ghosts burst their cerements, the\nspirits walk abroad, and the ghost seers revel in all their\nsuperstitious glory. The druids, those arch impostors, acted their\nmysteries in the depth of shadowy groves: and the heathen idols are half\nhidden both in the hut of the American Indian and the temples of\nIndostan. It is true children shut their eyes when frightened, but this\nis _instinctive_, and because they think it real; but, in truth, they\never dread the notion of darkness. By the fancy of a timid mind, in the\ndeepening gloom of twilight, a withered oak has been fashioned into a\nliving monster; and I might occupy our evening in recounting the tales\nof terror to which a decayed trunk once gave birth, among some village\ngossips in the weald of Sussex.\n\nThere are few who \u201crevisit the glimpses of the moon,\u201d whose romantic\nhumour leads them abroad about nightfall, who have not sometimes been\ninfluenced by feeling somewhat like phantasy, during the indistinct\nvision of twilight; the dim emanations of the crescent, or the more\ndeceptive illusion of an artificial luminous point irradiating a\ncircumambient vapour. Through the magnifying power of this floating\nmedium, the image may be fashioned into all the fancied forms of\npoetical creation.\n\nAt the midnight hour, by a blue taper light, and in a ruined castle, a\nsimple tale will become a romance of terror.\n\nI have spoken thus, to introduce an incident which occurred years ago,\nand yet my mind\u2019s eye shows it to me as if it were of yesterday.\n\nIt was in the year \u2014\u2014, on the eve of my presenting myself at the\ncollege for my diploma. I had been deeply engaged during the day, in\ntracing, with some fellow students, the distribution of the _nervous\nganglia_. The shades of evening had closed over us as our studies were\nnearly completed, and one by one my companions gave me good night,\nuntil, about ten o\u2019clock, I was left alone, still poring over the\nsubject of my study, by the dim light of a solitary taper. On a sudden I\nwas startled by the loud pealing of a clock, which, striking twelve,\nwarned me most unexpectedly of the solemn hour of midnight; for I was\nnot otherwise conscious of this lapse of time. For a moment I seemed in\nutter darkness, until straining my eyes, a blue and lurid glimmer\nfloated around me. A chilliness crept over me, and I had a strange\nindefinable consciousness of utter desolation\u2014of being immured in some\nTartarean cavern, or pent among icy rocks, for the cold night-wind was\nsweeping in hollow murmurs through the vaults. In the blue half-twilight\nI was at length sensible that I was not alone, but in the presence of\nindistinct shadowy forms, silent and motionless as the grave; and by\nthat awful sensation of the sublime which springs from obscurity, I\nconceived that I had suffered transmigration, or had glided\nunconsciously through the gates of Hades, and that these were the\nembodied spirits\u2014the manes of the departed, in sleep; and then I\nthought the sounds were not those of the wind, but the hollow moaning of\nthose restless spirits that could _not_ sleep. By some species of\nglamourie which I could not comprehend, the gloom appeared to brighten\nby slow degrees, and the forms became more distinct. When we are\ninvolved in mystery, the sense of touch is instinctively brought to its\nanalysis. I put forth my hand, and found that my eyes were not mocked\nwith a mere vision; for it came in contact with something icy cold and\ndeath-like\u2014it was an arm clammy and cadaverous that fell across my own;\nand as the smell of death came over me, a corpse rolled into my lap.\n\nThe moaning of the breeze increased, and the screech-owl shrieked as she\nflitted unseen around me. At this moment a scream of agony was heard in\nthe distance, as of some mortal frame writhing in indescribable anguish,\nwhile a hoarse and wizard voice cried, \u201cEndure! endure!\u201d It ceased; and\nthen I heard a pattering and flutter, and then a shrill squeaking, as of\nsome tiny creatures that were playing their gambols in the darkness\nwhich again came around me. On a sudden all was hushed, and there was a\nglimmer of cold twilight, as when a horn of the moon, as Astrophel would\nsay, comes out from an eclipse; and then a brighter gleam of bluer light\nburst through the gloom, at which I confess I started, and my hand\ndropped into a pool of blood. Like the astonished Tam O\u2019Shanter, it\nseemed that I was alone in the chamber of death, or the solitary\nspectator of some demon incantation or of some wholesale murder. There\nwere some forms blue and livid, some cadaverous, of \u201cspan-long, wee,\nunchristened bairns,\u201d and others deluged in blood and impurity lay\naround me: one pale and attenuated form, that more than mocked the\ndelicate beauty of the Medicean Venus, lay naked on the ground. On the\nathletic form of another the moonbeam fell in a glory, as if the fabled\nlegend of Endymion was realized before my eyes.\n\nASTR. And\u2014\u2014\n\nEV. Ay, now for the secret\u2014the _materiel_ of this wild vision. The\ntruth was, I had dropped asleep in the dissecting-room\u2014the candle had\nburned out; and thus, with a copious supply of dead bodies, the howling\nof a tempest, the purple storm-clouds, the blue gleams of moonshine, and\nbats, and screech-owls, and the screams of patients in the surgical\nwards, and withal the hoarse voices of those croaking comforters, the\nnight-nurses,\u2014I have placed before you a harmony of horrors, that might\nnot shame a legend of Lewis, or a Radcliffian romance.\n\nSimple as this will be the explanation of many and many a tale of\nmystery, although fraught with accumulated horrors, like those of the\n\u201cCastle of Udolpho;\u201d and if, putting aside that ultraromantic appetite\nfor the marvellous, we have courage to attempt their analysis, the pages\nof demonology will be shorn of half their terrors, the gulph of\nsuperstition will be illumined by the light of philosophy, and creation\nstand forth in all its harmonious and beautiful nature.\n\n\n\n\n PHANTASY FROM CEREBRAL EXCITEMENT.\n\n\n \u2014\u2014\u201cA false creation,\n Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain.\u201d\n MACBETH.\n\nASTR. I will grant the influence of all these inspiring causes, Evelyn,\nbut it is not under adventitious circumstances _alone_ that the gifted\nseer is presented with his visions, but also in the clear daylight, in\nthe desert, or in a mountain hut; surrounded, too, by those who are\ncontent with the common faculties of man.\n\nAmong many of the Gothic nations especially, women were the peculiar\nprofessors of divination and magic. The Volva-Seidkona, the Fiolkyngi,\nthe Visindakona, and the Nornir, were the oracular priestesses, the\nchief of whom was the Hexa. These had the faculty of insight into\nskulda, or the future, and foreknew the doom of mortals: either to the\nniflheimr, or hell, over which presided the half blue and half\nflesh-tinted Hela, the goddess of death, who, as the Cimbric peasants\nbelieved, diffused pestilence and plague as she rode over the earth on\nher three-footed horse Hellhest; or to the Valhalla, or paradise of\nOdin. And this we read in the \u201cEdda.\u201d\n\nEV. Gramercy, Astrophel, you run up the catalogue of these weird women\nas you were involved in their unholy league. Have a care, or we must\nhave you caged. There was once a Dr. Fordage, a divine of Berkshire, (as\nit is recorded in a strange book, \u201cDemonium Meridianum, or Satan at\nNoon-day,\u201d) accused of seeing spectres, such as \u201cdragons with tails\neight yards long, with four formidable tusks, and spouting fire from\ntheir nostrils.\u201d Remember the peril, and beware.\n\nASTR. Oh, sir, you must impeach by wholesale, for clairvoyance or second\nsight prevails in some regions as a _national_ faculty.\n\nThe courses of my travel have shown to me this inspiration, especially\namong the elevated parts of the globe. The Hartz and other forests in\nGermany, the Alps and Pyrenees, the Highlands of Scotland, the hills of\nIreland, the mountains of the Isle of Man, and the frozen fields of\nIceland and Norway, abound in ghostly legends. Among the passes of the\nSpanish Sierras, also, it is believed that the Saludadores and the\nCovenanters saw angels on the hill-side during their wanderings and\npersecutions.\n\nEV. And how clear is the _natural_ reason of this. As in the wide\ndesert, so on the mountain, nature assumes her wildest form. Of the\nawful sublimity of clouds, and vapours, and lightnings, among the gorges\nof the giant rocks, of the Alps, and the Appenines, and the deep and\ndreadful howling of a storm in the icy bosom of a glacier, or bellowing\namong the crumbling walls of ruined castles, the lowlander can form no\nidea.\n\nThe mind both of the Bedouin Arab, and especially of the mountaineer, is\nthus cradled in romance. If that mind be rude and uncultivated,\ncredulity and superstition are its inmates; ignorance being the common\nstamp of the seers, except in rare instances of deep reflectors or\nmelancholy bookworms, whose abstractions, like those of Allan Bane and\nBrian and Mac Aulay, assume the prophetic faculty; the seer by its power\nperceiving, as he declares, things distant or future as if they were\nbefore his eye.\n\nThe superstitious legends of Martin, the historian of the Western Isles,\nand the precepts for the practice and governance of this clairvoyance,\nprove a deep interest and impression, but not a mystery. Among the\ndefiles of Sn\u00e6fel, in Man, the belief is prevalent: \u201cA Manksman amid his\nlonely mountains reclines by some romantic stream, the murmurings of\nwhich lull him into a pleasing torpor; half-slumbering, he sees a\nvariety of imaginary beings, which he believes to be real. Sometimes\nthey resemble his traditionary idea of fairies, and sometimes they\nassume the appearance of his friends and neighbours. Presuming on these\ndreams, the Manks enthusiast predicts some future event.\u201d Here is a\nlocal reason, as among the icy mountains of the north. Cheffer writes,\nthat thus influenced, the melancholy of the Laplanders renders them\nghost-seers, and the dream and the vision are ever believed by them to\nbe prophetic.\n\nCAST. It is the contemplation of these alpine glories, that gilds with\nso bright a splendour of imagery the romances of mountain poets,\u2014the\nwild legends of Ossian, and those which spangle, as with sparkling\njewels, the pages of the \u201cLay,\u201d the \u201cLady of the Lake,\u201d and \u201cMarmion.\u201d\nIt may excite the jealousy of a classic, but the ghosts and heroes of\nOssian, as very acute critics decide, are cast in a finer mould than the\ngods of Homer.\n\nYou smile at me, most learned clerks of Oxenford, yet I believe the\ncritics are correct. When I was prowling in the king\u2019s private library,\nin Paris, M. Barbier placed in my hands two of the most precious tomes,\nthe folio \u201cEvangelistarium,\u201d or prayer-book of Charlemagne, and the 4to.\nedition of Ossian. The one is sanctified by its subject, and rich beyond\ncompare in illuminations of gold and colours, and priceless in the eyes\nof the bibliomaniac. The other was _the favourite book of Napoleon_.\n\nFancy that you hear him in the solitude of St. Cloud, poring in deep\nadmiration over passages like this:\n\n\u201cFingal drew his sword, the blade of dark-brown Luno. The gleaming path\nof the steel winds through the gloomy ghost. The form fell shapeless\ninto air, like a column of smoke as it rises from the half-extinguished\nfurnace. The spirit of Loda shrieked, as, rolled into himself, he rose\non the wind. Inistore shook at the sound. The waves heard it on the\ndeep, and stopped in their course with fear.\u201d\n\nAnd yet these beauties, like the pictures of Turner, are looked upon\nwith a smile of wondering pity or of scorn, simply because these\nhome-keeping critics have never scaled the mountain, or breasted the\nstorm for its wild and purple glory.\n\nAmong the mountains of Wales it was my fortune to light on many a wild\nspot, where the poetry of nature fell like the sun-light on the heart of\nthe peasant. In the beautiful vale of Neath there is the tiny hamlet of\nPont-Neath-Vechan. I shall ever remember how fair and beautiful it\nseemed as I descended from the mountain rocks of Pen y Craig, the\nloftiest of the Alps of Glamorgan, which inclose Ystrad-Vodwg, the\n\u201cvillage of the green valley.\u201d Around its humble cottages is spread the\nmost romantic scenery of Brecknockshire. The tributaries of its rolling\nriver there blend their waters\u2014those torrent streams which Drayton has\nimpersonated in the Polyolbion, as\n\n \u201cHer handmaids Melt\u00e8 sweet, clear Hepst\u00e8, and Tragath.\u201d\n\nOn the Melt\u00e8 is the wondrous cavern of Porth-Mawr, through which, in\nStygian darkness, flows this Acherontic river. And on the clear Hepst\u00e8\nis that glittering waterfall which in the midst of leafy woods and bosky\nglens, throws itself, like a miniature Niagara, from the rock, forming\nan arch of crystal, beneath which the traveller and the peasant cross\nthe river\u2019s bed on the moss-green and slippery limestone. Oh! for the\npencil of a Salvator, the pen of Torquato, to picture the wild vision\nwhich was before my eyes when I sought shelter beneath this crystal\ncanopy from the deluge of a thunder-cloud. The lightning flash gleamed\nthrough the waterfall, forming a prismatic rainbow of transcendent\nbeauty, while the deep peal swept through the echoing dingles, and the\ncrimson-spotted trout leaped in sportive summersaults over the\nwater-ousel that was walking quietly on the gravel, deep in the water.\n\nIn this wilderness of nature, no wonder that legends should prevail:\nthat fairies are seen sporting in the Hepst\u00e8 cascades, and that in the\ndark cavern of Cwm-Rhyd y Rhesg, the ghosts of headless ladies so often\naffright the romantic girls of these wild valleys. No wonder that they\nbelieve the giant Idris, enthroned on his mountain chair, shook the\nthree pebbles from his shoe into that pool which bears the name of the\nLake of Three Grains; or that the shrieks of Prince Idwal are to this\nday heard by the peasants of Snowdonia, amid the storm which bursts over\nthe purple crag of the Twll-dhu, and thunder-clouds cast a deeper and a\ndarker shade over the black water of Lyn Idwal. Nay, I myself may\nconfess, that as I have stood on the peaks of Y Wyddfa, while the white\nand crimson clouds rolled beneath me in fleecy masses, whirling around\nthe cone of Snowdon, I have for a moment believed that I was something\nmore than earthly. And when enveloped in the mysterious cloud which\nrests on the head of Mount Pilate in Lucern, I gave half my faith to the\nlegend of the guide, that storm and human trouble, and the perils of\nflocks in the vicinity of its triple peak, were the result of the\nself-immersion of Pontius Pilate in its lake, an act of remorse at his\nimpious adjudication. This unhallowed water was regarded with dismay,\nand not a pebble might be cast to make a ripple on its surface and\ndisturb the quiet of the traitor. But, lo! in the sixteenth century the\nspell was proved to be a fable by an assemblage of bold Switzers, who\nhurled rocks into the lake, and swam across its water without the\nslightest indication of displeasure from this kelpie of the Brundeln\nAlp.\n\nEV. The truth is sweeter on your lips than fiction, Castaly. Whisper\nagain in the ear of Astrophel the penalties entailed on the _indulgence_\nof second sight. Dr. Abercrombie knew a gentleman who _could_, by his\nwill, call up spirits, and seers have assured me that the sight is to a\ncertain degree voluntary:\u2014by fixing the attention on a subject during\nthe dark hour, the power of divination may be increased, but it cannot\nbe controlled. But those who indulge in those illusions are often driven\non to a degree of frenzy equal to the agonizing penalty of Frankenstein;\neven as the witch of Endor trembled when she raised before Saul the\nspirit of Samuel, or the Iberian princess Pyrene, who, like Sin, fled\nfrom the child-serpent which was born from her dalliance with Hercules.\n\nThe effort of the seers, nay, the mysterious ordeal to which they submit\nthemselves, are often so painful, that they gaze with strained eyeballs,\nand fainting occurs as the vision appears. When the dark hour is o\u2019er,\nthey will exclaim with Mac Aulay, \u201cThank God, the mist hath passed from\nmy spirit!\u201d Indeed, Sir Walter Scott observed in those who presumed to\nthis faculty, \u201cshades of mental aberration which caused him to feel\nalarmed for those who assumed the sight.\u201d Archibald, Duke of Argyle, was\na seer, and it is written that he was haunted by _blue_ phantoms, the\norigin, I believe, of our epithet for melancholy\u2014\u201cblue devils.\u201d\n\nAt the foot of yonder purple mountains in Morgany, once lived Colonel\nBowen, a doer of evil works, whose spectral visitations fill so many\npages of Baxter\u2019s \u201cEssay on the Reality of Apparitions.\u201d This deep\nhistorian of the realm of shadows tells that the wizard was worn down by\nthe phantoms of his evil conscience; that he imprisoned himself and his\nboy, who was, I presume, a sort of _famulus_, in a small castle; that he\nwalked and talked of diablerie, and I know not what miseries, in his\nsleep.\n\nI have myself known those who see spectres when they shut their eyes,\nbefore an attack of delirium, which vanish on the re-admission of light;\nand in imaginative minds, under peculiar conditions, intense reading may\nso shut out the real world, that an effort is required to re-establish\nvision. In Polydori\u2019s \u201cVampyre\u201d it is recorded that they had been\nreading phantasmagoria, and ghost stories in Germany, thereby highly\nexciting the sensitive mind of Percy Bysshe Shelley. Anon, on Byron\u2019s\nreading some lines of Christabel, Shelley ran from the room, and was\nfound leaning on a mantel-piece bedewed with cold and clammy\nperspiration; and it is enough to read of the gloom which marked the\nminds of those geister-sehers, the proselytes of Swedenborg (among whom\nhe ranked the King of Prussia), to reclaim all the converts to his\nstrange religion.\n\nASTR. There is a bright side, Evelyn. In Germany, those children which\nare born on a Sunday are termed \u201cSontag\u2019s kind,\u201d and are believed to be\nendowed with the faculty of seeing spirits; these are gifted with a life\nof _happiness_.\n\nEV. And you believe it. Well, for a moment I grant its truth; but it is\nthe reverse in Scotland; the vision is almost ever cheerless, and\nprophetic of woe. \u201cDoes the sight come gloomy o\u2019er your spirit?\u201d asks\nMac Aulay. \u201cAs dark as the shadow of the moon when she is darkened in\nher course in heaven, and prophets foretell of future times.\u201d And the\nanathema of Roderich Dhu\u2019s prophet Brian is dark and gloomy as the\nlegend of his mysterious birth, or its prototype, the impure fable of\nAtys, and the loves of Jupiter and Sangaris.\n\nCAST. If I am the sylph to charm this moody gentleman from his reveries,\nI will warn him in the words of a canzonet, even of the 17th century:\n\n \u201cYet, rash astrologer, refrain;\n Too dearly would be won\n The prescience of another\u2019s pain,\n If purchased by thine own.\u201d\n\nAnd I will tell him what Collins writes on the perils of the seer, in\nhis \u201cOde on Highland Superstition,\u201d\u2014\n\n \u201cHow they whose sight such dreary dreams engross,\n With their own vision oft astonished droop,\n When o\u2019er the wat\u2019ry strath or quaggy moss\n They see the gliding ghosts embodied troop.\u2014\n They know what spirit brews the stormful day,\n And, heartless, oft like moody madness stare\n To see the phantom train their secret work prepare.\u201d\n\nHe listens not to me. Nay, then, I will try the virtue of a _spell_ that\nhas oft shed a ray of light over the dark hour of the ghost-seer. I will\nwhisper music in thine ear, Astrophel. The fiend of Saul was chased away\nby the harp of David; the gloomy shadows of Allan Mac Aulay were\nbrightened by the melody of Annot Lyle; and the illusion of Philip of\nSpain, that he was dead and in his grave, was dispelled by the exquisite\nlute of the Rose of the Alhambra.\n\nASTR. My thanks, fair Castaly; yet wherefore should I claim your syren\nspells. _My_ visions are delightful as the inspiration of the\nimprovisatore, and carry not the penalty of the monomaniac. But say, if\nthere _be_ (in vulgar words) a crack in this cranium of mine, may not\nthis crack, as saith the learned Samuel Parr, \u201c_let in the light_?\u201d\n\nIf prophetic visions in the _early ages_ came over the dying, why not in\nours?\n\nThe last solemn speech of Jacob was an inspired prophecy of the\nmiraculous advent:\u2014\u201cThe sceptre shall not depart from Judah, nor a\nlawgiver from between his feet, until Shiloh come, and to him shall the\ngathering of the people be.\u201d And is it profanation to ask, why may not\nthe departing spirit of holiness, even now, prophecy to _us_?\n\nAs we see the stars from the deep well, so may such spirits look into\nfuturity from the dark abyss of dissolution. In some cases of little\nchildren, I have learned that this unearthly feeling has caused them to\nanticipate their dying. How pathetically does John Evelyn, in his Diary,\nallude to the anticipation of his little boy,\u2014\u201can angel in body and in\nmind, who died of a quartan ague, in his fifth year. The day before he\ndied, he called to me and told me that, for all I loved him so dearly, I\nshould give my house, lands, and all my fine things, to his brother.\u201d\n\nThe dying seem indeed themselves to feel that they are scarcely of this\nworld. Holcroft, a short time before his death, hearing his children on\nthe stairs, said to his wife, \u201cAre those _your_ children, Louisa?\u201d\u2014as\nif he were already in another existence. As if the human mind itself\nwere perusing the celestial volume of the recording angel,\u2014the awful\nbook of fate.\n\nWhen the Northern Indian is stretched on the torture, even amidst his\nagonies, an inspired combination of belief and hope presents him with\nvivid pictures of the blessed regions of the Kitchi Manitou. The\nfaithful Mussulman, in the agonies of death, feels assured that his\nenchanted sight is blessed by the beautiful houris in Mahomet\u2019s\nparadise. The Runic warriors also, as the Icelandic chronicles record in\ntheir epitaphs, when mortally wounded in battle, \u201cfall, laugh, and\nexpire;\u201d and in this expiration, like the dying warriors of Homer,\npredict the fate of their enemies.\n\nAs the venom of the serpent curdled the blood in the veins of Regner\nLodbrog, the Danish king, he exclaimed with ecstasy,\u2014\u201cWhat new joys\narise within me! I am dying! I hear Odin\u2019s voice; the gates of his\npalace are already opened, and half-naked maidens advance to meet me. A\nblue scarf heightens the dazzling whiteness of their bosoms; they\napproach and present me with the soul-exhilarating beverage in the\nbloody skulls of my enemies.\u201d\n\nEV. In that awful moment, when the spirit is\n\n \u201cSoon from his cell of clay\n To burst a seraph in the blaze of day,\u201d\n\nthe mind is prone to yield to those feelings which it might perhaps in\nthe turmoil of the busy world and at another period deem superstition.\nThere is something in the approach of death of so holy and so solemn a\nnature, something so unlike life in the feeling of the dying, that in\nthis transition, although we cannot compass the mystery, some vision of\nanother world may steal over the retiring spirit, imparting to it a\nproof of its immortality. I do not fear to yield for once my approval of\nthis devout passage of Sir Thomas Brown:\u2014\u201cIt is observed that men\nsometimes upon the hour of their departure do speak and reason above\nthemselves, for then the soul begins to be freed from the ligaments of\nthe body, and to discourse in a strain above mortality.\u201d It is on the\nverge of eternity, and the laws and principles of vitality may be\nalready repealed by the Being who conferred them.\u2014The arguments, then,\nregarding the phenomena of life may fail, when life has all but ceased.\n\nWith this admission, I may counsel Astrophel as to the danger of\nadducing heathen history or fiction in proof of this solemn question.\n\nCAST. And yet Shakspere, for one, with a poet\u2019s license, brings before\nus, as you do, the dying hour, as the _cause_ of prophetic vision. John\nof Gaunt, on his death-bed, mutters,\u2014\n\n \u201cMethinks I am a prophet new inspired,\n And thus expiring do foretell of him,\u201d\n\nand then predicts the fate of Richard.\n\nAnd remember, the dying Hotspur says,\u2014\n\n \u2014\u2014\u201cnow could I prophecy,\n _But that_ the icy hand of death,\u201d &c.\n\nEV. Well, I will not controvert your creed, Astrophel; rather let me\nillustrate some of your apparent mysteries by simple analogy.\n\nAs in these extreme moments of life, so in the hour of extreme danger,\nwhen an awful fate is impending, and the world and our sacred\nfriendships are about to be lost to us, a vision of our absent friends\nwill pass before us with all the light of reality. We read in the\nwritings of Dr. Conolly of a person who, in danger of being swamped on\nthe Eddystone rock, saw the phantoms of his family passing distinctly\nbefore him; and these are the words of the English Opium-Eater:\u2014\u201cI was\nonce told by a near relative of mine that, having in her childhood\nfallen into a river, and being on the very verge of death but for the\ncritical assistance which reached her, she saw in a _moment_ her whole\nlife in its minutest incidents arrayed before her simultaneously, as in\na mirror, and she had a faculty developed as suddenly for comprehending\nthe whole and every part.\u201d\n\nNow, although the coming on of death is often attended by that slight\ndelirium indicated by the babbling of green fields, and the playing with\nflowers, and the picking of the bedclothes, and the smiling on the\nfingers\u2019 ends, yet in others some oppressive or morbid _cause of\ninsanity_ may be removed by the moribund condition. In the words of\nAret\u00e6us,\u2014\u201cthe system has thrown off many of its impurities, and the\nsoul, left naked, was free to exercise such energies as it still\npossessed.\u201d\n\nI will glance in illustration at these interesting cases:\u2014from\nZimmerman, of an insane woman of Zurich, who, \u201ca few hours before her\ndeath, became perfectly sensible and wonderfully eloquent;\u201d\u2014from Dr.\nPerceval, of a female idiot, who, as she was dying of consumption,\nevinced the highest powers of intellect;\u2014from Dr. Marshall, of the\nmaniac, who became completely rational some hours previous to his\ndissolution;\u2014and from Dr. Hancock, of the Quaker, who, from the\ncondition of a drivelling idiot, became shortly before his death so\ncompletely rational, as to call his family together, and, as his spirit\nwas passing from him, bestow on them with pathetic solemnity his last\nbenediction.\n\nThus your impressive records are clearly explained by pathology; and,\nperhaps unconscious of this, Mrs. Opie has a fine illustration in her\n\u201cFather and Daughter:\u201d\u2014the mind of the maniac parent being illumined\nbefore his death by a beam of reason.\n\nBut in the languid brain of an idiot excitement may even produce\nrationality.\n\nSamuel Tuke tells us of a domestic servant, who lapsed into a state of\ncomplete idiocy. Some time after, she fell into typhus fever, and as\nthis progressed, there was a real development of mental power. At that\nstage when delirium lighted up the minds of others, _she_ was rational,\nbecause the excitement merely brought up the nervous energy to its\nproper point. As the fever abated, however, she sunk into her idiot\napathy, and thus continued until she died. It was but the _transient\ngleam_ of reason.\n\n\n\n\n PHANTASY FROM CEREBRAL CONGESTION.\u2014OPIUM.\n\n\n \u2014\u2014\u201cHave we eaten of the insane root,\n That takes the reason prisoner?\u201d\n MACBETH.\n\nEV. The contrasts to these phantoms of blind superstition, are those of\nthe _overstrained_ condition of the mind. The Creator has ordained the\nbrain to be the soil in which the mind is implanted or developed. This\nbrain, like the corn-field, must have its fallow, or it is exhausted and\nreduced in the degree of its high qualities. In our intellectual\ngovernment, therefore, we should ever adopt that happy medium, equally\nremote from the bigotry of the untutored, and the ultra refinement of\nthe too highly cultivated mind.\n\nIt is not essential that I should now offer you more than a hint, that\nthe essence of the gloomy ghosts of deep study, like the melancholy\nphantoms and oppressive demons of the night-mare, consists in the\naccumulation of black blood about the brain and the heart; and a glance\nat phrenology would explain to you how the influence of that blood on\nthe various divisions of the brain will call up in the mind these\n\u201cHydras and Gorgons, and Chimeras dire.\u201d\n\nThe learned Pascal constantly saw a gulph yawning at his side, but he\nwas _aware_ of his illusion. He was, however, always strapped in his\nchair, lest he should fall into this gulph, especially while he was\nworking the celebrated problem of the cycloidal curve.\n\nA distinguished nobleman, who but lately guided the helm of state in\nEngland, was often annoyed by the spectre of a bloody head;\u2014a strange\ncoincidence with the phantom of the Count Duke d\u2019Olivarez, the minister\nof Philip of Spain.\n\nFrom Dr. Conolly we learn the curious illusion of a student of anatomy,\nwho, during his ardent devotion to his study, confidently believed that\nthere was a town in his _deltoid_ muscle.\n\nAnd, from Dr. Abercrombie, the case of a gentleman of high literary\nattainments, who, when closely reading in his study, was repeatedly\nannoyed by the intrusive visits of a little old woman in a black bonnet\nand mantle, with a basket on her arm. So _filmy_, however, was this\nphantom, that the door-lock was seen through her. Supposing she had\nmistaken her way, he politely showed her the door, and she instantly\nvanished. It was the change of posture which effected this\ndisappearance, by altering the circulation of the brain-blood, then in a\nstate of partial stagnation.\n\nMy friend, Dr. Johnson, has told me of a gentleman of great science, who\nconceived that he was honoured by the frequent visits of spectres. They\nwere at first refined and elegant both in manners and in conversation,\nwhich, on one occasion, assumed a witty turn, and quips, and puns, and\nsatire, were the order of the evening; so that he was charmed with his\nghostly visitors, and sought no relief. On a sudden, however, they\nchanged into demoniac fiends, uttering expressions of the most degraded\nand unholy nature. He became alarmed, and depletion soon cured him of\nhis phantasy.\n\nA Scotch lawyer had long laboured under this kind of monomania, which at\nlength proved fatal. His physician had long seen that some secret grief\nwas gnawing the heart and sucking the life-blood of his patient, and he\nat last extorted the confession, that a skeleton was ever watching him\nfrom the foot of his bed. The physician tried various modes to dispel\nthe illusion, and once placed himself in the field of the vision, and\nwas not a little terrified when the patient exclaimed, that he saw the\nskull peering at him over his left shoulder.\n\nThe \u201cMartyr Philosopher,\u201d too, in the \u201cDiary of a Physician,\u201d saw,\nshortly preceding his death, a figure in black deliberately putting away\nthe books in his study, throwing his pens and ink into the fire, and\nfolding up his telescope, as if they were now useless. The truth is _he\nhimself_ had been engaged in that occupation, but it was his own\ndisordered imagination that raised the spectre.\n\nYou will believe from these illustrations, Astrophel, that Seneca is\nright in his aphorism,\u2014\n\n \u201cNullum fit magnum ingenium sine mistur\u00e2 dementi\u00e6.\u201d\n\nAnd Pope also in his unconscious imitation,\u2014\n\n \u201cGreat wits to madness nearly are allied.\u201d\n\nLord Castlereagh, when commanding in early life a militia regiment in\nIreland, was stationed one night in a large desolate country house, and\nhis bed was at one end of a long dilapidated room, while, at the other\nextremity, a great fire of wood and turf had been prepared within a huge\ngaping old-fashioned chimney. Waking in the middle of the night, he lay\nwatching from his pillow the gradual darkening of the embers on the\nhearth, when suddenly they blazed up, and a naked child stepped from\namong them upon the floor. The figure advanced slowly towards Lord\nCastlereagh, rising in stature at every step, until, on coming within\ntwo or three paces of his bed, it had assumed the appearance of a\nghastly giant, pale as death, with a bleeding wound on the brow, and\neyes glaring with rage and despair. Lord Castlereagh leaped from his\nbed, and confronted the figure in an attitude of defiance. It retreated\nbefore him, diminishing as it withdrew in the same manner that it had\npreviously shot up and expanded; he followed it, pace by pace, until the\noriginal child-like form disappeared among the embers. He then went back\nto his bed, and was disturbed no more.\n\nThe melancholy story of the Requiem of Mozart is an apt and sublime\nillustration of this influence. It was written by desire of a solemn\npersonage, who repeatedly, he affirmed, called on him during its\ncomposition, and disappeared on its completion. The requiem was soon\nchanted over _his own_ grave; and the man in black was, I believe, but a\nphantom of his own creation.\n\nA step beyond this, and we have the spectres of the delirium of fever:\nthe wanderings of typhus, in which the victim either revels with delight\nin the regions of fancy, a midsummer madness, or is influenced by gloom\nand despair, in which, with a consciousness of right and wrong, he is\ndriven headlong to acts of ruin and devastation.\n\nIDA. In this illusive condition of the intellect consists even the\nmonomania of suicide; and the phrenologist will declare that torpor or\nexcitement of the \u201corgan of the love of life,\u201d will incite or deter from\nsuch an act. But surely this is error: it is certain that there was a\n_fashion_ among the Stoics for this crime; and even in the early history\nof Marseilles, suicide was sanctioned, not only by custom, but by\nauthority.\n\nEV. It is a truth of history, but the _essence_ of the crime is the\npredisposition in the brain. You will think to confute my position,\nAstrophel, by adducing Brutus and Cassius, and Antony and Cato, and a\nhost of Roman heroes, in proof of the sanity of these suicides; but even\nin the case of Cato, if we read Plutarch and not Addison, who with\nRousseau, Montaigne, and Shaftesbury, leaned toward a _sanction_, we\nshall believe that Cato was indeed a monomaniac. I speak this in\ncharity.\n\nAnd to all these morbid states we may still offer analogies. Such are\nthe effects of opium.\n\nThe brilliancy of thought may be artificially induced, also, by various\nother narcotics, such as the juice of the American manioc, the fumes of\ntobacco, or the yupa of the Othomacoes on the Orinoco. To this end we\nlearn from a learned lord, that even ladies of quality are wont to\n\u201clight up their minds with opium as they do their houses with wax or\noil.\u201d\n\nIndeed a kind of inspiration seems for a time to follow the use of these\nnarcotics. The Cumean sybil swallowed the juice of the cherry laurel ere\nshe sat on the divining tripod; and from this may have arisen those\nsuperstitious fancies of the ancients regarding the virtues of the\nlaurel, and the influence of other trees, of which I remember an\nallusion of the excellent author of the \u201cSylva.\u201d\n\n\u201cHere we may not omit what learned men have observed concerning the\ncustom of _prophets_ and persons inspired of _old_ to _sleep_ upon the\nboughs and branches of _trees_, on _mattresses_ and _beds_ made of\nleaves, _ad consulendum_, to ask advice of God. Naturalists tell us that\nthe _Laurus_ and _Agnus Castus_ were trees which greatly composed the\n_phrensy_, and did facilitate true _vision_, and that the _first_ was\nspecifically efficacious, \u03c0\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2 \u03c4\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2 \u03b5\u03bd\u03b8\u03c5\u03c3\u03b9\u03b1\u03c3\u03bc\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2, to inspire a\n_poetical_ fury: and _Cardan_, I remember, in his book _de Fato_,\ninsists very much on the dreams of _trees_ for portents and presages,\nand that the use of some of them do dispose men to visions.\u201d\n\nDuring the reverie of the opium eater (not the deep sleep of a full\ndose, but the first and second stage ere coma be induced), he is indeed\na poet, so far as brilliant imagination is concerned, but his scribbling\nis mere \u201cmidsummer madness,\u201d the phantoms of which are as wild as those\nof intoxication, dreaming, or insanity. But the philosophy, the\nmetaphysics of poetry, are not the product of mere excitement: \u201cPoeta\nnascitur, non fit.\u201d A poet\u2019s genius is born with him. The influence of\nopium on the philosopher or the orator is the same, but in them it does\nnot usually elevate the force of imagination beyond that of judgment.\nThe power of the faculties has been in fact exhausted by thought or\nstudy; the stimulus of opium, then, restores that depressed energy to\nits proper level, leaving the judgment perfect, and not overbalanced.\nThe celebrated Thomas Brown, during the composition of his Essay on the\nMind, kept his intellect on the stretch by opium for several successive\nnights. Sir James Mackintosh (one of his favourite pupils) informed us,\nthat on entering the doctor\u2019s library one morning somewhat abruptly, he\noverheard the following command addressed to his daughter: \u201cEffie, bring\nme the _moderate_ stimulus of a hundred drops of laudanum.\u201d So that the\nexcitement be obtained, it matters not how, whether by the use of opium,\nor other \u201cdrowsy syrups of the East, poppy or mandragora,\u201d as in the\ncase of some of our modern statesmen; or the free libation of brandy in\ncertain orators, who were wont to stagger down to the House from White\u2019s\nor Brookes\u2019s, with those clubhouse laurels, wet towels, round their\nbrows, and overwhelm Saint Stephen\u2019s by the thunders of their eloquence.\nUnless, indeed, this be carried to excess, and then we have two very\ninteresting states of vision, as you may gather from the following\nwitticism on two of these departed legislators, which was founded on a\ntruth:\n\n \u201cI cannot see the Speaker, Bill, can you?\n Not see him, Harry, d\u2014\u2014e, I see two!\u201d\n\nFor the effects of alcohol and opium are alike: the first degree is\nexcitement; the second, reverie; the third, sleep, or stupor. \u201cBen\nJonson,\u201d writes Aubrey, \u201cwould many times exceede in drink; Canarie was\nhis beloved liquor: then he would tumble home to bed, and when he had\nthoroughly perspired, then to studie.\u201d\n\nThe _second_ visions of that moral delinquent, the practised\nopium-eater, like the cordial julep of Comus,\n\n \u201cWill bathe the drooping spirits in delight,\n Beyond the bliss of dreams.\u201d\n\nThe phantoms of the _third_ stage are often of unutterable anguish:\nvisions of bright forms dabbled in blood, and scenes of crime and horror\nwhich are at once loathed and revelled in. The awful curse of Lord\nByron\u2019s infidel\u2014a vampyre\u2014who, haunting the graveyard with gouls and\nafrits, sucks the blood of his race:\n\n \u201c\u2019Till they with horror shrink away\n From spectre more accurs\u2019d than they.\u201d\n\nThus for a moment of delirious joy, he yields up his mind to the agonies\nof remorse, his body to a slow poison, perhaps to a sinful dissolution.\n\nIDA. The scenes which I gazed on among the opium-houses of\nConstantinople, ever excited my wonder and my pity. These slaves of\npleasure, when they assemble and take their seats, are the perfect\npictures of either apathetic melancholy or despair. As the potent poison\ncreeps through the blood, they are lighted with unholy fires, until,\nthese being exhausted, the vulture of Prometheus again gnaws their\nvitals, although the fire is not stolen from heaven.\n\nListen to the confessions of such a slave:\u2014\n\n\u201cAt last, with the sense that all was lost, female forms, and the\nfeatures that were all the world to me, and clasped hands, and\nheart-breaking partings, and then everlasting farewells, and with a sigh\nsuch as the caves of hell sighed, when the incestuous mother uttered the\nabhorred name of Death, the sound was reverberated\u2014Everlasting\nfarewells.\u201d\n\n\u201cWhatsoever things capable of being visually represented I did but think\nof in the darkness, immediately shaped themselves into phantoms of the\neye; and, by a process no less inevitable, when thus once traced in\nfaint and visionary colours, they were drawn out by the fierce chemistry\nof my dreams, with insufferable splendour that fretted my heart.\u201d\n\nIs there any earthly pleasure which will compensate the victim of this\nvoluntary condemnation?\n\nEV. And yet a visionary once thought of renting the Hummums in Covent\nGarden, and purchasing a large stock of opium, for the purpose of\nsupplying us with visions. He would have succeeded, perhaps, if he had\nhired a second Helen to serve up this nepenthe to the guests.\n\nThe intense effect of opium is insensibility or death. Thus the Natches\ngive narcotics to their victims, and the Brahmins to the suttee women,\nere they ascend the pile, for the purpose of producing insensibility.\nIts mildest effects will be, if long continued, especially in early\nlife, idiocy; and Oppenheim states that it is sometimes administered to\nadults by design, to substantiate a statute of lunacy.\n\nASTR. I cannot disprove your facts, Evelyn, nor do _they_ yet disprove\nthe rationality of my own faith. And is there not one illusion from\nopium-eating which seems to reverse your laws? From the tales of the\nOpium-Eater we learn, that the healthy thoughts of the mind seem to be\nfrozen up in the brain, like the notes in the frozen horn of Munchausen,\nor the Irish echo which was so long in giving its answers, that if you\nhad a concert, you should play and sing the airs _the day before_ the\nassemblage of your company. And then, when the effect was wearing off,\nthese thoughts followed so copiously and fast, as that not one in a\nhundred could be recorded. Is this true?\n\nEV. It is a slight fact embellished. The action of opium, however, is\nnot uniform: it may produce deep sleep, or insensible stupor; or it may\nquiet some of the faculties; and when it does so, it excites a dream of\nirregular associations.\n\nThe salts of morphia exert an especial influence over the organ of\nlanguage; so that the orator in the fluency of his power of speech finds\nit difficult to stop. The _muriate_ is the best preparation to induce\nfluency and confidence in speaking, or the mind to luxuriate throughout\na night in delightful reverie: and in the morning, after this phantasy,\nthe body will even rise _refreshed_.\n\nIn some cases, however, morphia will create a very strange illusion, _a\nspectral language_: so that, in reading or listening, we may feel or\nthink that the words have lost their true meaning. This effect is, I am\ntold, attended with severe headache.\n\nThe poem of \u201cKubla Khan,\u201d which Coleridge has termed a psychological\ncuriosity, had its origin in the excitement of opium, a spinning out of\na theme in \u201cPurchas\u2019 Pilgrim,\u201d which he had been reading: it is an\neffort of the poet in recording the wild images which had been before\npresented to the mind\u2019s eye of the enthusiast,\u2014the impression, indeed,\nof the pleasures and the pains of memory.\n\n\n\n\n POETIC PHANTASY, OR FRENZY.\n\n\n \u201cThe poet\u2019s eye, in a fine frenzy rolling,\n Doth glance from heaven to earth\u2014from earth to heaven.\n And as imagination bodies forth\n The forms of things unknown, the poet\u2019s pen\n Turns them to shapes, and gives to airy nothings\n A local habitation, and a name.\u201d\n MIDSUMMER NIGHT\u2019S DREAM.\n\nASTR. Is there so potent a charm in poppies, Evelyn? You will make us\nbelieve, soon, that opium can make a Shakspere, that genius can be\nimparted by a drug.\n\nThe ghosts of fairyland, those bright emanations of a poet\u2019s fancy,\nwhich are wafted through the air on the thistle-down, or swing to and\nfro on the filmy thread of the gossamer, sprang from a deeper source\nthan this. The fairy mythology of Shakspere, the beautiful creations of\nthe \u201cTempest\u201d and the \u201cMidsummer Night\u2019s Dream,\u201d are the very offspring\nof that _innate_ genius, that \u201cexhausted worlds, and then _imagined\nnew_.\u201d\n\nThose exquisite and tricksy spirits, the mischievous Puck and the\ndelicate Ariel, indeed, the whole train of ghosts which appeared to\nMacbeth, and Richard, and Clarence, and Brutus, and Hamlet, and the\nspirits of the \u201cMidsummer Night,\u201d the \u201cTempest,\u201d and \u201cMacbeth,\u201d of\nBolingbroke and Joan of Arc, could not have been so painted, unless they\nhad stood before the mind of Shakspere as palpable as reality.\n\nLook, too, on those splendid illustrations of the Gothic poets by the\neccentric, or, as Evelyn would call him, the half-mad Fuseli. Look on\nthe wild pencillings of Blake, another poet painter, and you will be\nassured that they were ghost-seers. An intimate friend of Blake, himself\na reader of the stars, has told me the strangest tales of his visions.\nIn one of his reveries he witnessed the whole ceremony of a fairy\u2019s\nfuneral, which he peopled with mourners and mutes, and described with\nhigh poetic beauty. He was engaged, in one of these moods, in painting\nKing Edward I., who was sitting to him for his picture. While they were\nconversing, Wallace suddenly presented himself on the field, and by this\nuncourteous intrusion marred the studies of the painter for that day.\n\nEV. A most unhappy comparison, Astrophel. The difference between\nShakspere and Blake is _antipodean_. Blake was a visionary, and thought\nhis fancies real\u2014he was mad. Shakspere was a philosopher, and knew all\nhis fancy was but imagination, however real might be the facts he\nwrought from. Ben Jonson told Drummond that he lay awake one whole\nnight, gazing in mute admiration on his great toe; surrounding which, in\nminiature, appeared the inhabitants of Rome, and Carthage, and Tartary,\nand Turkey; but he also was aware of the illusion.\n\nCAST. My most gracious smile is yours, Evelyn, for this honour to my\nsweet Shakspere. I pray you accord the same to the spectral visions of a\npoet, in whose beautiful Aminta each line is a breath of\ninspiration\u2014the day-dreams of the elegant Tasso. Listen.\n\n\u201cAt Bisaccio, Manso had an opportunity to examine the singular effects\nof Tasso\u2019s melancholy; and often disputed with him concerning a familiar\nspirit which he pretended to converse with. Manso endeavoured in vain to\npersuade his friend that the whole was the illusion of a disturbed\nimagination; but the latter was strenuous in maintaining the reality of\nwhat he asserted; and, to convince Manso, desired him to be present at\none of these mysterious conversations. Manso had the complaisance to\nmeet him the next day, and while they were engaged in discourse, on a\nsudden he observed that Tasso kept his eyes fixed upon a window, and\nremained in a manner immoveable; he called him by his name several\ntimes, but received no answer. At last Tasso cried out, \u2018There is the\nfriendly spirit who is come to converse with me: look, and you will be\nconvinced of the truth of all that I have said.\u2019 Manso heard him with\nsurprise: he looked, but saw nothing except the sunbeams darting through\nthe window; he cast his eyes all over the room, but could perceive\nnothing, and was just going to ask where the pretended spirit was, when\nhe heard Tasso speak with great earnestness, sometimes putting questions\nto the spirit, and sometimes giving answers, delivering the whole in\nsuch a pleasing manner, and with such elevated expressions, that he\nlistened with admiration, and had not the least inclination to interrupt\nhim. At last this uncommon conversation ended with the departure of the\nspirit, as appeared by Tasso\u2019s words, who, turning towards Manso, asked\nhim if his doubts were removed. Manso was more amazed than ever; he\nscarce knew what to think of his friend\u2019s situation, and waived any\nfurther conversation on the subject.\u201d\n\nEV. I shall forfeit your smile, sweet Castaly, or change it, alas! for a\nfrown. I have ever thought Tasso a monomaniac, for he yielded to his\nillusion. I can give you in a fragment from Lorry, the counterpart of\nTasso\u2019s phantasy in a far different mind. \u201cDuring these paroxysms she\nwould talk, and was accustomed to address herself to some one individual\npresent, with whom she conversed at first in an obscure voice, but\nafterwards in a distinct and audible manner. She evidently perceived\nhim, and observed all his gestures; but all she said to him bore a\nreference to one idea, on which she was intent. In the mean time she\nappeared not to see or hear any other person, even if he exerted his\nvoice to the utmost to make himself heard. This fact I witnessed with\nthe greatest astonishment, but many other persons are living who can\nattest it. The mother of this female died unexpectedly, after which the\ndaughter used to hold conversations with her as if she was present. She\nwould answer questions as if interrogated by her mother; would entreat\nher to take care of her health, and recommend some physician as more\nable to restore her than others. Moreover, she would talk to her mother\nof her destined marriage, although it had already been some time\ncompleted, in a manner perfectly like that of a sane and modest young\nwoman, making some objections to it, and replying to others, and\nappeared to be revealing all her secret wishes; in a word, she seemed\nperfectly collected and rational, excepting the error respecting time,\nand the supposed presence of her mother. This woman had in other\nrespects good health, but was afraid of the smallest noise, and was\neasily affected by any thing she saw or heard. At length she fell into a\nconsumption.\u201d\n\nIn other cases, especially in accomplished minds, the phantasy is\nusually combined with _derangement of health_. A very ingenuous and\nelegant young lady, about the age of seventeen, was suddenly seized with\ncatalepsy. It commenced with violent convulsions of almost every muscle\nof her body, and the most distressing hiccoughs. In about an hour came\non a fixed spasm, one hand being placed against her head, and the other\nto support it. In about half an hour more, the spasm subsided, and then\nbegan the reverie in a moment, her eyes and expression indicating a\nfixed attention. She then conversed with imaginary persons, her eyes\nbeing wide open, and during this _ecstasy_ she was completely insensible\nto the most irritating, and indeed most violent _stimuli_.\n\nSir Henry Halford related to us, that on a visit to a person of exalted\nrank in his chamber, he heard him with great energy request Garrick to\nplay a scene in \u201cHamlet,\u201d reminding him of the lines in Horace\u2019s\nEpistles:\n\n \u201cHaud ignobilis Argis,\n Qui se credebat miros audire trag\u0153dos,\n In vacuo l\u00e6tus sessor plausorque theatro.\u201d\n\nIn Dr. Darwin, too, we read of an epileptic girl, who during a fit of\nreverie, when insensible to all external _stimuli_, conversed fluently\nwith imaginary people, and was surprised to hear of her illusions when\nfully awake.\n\nAnd, in Andral, of a gentleman of distinguished ability, who believed\nthat an absent friend was sitting among his guests, welcoming him to his\ntable, and, with great courtesy, handing him a chair. You remember how\npathetically Crabbe has illustrated this illusion in his poem of \u201cSir\nEustace Gray.\u201d\n\nCAST. Hark to the profane philosopher who associates poetry with\nmadness! Tell me, Master Evelyn, while you wandered in the Water walks\nof Magdalene, with the balmy breezes of heaven around your brow, and the\nmellow sunbeam streaming through the green leaves upon your cheek, with\nthe inspired volumes of Virgil, and Theocritus, and Bion, and Moschus,\nbreathing nature in all the lines of their beautiful idylls\u2014while\nAstrophel, perchance, was musing among cobwebs in Friar Bacon\u2019s\nstudy\u2014tell me, felt you not the sublimity and truth of poesy? You\nremind me of the quaint tradition among the shepherds of Snowdonia, that\nif two persons lie down, on midsummer eve, to sleep upon a certain rock\non Snowdon, one will wake a poet, the other a maniac. I pr\u2019ythee, think\notherwise of Tasso, whose reveries were an ecstasy of bright thoughts.\nEven when the light of day is eclipsed, as when the senseless orbs of\nHomer and Milton were merged in \u201cever-during dark,\u201d the thoughts of a\npoet may be deeper and clearer for the gloom.\n\nIDA. And so pure and holy withal. In the \u201cDefensio Secunda,\u201d I remember\nthis gem of sentiments:\u2014\u201cInvolved in darkness, not so much from the\nimperfection of our optic powers, as from the shadow of the Creator\u2019s\nwings,\u2014a darkness which he frequently irradiates with an inner and far\nsuperior light.\u201d\n\nNever did poet feel more intensely than Milton the truth of that divine\nthought, that \u201cthe shadow of God is light.\u201d\n\nCAST. And call up that glory of the Elizabethan age, Philip Sidney,\nwhose life, in the words of Campbell, was \u201ca poetry in action,\u201d and who\nmore than embodied the brightest pictures of Tasso and Ariosto, and\neclipsed the glory of that Chevalier Bayard, like himself, \u201csans peur et\nsans reproche.\u201d\n\nEV. I cry you mercy, fairest ladies, I speak not of the light of poetry,\nbut of its shadows. _Cheromania_ is the first form of _monomania_, or\nthe madness of one idea; and this is marked by cheerfulness and splendid\nideas, which indeed often tend to mitigate the melancholy scenes of\nderangement, as if \u201cthe light that led astray was light from heaven.\u201d I\nwill illustrate this by repeating to you the letter to his brother, of a\nyoung officer, whose progressive changes of mind, from excitement to\nconfirmed mania, it was my duty to watch over.\n\n _December 4th, 1832._\n\n \u201cTo \u2014\u2014, Esq.\n\n \u201cI am Lord President of the Counsil, a most honorable situation,\n and the richest gift of the Crown, which brings me in seven\n thousand pounds every year. The Counsil consists of Three\n Secretaries of State, of which I am one; and the Paymaster of\n the Forces. When the King William the forth shall die, then\n shall I be crowned King of England, and be crowned in\n Westermister Abbey, By The Lord Archbishop of Canterbury. I\n shall on the occasion of my coronation have placed in the\n different street of London one thousand pipes of wine for my\n people, and at night in the Hyde Park a magnificent display of\n Fireworks, and one hundred pieces of Artillery shall fire three\n rounds for the amusement of my people and subjects. I have only\n now to give you a list of my titles and honors:\n\n \u201cKing of England.\n First Heir Presumptive to the Crown.\n Major General and Field Martial.\n Duke of Leitzep.\n Prince of Denmark.\n Lord President of the Counsil.\n Knight Banneret.\n Lord Treasurer of the Exchequer.\n Lieutenant Colonel \u2014\u2014, Lord and Baronet.\n Aid de Camp to the King.\n Champion of England.\n\n \u201cDear \u2014\u2014, I wish to acquaint you that Windsor Castle belongs\n to me, that the palace of Brighton also belongs to me, also I\n purchased from the Duke of Wellington the splendid park and\n Palace of Stratfieldsea, wherein there are very extensive\n Forests of Oak and of Pines trees, together with a magnificent\n sheet of Water containing Ells and Salmon Trout.\n\n \u201cDear \u2014\u2014, I have to beg that you give my love and duty to your\n wife\u2014and give this letter to read, I pray you, according to my\n desire and wish.\u201d\n\nI may tell you that the very onset of frenzy is often but an elevated\nspirit of poesy, in which brilliancy and judgment shall be companions;\nbut, like \u00c6sop\u2019s bow, the mind shall be warped and wrung by being\nconstantly bent on its subject; and thus the source of brilliancy and\nwit may be the source of madness. A change of subject will often do much\nto unbend such a mind, as a change of posture will relieve muscular\nfatigue, or as a sudden impression of fear or fright has thwarted a\nsuicide on the moment of his self-attempt. Indeed mania will often\nappear to induce an almost inspired talent, which, I may hint to you,\nmay be explained by the _oxygenizing_ of the blood in the brain.\n\nIn Van Swi\u00e9ten, we read of a working female who, during fits of\ninsanity, displayed the faculty of rhyming, or poetic talent; and (as I\nam fond of analogy) in Pinel, of one who, during his insane moments,\nargued (as if from concentrated memory) in an acute and intelligent\nmanner, on the events of the Revolution.\n\nThen Haller tells us of an idiot, who was wounded on the head, and,\nduring its healing, the intellect became lucid (and this on the\nprinciple of a counteraction); but, on the healing being completed,\nagain the creature was an idiot.\n\nWhen we are roaming over the flowery fields of poesy, we are seldom\ninclined to reflect on the mental labour by which they are embellished.\nWe may suppose that, whatever is born of the brain is ushered in by an\neasy birth; but poesy is often attended by a pang of parturition, and\none single line may rankle in the brain for hours ere it struggle into\nlight; and, perhaps, require a frontal blow, as violent as that which\ncleft the skull of Jupiter and gave birth to Pallas.\n\nThere are some minds which can support the effort of composition with\nimpunity; but when we recollect the diseases which are entailed on\ngenius\u2014the melancholy of Cowper, and the distraction of the amiable\nCollins, who\n\n \u201cpassed in madd\u2019ning pain life\u2019s feverish dream,\n While rays of genius only served to show\n The thick\u2019ning horror, and exalt his woe;\u201d\n\nwhen we remember the gloomy setting of the brilliant sun of Scott,\nduring the period of his apoplectic tendency, when his letter \u201cfilled\nthe minds of his publishers with dismay,\u201d and he sunk into the delusive\nhope that his debts were liquidated to the full; when we are told that\nAriosto was never seen to laugh, and rarely to smile; that Rousseau was\never restless, and on the verge of mania; when we reflect on the\npremature decay of unhappy White\u2014\n\n \u201cWhen science self destroyed her fav\u2019rite son;\u201d\n\non the painful conflicts of Byron, when his dark hour was on him; on\nChatterton, \u201cthe sleepless boy who perish\u2019d in his pride:\u201d are incited,\nalmost unconsciously to echo the apostrophe of Wordsworth:\u2014\n\n \u201cWe poets in our youth begin in gladness,\n But thereof comes in the end despondency and madness.\u201d\n\nIDA. The laurel, then, contains more poison than that of prussic acid in\nits leaf. The perils of romance are not _ever_ in these extremes; yet\nthe mere indulgence of poetic thoughts may so raise the beau-ideal of\nbeauty in the sensitive and youthful mind, as to unfit it for the common\nduties of life. Like Narcissus, the heart perishes for love of its own\nshadow. It becomes so acutely sensitive, as to \u201cdie of a rose in\naromatic pain:\u201d or like the Sybarite, it cannot sleep, because a\ncrumpled rose-leaf lay beneath the pillow.\n\nI have often thought that the secret of happiness may lie in this\nprecept: \u201cTake the _good_ of life as it is, a divine gift, and not _an\nagreeable deception_;\u201d when _evil_ is in your path, search its cause,\nanalyze its nature, and if you discover not that you have yourself to\nthank for it, at least you may prove that the evil _itself_ is made up\nof mere trifles, and thus you will learn to be resigned.\n\nAnd with the beauty and treasures of earth: if _you_ possess them, enjoy\nthem with a prudent and a grateful heart. If they belong to _others_,\nsigh not\u2014pine not for them, but analyze them also, and you may find\nthat the hope of their enjoyment was a phantom; for aggregated beauties\nare often made up of deformed or unlovely atoms.\n\nI might illustrate my remarks by relating to you an episode of the life\nof my young friend Stanmore; from which I learned, with sorrow, that the\nheart may droop beneath its own excess of sensibility, (a mystery to\nthose who were strangers to its secret,) and that the blossom of love\nmay be _self-blighted_:\n\n\u201cHis existence was a withered hope, that, like the icicle in the cup of\nthe early flower, freezes the life-spring in which it is so deeply\nembosomed. In his mind was lighted a vision of Elysium, beyond what\nearth with all its virtue and beauty could give him: a spectral Utopia.\nHis life was a blank. He found not happiness, _because_ he knew not\ncontentment. He was the leader of many a forlorn hope in Spain, and fell\nin a midnight enterprise among the guerillas in the Sierra Morena.\u201d\n\nEV. And had the sword spared him, he would have died a moral suicide.\n\nWhat folly, thus to chase a butterfly, instead of yielding to the\nvirtuous influence of woman, which, beyond aught else, softens and\nennobles man\u2019s heart; entrancing it in floods of human passion, which,\nwith all its pains, yields happiness a thousand-fold more than the\nmaudlin sentiments of Rousseau, that, reducing love to a mere phantom,\nleave the lone heart to prey on its own sensibility.\n\nSuch was the romantic poet of Endymion, who for the phantom of his\nwaking dreams, gave up the study of that science, which might have\nnursed and fortified a mind, so soon chilled to death by the icy finger\nof criticism. Erato was the mistress of John Keats; but while he wooed,\nhe perished: like the Rosicrucian, who, to save the life of his lady,\ntook the oath of celibacy, and thus lost her love for ever. Even in the\nlecture-room of Saint Thomas\u2019s, I have seen Keats in a deep poetic\ndream: his mind was on Parnassus with the muses. And here is a quaint\nfragment which he one evening scribbled in our presence, while the\nprecepts of Sir Astley Cooper fell unheeded on his ear:\u2014\n\n\u201cWhenne Alexandre the Conqueroure was wayfayringe in y^{e} londe of\nInde, there mette hym a damoselle of marveillouse beautie slepynge\nuponne the herbys and flourys. He colde ne loke uponne her withouten\ngrete plesance, and he was welle nighe loste in wondrement. Her forme\nwas everyche whytte lyke y^{e} fayrest carvynge of Quene Cythere, onlie\nthatte y^{t} was swellyd and blushyd wyth warmthe and lyffe wythalle.\n\n\u201cHer forhed was as whytte as ys the snowe whyche y^{e} talle hed of a\nNorwegian pyne stelythe from y^{e} northerne wynde. One of her fayre\nhondes was yplaced thereonne, and thus whytte wyth whytte was ymyngld as\ny^{e} gode Arthure saythe, lyke whytest lylys yspredde on whyttest\nsnowe; and her bryghte eyne whenne she them oped, sparklyd lyke Hesperus\nthrough an evenynge cloude.\n\n\u201cTheye were yclosyd yn slepe, save that two slauntynge raies shotte to\nher mouthe, and were theyre bathyd yn swetenesse, as whenne bye chaunce\ny^{e} moone fyndeth a banke of violettes and droppethe thereonne y^{e}\nsylverie dewe.\n\n\u201cThe authoure was goynge onne withouthen descrybynge y^{e} ladye\u2019s\nbreste, whenne lo, a genyus appearyd\u2014\u2018Cuthberte,\u2019 sayeth he, \u2018an thou\ncanst not descrybe y^{e} ladye\u2019s breste, and fynde a simile thereunto, I\nforbyde thee to proceede yn thy romaunt.\u2019 Thys, I kennd fulle welle, far\nsurpassyd my feble powres, and forthwythe I was fayne to droppe my\nquille.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n PHANTASY FROM SYMPATHY WITH THE BRAIN.\n\n\n \u201cMy eyes are made the fools o\u2019 the other senses.\u201d\n MACBETH.\n\nASTR. I marvel not, lady, that those pencilled brows do frown upon the\nruthless scholar, who thus dares to dismantle the fair realm of poesy,\nand bind the poppy, and the cypress, and the deadly nightshade, with the\nmyrtle and the laurel.\n\nWe shall have, ere long, a statute of lunacy against the poet and the\nseer; or hapless, he will imprison thee, fair creature, within a cloven\npine: and like Prospero, I must break my wand and bury it certain\nfathoms in the earth; and, deeper than ever plummet sounded, drown my\nbooks. The pages of Ptolemy, and Haly, and Agrippa, and Lily, will be\nbut bygone fables: and the metaphysics of the mighty mind will be\ncontroverted by the slicing of the brain and marrow with the knife of\nthese anatomists. Nay, we must devoutly believe what they so learnedly\ngive out, that frontal headaches in the locality of _form_, _colour_,\nand _number_, and forsooth in the _organ of wonder_ too, often accompany\nspectral illusions, and that white or grey ghosts result from excited\nform and deficient colour!!\n\nMartin Luther, who was a believer in special influence, quarrelled with\nthe physician, who referred its mystic signs to natural causes. I am not\nso uncourteous, yet express my wonder, Evelyn, at the confidence with\nwhich you presume to the discovery of a _material_ reason and a cause,\nfor all the phenomena of our mysterious intellect.\n\nEV. And why should I not, dear Astrophel, if I search for and discover\nit in the studies of that sublime science, the meditation on which\ninspired Galen with this pious sentiment: \u201cCompono hic profecto canticum\nin Creatoris nostri laudem.\u201d\n\nIs it more profane to think that the Deity should speak to us through\nthe medium of our senses, than by the agency of a spirit? Recollect, I\nhave presumed neither to enter deeply into metaphysical reasoning, nor\nto describe, minutely, the condition of the brain; and I have alluded\nbut slightly to the supposed function of its varied structures. Lord\nBacon has observed: \u201cHe who would philosophize in a due and proper\nmanner must _dissect_ nature, but not _abstract_ her, as they are\nobliged to do who will not dissect her.\u201d Dissection, however, in its\n_anatomical_ sense, has not, perhaps cannot, elucidate the coincidence\nof symptom and pathology in cases which so seldom prove fatal, and the\ncauses of which may be so evanescent. Still, it is only by a combination\nof metaphysical argument and anatomical research, with the essential aid\nof _analogy_, that the phenomena and disease of mind can be fairly\ninvestigated.\n\nIn the important question of insanity, there is an error among the mere\nmetaphysicians that is fraught with extreme danger\u2014the abstract notion\nof _moral_ causes being the chief excitement of mania. This error has\nled to that melancholy abuse of the coercive treatment and excitement of\nfear in a maniac; as if a savage keeper possessed the wondrous power of\nfrightening him _into_ his wits. Hear what the magniloquent Reil writes\non this point: \u201cThe reception of a lunatic should be amid the thunder of\ncannon; he should be introduced by night, over a drawbridge, be laid\nhold of by Moors, thrust into a subterranean dungeon, and put into a\nbath with eels and other beasts!\u201d\n\nAnd Lichtenberg, another _moral_ philanthropist, sanctioned by the\ndivine axiom\u2014\u201cthe rod helps God,\u201d urges the employment of coercion and\ncruelty for this sublime psychological reason: that under the infliction\nof the lash and the cane, \u201cthe soul is forced to knit itself once more\nto that world, from which the _cudgels_ come!\u201d Think ye that these\nmoralists, if not hood-winked by false metaphysics, would have so\nclosely copied the malevolence of an inquisitor or a devil?\n\nWe must believe that each illusive representation is marked by _some_\nchange in some certain portion of the brain, the function of which bears\na reference to the subject or nature of the illusion: it may be so\nminute as not to be recognized by our vision. Indeed, if the bodily\nsensations of every human passion be faithfully analyzed, it will be\nproved that there is an _unusual feeling_ in some part, when even a\nthought passes through the mind, under these definitions:\u2014_a thrill_,\n_a creeping_, _a glow_, _a flush_, _a chill_, _a tremor_,\u2014nay, even\nfainting, convulsion, death.\n\nNow the brain feels, and thinks, and wills; but the blood is also\nessential to these faculties. If part of the brain is changed, or its\ncirculation deranged, in that instant an _effect unlike health_ is\nproduced: and such is the illusion of the ghost-seer. Or if the\nsubstance of the organ of sense, as the eye, be altered, its function is\nderanged, and an illusive spectrum appears to float before it. Nay, we\nare assured by Tiedeman and Gall, (opinions of high value,) that they\nhave known patients who (smile as you please) were mad only on _one\nside_ of the brain, and perceived their madness with _the other_; and\n_I_ may assure you, too, that there have been persons who really thought\nwith half the brain only.\n\nI will again claim the courtesy of these fair dames, while I offer\nanother glimpse of the dull cold region of physiology.\n\nRecollect the illustrations I have adduced in allusion to those classes,\non whose privacy the ghost has the privilege of intrusion. I will now\noffer illustrations of those _remote influences_ which work these\nseeming mysteries in the sensitive or diseased brain.\n\nA patient of Dr. Gregory, at the hour of six, _one hour after dinner_,\nwas daily visited by a hag, or incubus, which confronted him, and\nappeared to strike him with a crutch. Immediately on this he would fall\nfrom his chair in a swoon. This gentleman was relieved by bleeding and\nabstinence.\n\nThe Abb\u00e9 Pilori, in Florence, invariably saw the phantom of scorpions\naround him, after he had partaken of luncheon.\n\nThere was a gentleman in Edinburgh, learned in fourteen languages, of\nthe age of seventy-six. In 1819, he began to see strange faces, in old\ndresses, like paintings, and his own face changing from young to old;\nand these phantoms came at his call. Wine drinking increased especially\nthese spectres, during the twelve years that the illusion continued; yet\nhis mental faculties were not much impaired. When eighty years old, he\ncame to London to dine with the Knights of the Bath, and went back at\nthe rate of a hundred miles a-day. His language latterly was a _patois_\nof fourteen. One night he saw his dead wife\u2019s shadow, and jumped after\nher out of the window, and ran after her through the conservatory; yet\nhe remembered, when told that his wife was dead, and was then quiet.\nDisordered digestion aggravated his case extremely. Mr. Gragg\u2019s opinion\nwas, that \u201chis thinking was correct, but the _expression_ of thought\nwrong.\u201d On examination, the _dura mater_ was found adherent to the\nskull: in parts there was a thick effusion and vascularity over the\nbrain, and the _carotids_ were partially ossified.\n\nIn a mind excited or exhausted, the natural sympathy between the _brain_\nand the _stomach_ is wrought up to an extreme. And in the two most\ninteresting cases of spectral illusion on record, this instance is\nbeautifully illustrated. The bookseller of Berlin, Nicolai (whose\nphantasms are become so hackneyed a tale in the records of Psychology),\nhad been thus mentally excited. It were long to repeat the\ncircumstantial and scientific detail of his waking visions: of his\nghosts of departed friends, and of strangers to him, and of the groups\nof shadowy figures which glided through his chamber at these spectral\nlevees; and how his philosophic mind distinguished the intrusion of the\nspectre at the door and the real friend to whom its opening gave\nadmittance; and how they disappeared when he shut his eyes, and came\nagain as he opened his lids; or how he was at last amused by his\nanalysis of all these illusive spectra. But the sympathy to which I have\nalluded will be efficiently proved by one quotation from the Prussian\u2019s\nrecital. During the time leeches were applied to his temples, his\nchamber was crowded with phantoms. \u201cThis continued uninterruptedly till\nabout half-past four o\u2019clock, when my digestion commenced. I then\nfancied that they began to move more slowly: soon after, their colour\nbegan to fade, and at seven o\u2019clock they were entirely white: then they\nseemed to dissolve in the air, while fragments of some of them continued\nvisible a considerable time.\u201d On other occasions, they attempted to\nre-appear, and changed to white, more and more faintly as his health\nimproved.\n\nThere is equal interest, both for science and curiosity, in the illusion\nof Mrs. A. (as told by Brewster, in his \u201cNatural Magic\u201d), and which\nsprung from the like causes. The sympathetic sensitiveness of this lady\nwas so acute, that an expression of pain in another produced it in the\n_corresponding_ part of herself. And she, too, was intruded on by\nspectres of men and women, and cats and carriages, and by corpses in\nshrouds peering over her shoulder at her toilet-glass, and ghastly\nlikenesses of gentlemen in grave-clothes, sitting unceremoniously in arm\nchairs in her drawing-room. And yet the perfect restoration of the\nlady\u2019s health was coincident with her _complete_ freedom from these\nspectral visitations.\n\nYou will read in the Anatomie of Melancholy, that \u201cEremites and\nanchorites have frequently such absurd visions and revelations, by\nreason of much fasting.\u201d In exhaustion, too, or on the approach of\nvertigo, if we shut our eyes, we seem as if turning round ourselves, and\nif we open them, then this whimsical movement is referred to the chairs\nand tables in our chamber.\n\nThese, then, are the remote sympathies with the organs of digestion; and\nthis chiefly by the derangement of the circulation of the blood, between\nthe brain and the heart.\n\nIn the case of an enlarged heart, Dr. Kelly discovered that a dark\nspectrum was perceived _synchronous_ with the _systole_, or contraction\nof _its ventricles_; so that the patient could count his pulse merely by\nwatching the motion of this illusive shade on the white ceiling of his\nroom.\n\nThe study of these false perceptions, which result from derangement or\ndisease of the eye, are replete with interest. You are aware that the\nfunction of a nerve of sensation is so deranged by disease, that in some\ncases of paralysis cold bodies will appear heated. So, by analogy, is\nthe function of a nerve of _sense_ deranged, if its _fibrill\u00e6_ be\ndisordered.\n\nWe have _Myopia_, or short sight; _Presbyopia_, or long sight;\n_Chrupsia_, or coloured vision. We have night-blindness, or dim vision,\nand day-blindness, or intolerance of light,\u2014as in the albino, or owl. I\nhad, and I have now, a second relative, whose vision is insensible to\ncertain colours; and the chemist, Dalton, we know, could not distinguish\nblue from pink.\n\nIn a Glasgow Medical Journal, I read this statement by a patient:\u2014\u201cNo\ncolour contrasts to me so forcibly with black as azure blue, and as you\nknow that the shadows of all objects are composed of black, the forms or\nobjects which have acquired more or less of this blue hue, from being\ndistant, become defined and marked by the possession of shadows, which\nare invisible to me in the high-coloured objects in a foreground, and\nwhich are thus left comparatively confined and shapeless masses of\ncolour.\u201d\n\nThe eye may be curtailed of half its object. Mr. Abernethy and Dr.\nWollaston were both often in this dilemma of a sense, so that only\none-half of a person or a name, on which they were looking, was visible\nto them. Mr. Abernethy, in his facetious way, referring to his own name,\ntold us he could see as far as the _ne_, but could not see a bit of the\n_thy_. This illusion is at once explained by anatomy. The optic nerve,\nat one point, interlaces some, and crosses other of its fibres: thus\n_one_ nerve chiefly supplies _one-half of both eyes_. Disease of nerve\nmay thus paralyse _one-half_ of each _retina_: the _other_ half only\nperceiving half the object or word.\n\nIn many cases of disordered sensibility of the retina, it is influenced\nby the minute _villi_ or vessels in the _tunics_ of the eye. In the case\nof exhausted energy of this retina, usually accompanied by\nnight-blindness, where there is no vision but in a strong light,\nfloating specks termed _musc\u00e6 volitantes_ often become so numerous, as\nto impart a notion of films floating in the watery humour of the eye, or\nbefore the _cornea_. It is a curious question, in what portion of the\nretina the _spectra_ of _musc\u00e6 volitantes_ are excited. They appear in\nor near the axis of vision; but as they do not interrupt the _visual\nrays_ from _material objects_, it is possible they may arise on that\nspot considered to be destitute of vision, with regard to _external_\nimpression. Or they may be produced by detached parts only of the\nobjects, which impinge on the retina, reaching the brain. If the\nintegrity of certain of its fibres, which by converging form the optic\nnerve, be destroyed, distorted or imperfect objects will be presented.\nThis speck may be a _musca volitans_.\n\nASTR. The original impressions in all cases are, I presume, from\n_without_: how is the _internally_ excited idea presented as a prominent\nimage _before_ the eye?\n\nEV. That form of disordered vision to which I allude, occurring so often\nin nervous persons, or resulting from close application to study, does\nnot often appear to depend on a _turgid_ condition of the vessels of the\n_choro\u00efd coat_ or _retina_. It is usually relieved more by _tonics_ than\nby depletion; and very strange illusions of sight will sometimes be\nproduced merely by depressing medicines, especially the preparations of\nantimony. Yet these dark specks appear to be floating _before_, and\noften at some distance _withoutside_ the eye. Therefore we may believe\nthat excited images or _more perfect forms_ may also appear before the\nretina, _palpable_. Between the first impression and its recurrence, a\nlong period may have passed (memory being unlimited); and it is\nsufficient that one sole idea be excited to produce a succession; as a\n_spark_ of fire will ignite a _train_ of gunpowder; or as an electric\nspark will discharge a whole battery.\n\nIn the curious case of _photopsia_, or _suffusio scintillans_, we have a\nseries of illusive spectra, in the forms of \u201clucid points,\u201d and \u201cyellow\nflames,\u201d and \u201cfiery veils,\u201d and \u201crings of light.\u201d In some cases of\nophthalmia, and in acute inflammation of the brain, the candles and\nother bright objects in the chamber will look like blood. Beguelin, as\nwe read in the \u201cBerlin Memoirs,\u201d by straining his eyes on a book, always\nsaw the letters red.\n\nThere is a story in Voltaire, that the Duke of Florence threw the dice\nwith a field-officer of his enemy. The spots on the dice seemed, to his\n_excited brain_, like drops of blood: he instantly ordered a retreat of\nhis army. And this is not wonderful; it is but excited sensibility, of\nwhich many analogies indeed may be artificially produced, as the flash\nof light from the pricking of the retina with a fine needle, and the\nbeautiful _iris_ which is formed by pressure on the globe of the eye. In\nthe very interesting history of the prisoner in the dungeon of the\nChatelet at Paris, the _phosphorescence_ of the eye was itself the\nsource of light, in this instance so powerful as to enable the prisoner\nto discern the mice that came around him to pick up the crumbs, although\nthe cell was pitchy dark to others.\n\nThere are many curious illusions resulting from over-straining or\nover-excitement of the eye.\n\nDr. Brewster, in the Edinburgh Journal of Science, vol. iii. says, \u201cIf\nin a fine dark night we unexpectedly obtain a glimpse of any object,\neither in motion or at rest, we are naturally anxious to ascertain what\nit is, and our curiosity calls forth all our powers of vision. Excited\nby a feeble illumination, the retina is not capable of affording a\npermanent vision of the object; and while we are straining our eye to\ndiscover its nature, it will entirely disappear, and afterwards\n_re-appear_ and _vanish_ alternately.\u201d\n\nA friend of Buffon had been watching the progress of an eclipse through\na very minute aperture. For three weeks after this there was a perfect\nspectrum of the lucid spot marked on every object on which he fixed his\neyes.\n\nDr. Brewster had been making protracted experiments on some brilliant\nobject, and for several hours after this a dark spectrum, associated\nwith intense pain, floated constantly before his eye.\n\nIn the third volume of his Physiology, Dr. Bostock thus concludes the\naccount of his own ocular spectra: \u201cIt appeared as if a number of\nobjects, principally human faces or figures, on a small scale, were\nplaced before me, and gradually removed, like a succession of\nmedallions. They were all of the same size, and appeared to be all\nsituated at the same distance from the face. After one had been seen for\na few minutes, it became fainter, and then another which was more vivid\nseemed to be laid upon it, or substituted in its place, which in its\nturn was superseded by a new appearance.\u201d\n\nColoured vision may arise from permanent defect or from acute disorder:\nfrom some peculiar refraction of a ray of light on the lens of the eye,\nor by the optical laws of the _accidental_ colours.\n\nThe ray of white light consists of the three prismatic or primitive\ncolours. Now, if the eye is fatigued by one of these colours, or it be\nlost, mechanically or physiologically, the impression of _two_ only will\nremain, and this accidental or complementary colour is composed of the\ntwo remaining constituents of the white ray. Thus, if the eye has been\nstrained on a _red_ colour, it is insensible to this, but perceives the\n_blue_ and the _yellow_, the combination of which is _green_. So, if we\nlook long on a _green_ spot, and then fix the eye on _white_ paper, the\nspectrum will be of light _red_. A _violet_ spot will become _yellow_; a\n_blue_ spot _orange-red_: a black spot will entirely disappear on a\n_white_ ground, for it has _no_ complementary colour; but it appears\n_white_ on a _dark_ ground, as a white spot will change to black.\n\nBy this law I may explain the impression made by black letters on the\nred ground of a play-bill, which appear _blue_. The accidental colour of\norange-red is blue; that of black is white. By looking on this, the\nblack letter first becomes white, and the accidental colour of the\nred\u2014_blue_, is transferred to the white ground of the letters.\n\nASTR. Then, as D\u2019Agessau recommended the parliament of Paris to leave\nthe demoniac of our times to the physician and not the divine, you would\ndelegate the management of all those, to whom the mysterious world of\nshadows is unfolded, to the sapient leech with his phials and his\nlancet.\n\nEV. Nay, I presume not to so potent a faculty. Many of the slight\nimperfections of vision are, as I have confessed, merely exaggerations\nof romantic ideas floating in the memory; and this is not a novel\nnotion, for Plato and other philosophers held it long before our time.\n\n_Musc\u00e6 volitantes_ are usually, though not always, _substantial_: i.e.\ndepending on _points_ or _fibres_ in the axis of vision, on\n_congestions_, or _varicose_ states of the vessels of the _choro\u00efd_ or\n_retina_, or of atoms floating in the _humours_. These specks, which do\nnot appear alike in the eyes of all, and the brilliant beams in the\n_suffusio scintillans_, so varied and so whimsical, might be readily\nmoulded into human form, by the imagination of an enthusiast, or the\nfeelings of the ghost-seer, who is usually morose and melancholy, in a\nstate of _longing_ for a ghost or a mystery.\n\nBut when many of the more confirmed illusions are depending on\nstructural disease in the membranes and humours of the eye, I am\nconfident in the resources of our science to relieve, if not to remove.\nColeridge indeed has expressed his belief, that by some convulsion of\nthe eye, it may see projected before it part of its own body, easily\nmagnified into the whole by slight imagination. If this be true, the\nwhole mystery of the Death-fetch is unravelled.\n\nThe nerves and their _ganglia_ are often diseased, when we least\nsuspect: and _calcareous_ and _scrofulous_ tumours, pressing on the\n_optic axis_, in the brain, or on the _pneumogastric_ nerve above its\n_recurrent_ branch, and disease in the bronchial glands around the\ncardiac plexus, may exist, with the very slightest sensations of pain.\nEven in extreme _disorganization_ of the brain, there may be\n_remissions_ of painless repose; and in other cases, where _pain_ is\n_synchronous_ with illusion, the illusion may subside although the pain\nremains; an indication, or proof, indeed, of _structural_ cause for the\nphantasy. And this discrimination, Astrophel, of the line of distinction\nbetween sanity and derangement, is often of a hair\u2019s breadth; and the\nlaw confesses here the high value of pathology, seeing that, in cases of\nsuicide or of idiocy, and other states which involve the rites of\nsepulture, the conveyance of entailed estates, or personal\nresponsibility, the judgment of the physician is held to be _oracular_.\n\n\n\n\n MYSTERIOUS FORMS AND SIGNS.\n\n\n \u201cFierce fiery warriors fight upon the clouds,\n In ranks, and squadrons, and right form of war,\n Which drizzled blood upon the capitol:\n The noise of battle hurtled in the air.\u201d\n JULIUS C\u00c6SAR.\n\nASTR. Methinks you claim too much homage from our courtesy to your\nphilosophy, Evelyn. Can we believe that all these wondrous forms and\nshadows are but an illusion of the eye, or of the mind\u2019s eye? And, if I\ngrant this truth in regard to the eye of _one_ mind, can we so easily\nlibel the evidence of a multitude, to whom the world of shadows is\nunlocked?\n\nWe are now wandering in the very land of omens; and will this cold\nphilosophy of thine presume to draw aside the veil of mystery, which\nhangs over the mountain and the cataract of yon wild principality?\n\nE\u2019en now the legends of many climes crowd on my memory; and, while this\npurple cloud is o\u2019er the sun, listen, I pr\u2019ythee, to the traditions\nwhich I have gathered; muse on the _sequences_ of these strange\nappearances, and you will at length confess, with the Benedictine\nCalmet\u2014\u201cRealit\u00e9 des apparitions est prouv\u00e9e par l\u2019\u00e9v\u00e9nement des choses\npr\u00e9dites.\u201d\n\nThe Tan-we or Tan-wed are streams of lucid fire, rolling along the lands\nof a freeholder, who, warned of his coming fate, immediately makes his\nwill, and shortly after _dies_.\n\nAmong the gloomy gorges of Preselle, in Pembrokeshire, comes dancing on\nthat blue wild-fire the \u201cCanwyl y Cyrph,\u201d or \u201cCorpse-candle.\u201d As the\nshades of evening are approaching, the spectre of the doomed comes\nflitting before us, with a lighted taper in its hand, and with a solemn\nstep halts not until it rests on its destined grave, in the church-yard\nground. If dignities and fortune have been the earthly lot of this\ndoomed mortal, then is there shadowed forth an awful pageantry of hearse\nand ghostly steeds, and mute mourners, all gliding away to the place of\nthe tomb, and, like the phantoms of the Aensprecker, in Holland, (a\nfuneral procession of no less fatality,) they foretell the doom of some\nill-fated friend.\n\nAmong the dingles of the Bachwy, in Radnorshire, amid scenery of wild\nand lonely beauty, a few rugged stones denote the site of an ancient\ncastle of a Welsh prince; it is the ruin of the \u201cBlack Rock.\u201d The\nopposing masses of this eternal rock, tapestried with deep green moss\nand lichen, fold in upon the stream directly over its matchless\ncataract, which falls abruptly from the upper to the lower valley into\nthis gloomy gorge; the sunbeam playing on the upper ledge of the\nwaterfall, while its deep basin is shrouded in Stygian darkness. Into\nthis gulph it was the pleasure of the prince to hurl from his castle\nwalls, those whom fate had made his prisoners. Often since the era of\nthese cruelties, (as I learned from the oral legends of the peasants,)\nbefore a death, a strange unearthly groaning is heard, the \u201cKyhirraeth,\u201d\nbecoming fainter and fainter until the last gasp of the mortal whose\ndoom it forebodes.\n\nThere is the dead-bell, which the Scottish peasants believe to foretell\nthe death of a friend; and the death-cart of Lancashire, which is heard\nrattling along the streets like a whirlwind; and the Owke Mouraske, a\ndemon of Norway, which never enters a house but some one of the family\ndies within the year. We are assured also by the Saxon, Cranmer, that\nere one of the electoral house of Brandenburgh dies, a woman in white\nappears to many throughout the dominions of Prussia.\n\nThe wild mountains that surround us are prolific in the \u201cAnderyn y\nCorff,\u201d or \u201cCorpse-bird,\u201d and the \u201cCwm Amon,\u201d or \u201cDogs of Hell,\u201d which\nare believed to be demons of death, in the shape of hounds, and, like\nthe mongrel of Faust, marked by a train of fire. These howl forth their\nawful warning, while the death-peal rings in the ears of the nearest kin\nof one about to die.\n\nThere is the legend of the \u201cEllyllon,\u201d a prototype of the Scotch and\nIrish \u201cBanshie,\u201d which appears as an old crone, with streaming hair and\na coat of blue, with her boding scream of death. The \u201cGwrach y Rhibyn,\u201d\nor \u201cHag of the Dribble,\u201d whose pastime is to carry stones in her apron\nacross the mountains, and then to loosen her apron-string, and by the\nshower of stones to make a \u201cdribble.\u201d This hag, at twilight, flaps her\nraven wing against the chamber window of a doomed creature, and, with a\nhowl, cries out, \u201cA a a ui ui Anni.\u201d\n\nIn the wilderness of Zin, which stretches between Palestine and the Red\nSea, both the Bedouin Arab and the traveller are greeted by the sound of\n_matin_ bells, like the convent peal which calls the nuns to their\ndevotion; and this, according to tradition, has been heard ever since\nthe crusades.\n\nThen there is a fatal spirit of the desert, which, like an ignis fatuus,\nlures men to destruction, by\n\n \u201cAiry tongues that syllable men\u2019s names.\u201d\n\nThe Venetian traveller, Marco Polo, writes of those who, wandering\nunwarily from the track of the caravans in Tartary, hear the phantom\nvoice of some dear friend (who indeed sometimes appears in person),\nwhich entices them from the route, and they perish in the desert.\n\nAnd Lord Lindsay, in his travels through Egypt and the defiles of Edom,\ntells us one circumstantial story from Vincent de Blanc, of a man\ndecoyed away from the caravan of an Arabian merchant by the entreaties\nof a phantom voice.\n\nBefore an heir of Clifton sleeps in death, a sturgeon is always, it is\naffirmed, taken in the river Trent. This incident, like many others,\nbecomes important from its consequence.\n\nThe park of Chartley is a wild and romantic spot, in its primitive\nstate, untouched by the hand of the agriculturist, and was formerly\nattached to the royal forest of Needwood, and the honour of Tutbury, of\nthe whole of which the ancient family of De Ferrars were once the\npuissant lords. Their immense possessions, now forming part of the duchy\nof Lancaster, were forfeited by the attainder of Earl Ferrars, after his\ndefeat at Burton Bridge, where he led the rebellious barons against\nHenry III. The Chartley estate, being settled in dower, was alone\nreserved, and handed down to its present possessor. In the park is\npreserved, in its primitive purity, the indigenous Staffordshire cow,\nsmall in stature, of a sand-white colour, with black ears, muzzle, and\ntips at the hoofs. In the year of the battle of Burton Bridge, a black\ncalf was born, and the downfall of the great house of Ferrars happening\nat the same period, gave rise to the tradition, which to this day has\nbeen held in veneration by the common people, that the birth of a\nparty-coloured calf from the wild breed in Chartley Park, is a sure omen\nof death within the same year to a member of the lord\u2019s family. A calf\nof this description has been born whenever a death has happened in the\nfamily of late years. The decease of the last earl and his countess, of\nhis son Lord Tamworth, of his daughter, Mrs. William Jolliffe, as well\nas the deaths of the son and heir of the present nobleman and his\ndaughter, Lady Frances Shirley, have each been forewarned by the ominous\nbirth of a spotted calf. In the spring of a late year, an animal\nperfectly black was calved by one of this weird tribe, in the park of\nChartley, and this birth also has been followed by the death of the\ncountess.\n\nIn the beautiful chapel of Rosslinne, founded by William Saint Clair,\nprince of Orkney, there is a legend of the spectral light, which\nillumined its gothic beauty, on the eve of a death among his\ndescendants. And my sweet Castaly will remember how pathetically Harold\nsings the fate of Rosabelle Saint Clair.\n\nIn other districts, on the coming of such an event, these lights are\nseen of various colours, and are termed \u201cDr\u2019 Eug,\u201d\u2014\u201cthe Death of the\nDruid;\u201d and _they_ also marshal the funeral procession to the very verge\nof the grave.\n\nDr. Caldicot solemnly writes, that when a Christian is drowned in the\nDee, a light appears over the spot, by which the body is easily\ndiscovered; and hence the river is called \u201cHoly\u201d Dee.\n\nThe mysteries of the \u201cSkibbereen Lights\u201d are recorded by an honourable\ngentleman of Ireland, and ladies and philosophers journeyed far to\nbehold them, and _believed_.\u2014In a cottage in a marshy flat near Bantry\nlived a man named Harrington, a perfect _anatomie vivante_, and\nbedridden,\u2014his heart devout,\u2014his books all of a religious kind. In his\nchamber, strange lights soon appeared, at first like the dim moonlight\non the wall, deepening often into _yellow_ light, and flickering round\nthe room. There was often a group of literati and fashion assembled\nthere, on whom the light danced and displayed all the various emotions\nof the parties. Once at noon, but mostly at midnight, the light\nappeared; and on all occasions Harrington seemed to anticipate before\nothers beheld them. Science has searched for causes; but neither in the\narts of an impostor, or the natural exhalation of luminous gases, has\nbeen yet discovered a solution of this mystery.\n\nIn the wild country around Dolgelly, where Cader Idris frowns upon the\nfloods and fells of Merioneth,\u2014where the Mawddach, after its\nmagnificent fall, rolls its waters through the brown and purple valley\nto join the Wonion, and then expand into the mountain estuary of\nAbermaw,\u2014the wanderer will hear from many lips this current story.\n\nOn a dark evening, a few winters ago, some persons were returning to\nBarmouth, on the south or opposite side of the river. As they approached\nthe ferry-house at Penthryn, which is directly opposite Barmouth, they\nobserved a light near the house, which they conjectured to be produced\nby a bonfire; and greatly puzzled they were to discover the reason why\nit should have been lighted. As they came nearer, however, it vanished;\nand when they inquired at the house respecting it, they were surprised\nto learn, that not only had the people there displayed no light, but\nthey had not even seen one, nor could they perceive any signs of it on\nthe sands. On reaching Barmouth, the circumstance was mentioned, and the\nfact corroborated by some of the people there, who had also plainly and\ndistinctly seen the light. It was settled, therefore, by some of the old\nfishermen, that this was a \u201cdeath token;\u201d and sure enough the man who\nkept the ferry at that time was drowned at high water a few nights\nafterwards, on the very spot where the light was seen. He was landing\nfrom the boat, when he fell into the water, and so perished.\n\nThe same winter the Barmouth people, as well as the inhabitants of the\nopposite banks, were struck by the appearance of a number of small\nlights, which were seen dancing in the air at a place called Borthwyn,\nabout half a mile from the town. A great number of people came out to\nsee these lights, and after a while they all but one disappeared, and\nthis one proceeded slowly towards the water\u2019s edge, to a little bay\nwhere some boats were moored. The men in a sloop which was anchored near\nthe spot saw the light advancing; they saw it also hover for a few\nseconds over one particular boat, and then totally disappear. Two or\nthree days afterwards the man to whom that particular boat belonged was\ndrowned in the river, while he was sailing about Barmouth harbour in\nthat very boat.\n\nOn a lofty mountain, rising over Marbach in Austria, stands the church\nof Maria-Taferl; and miracles on miracles are related of this sacred\nspot, since the time when the \u201cVesperbild,\u201d an image of the Virgin, was\nfixed on its oak. Even angels have visited the shrine. In the 17th\ncentury these angelic visitants appeared in processions bearing a red\ncross, while stars shone around the head of the Virgin. On one occasion\na red cross was borne along and a taper was lighted, _by no mortal\nhand_, at the feet of the Vesperbild; and this is recorded and attested\nby the crowd who gazed in wonder on the miracle.\n\nThe trials of the two divines, John Huss and Wickliffe, were marked by\nawful and impressive phenomena. While the tribunal was sitting in\njudgment on Wickliffe, the monastery in which the English monks had\nassembled was nearly overwhelmed by an earthquake. And it chanced, that\nwhile the council were in high assembly at Constance, which condemned\nHuss to the stake, the eclipse, which over that city was nearly total,\noccurred, and the consternation of the people, at that time prone to the\nbelief of miracles, was extreme.\n\n \u201cThe night had wan\u2019d; but darkness and dismay\n Rose with the dawn, and blotted out the day.\n The council\u2019s warder, struck with sudden fear,\n Dropt from his palsied hand th\u2019 uplifted spear.\n Aghast each gazer saw the mystic power,\n That rob\u2019d in midnight\u2019s pall the matin hour;\n While hurrying feet, and wailings to and fro,\n Spread the wild panic of impending woe.\n The prince and prelates shudder\u2019d at the sign:\n The monk stood dumb before the darken\u2019d shrine:\n With faltering hand uprais\u2019d the cross on high,\n To chase that dismal omen from the sky.\u201d\n\nThe wonders told me by one of my reverend ancestors of the \u201cAurora,\u201d\nyears ago, are so circumstantial, and withal so prophetic, that well\nmight she, like the Lady of Branxholme, believe that \u201cspirits were\nriding the northern blast.\u201d\n\nSpeed repeats a record in the \u201cYpodigma Neustri\u00e6\u201d of \u201cWalsingham,\u201d that\nthe rebellion of the Percies was preceded by spectral battles in\nBedfordshire, \u201csundry monsters of divers colours and shapes issuing from\nwoods,\u201d &c.\n\nRemember, it is a matter of history, that phantasms were seen by numbers\nin Whitehall during the Commonwealth. And the wondrous narrative of _The\nJust Devil of Woodstock_, which was writ in 1649, by Master Widows, the\nlearned clerk of Woodstock, \u201cwho each day put in writing what he heard\nfrom the mouths of the commissioners, and such things as they told to\nhave befallen them the night before; therein keeping to their own\nwords:\u201d\u2014the coney-stealers were so alarmed that they left their ferrets\nbeyond Rosamond\u2019s well. And this he saith also, that \u201cAt Saint James\u2019s\nthe Devil so joaled the centinals against the sides of the Queen\u2019s\nChappell doors, that some of them fell sick upon it, and others, not\ntaking warning by it, killed one outright; and all other such dreadful\nthings those that inhabited the royal houses have been affrighted with.\u201d\n\nI remember not the source from which I gleaned some mysteries of \u201cThe\nLyffe of Virgilius,\u201d a professor of the occult sciences, alluded to, I\nbelieve, in Gower\u2019s \u201cConfessio Amantis,\u201d and identified with the Mantuan\npoet,\u2014a magus, who \u201cdyd many marvayles in hys lyfe tyme by whychcrafte\nand nygramancye thorowgh the helpe of the devyls of hell.\u201d One of these\nmarvels I well recollect. This Virgil was cut up, salted and pickled, at\nhis own request, in a barrel; and when the emperor discovered him, he\nslew Virgilius\u2019 man, and \u201cthen sawe the emperoure and all his folke a\nnakyd chylde, three tymes rennynge aboute the barell, sayinge the\nwordes, \u2018Cursed be the tyme that ye cam ever here;\u2019 and with those\nwordes vanyshed the chylde away.\u201d\n\nThen in the associations of lucky days and influential colours, is there\nnot often a striking truth?\n\nSir Kenelm Digby, writes Master Aubrey, among other wonders of his\n\u201cMiscellanies,\u201d was born, fought, and conquered at Scanderoon, and\ndied,\u2014on the 11th day of June.\n\nIn a book, printed in 1687, we learn that the fourteenth of October was\na lucky day for the princes of England. On it William the Conqueror won\nthe crown: Edward III. landed: and James II. was born.\n\nIn the eventful life of Napoleon, the number _eighteen_ was associated\nwith so many important events, that you will scarce deny something more\nthan casualty. Such were, the engagement from which he assumed the\nconsulate: that of Torlina on the river Beresina: the battles of Leipsic\nand of Waterloo: which were all fought on the 18th of the month. On that\nday also his corpse was landed on St. Helena: and on the 18th also the\n\u201cBelle Poule\u201d sailed with his remains for France.\n\nAs of the Emir of the East, green was the favourite colour of the\n\u201cDaoine Shi,\u201d or men of peace, in Scotland; and the Druids waved a green\nstandard, as we read in the Scandana, when they fought with the\nFingallians. From some cause, perchance from _their_ adoption of it,\nthis colour was fatal to the clan \u201cGrahame.\u201d The Highlanders believe to\nthis day that the field of Killicrankie was lost because Dundee was\nhabited in green uniform; and an old Gr\u00e6me, when his horse stumbled at a\nfox-chace, referred his disaster to his _green_ whip-cord.\n\nDo not so many _sequences_ prove a consequence?\n\nEV. You do not mince the matter, Astrophel; indeed, from the boldness of\nyour display, I might think you had kissed the _blarney-stone_, by which\ncharm, the Irish believe you will ever after be free from bashfulness.\n\nBut coincidence, and the natural leaning of the mind to superstition,\nwill unfold all your mysteries: and these your illustrations (I cannot\nterm them arguments,) are even weaker than the former. Remember, that\nthe mind of some beings is impressible as the yielding wax, and\nespecially, if under the constant influence of other minds; which, as\ncontinual dropping will wear away a stone, first tends to bewilder, and,\nat length, to convince. And as to the special trifles to which you\nallude, although it is certain a sparrow falls not to the ground without\na Providence, and the hairs of our head are all numbered, I cannot\nbelieve that the Creator will thus _alter a gigantic law_ for an atom.\n\n\n\n\n ANALYSIS AND CLASSIFICATION OF SPECTRAL ILLUSION.\n\n\n \u201cThe earth hath bubbles, as the water has,\n And these are of them.\u201d\n MACBETH.\n\nEV. You are a most industrious gleaner among the sheaves of history,\nAstrophel. But why, in all these seeming prophecies, seek to thwart the\nharmonious course of nature? Leave superstition to the heathen and the\nsavage: be assured, in the words of Principal Robertson, that a vain\ndesire of prying into futurity is the error of the infancy of a people,\nand a proof of its weakness.\n\nFrom this weakness proceeded the faith of the Americans in dreams, their\nobservation of omens, their attention to the chirping of birds and the\ncries of animals, all which they supposed to be indications of future\nevents. And if any one of these prognostics was deemed unfavourable,\nthey instantly abandoned the pursuit of those measures on which they\nwere most eagerly bent.\n\nI wonder you brought not some _classic_ proofs of this credulity, for\nsuch were all-prevalent in Jud\u00e6a and the Eternal City.\n\nThus, on February the thirteenth, the Romans were conquered by the\nGauls: henceforward important acts were never undertaken on its\nanniversary: nor on August the tenth by the Jews, because their first\ntemple was destroyed by Nebuchadnezzar, and the other by Titus, long\nafterwards, on that day of the month.\n\nI am not, however, without some curious stories of very modern date; one\nanecdote may be recognised on the Stock Exchange. A wealthy Hebrew, who\nwas wont to fling his gold even into the lap of kings, was once standing\non a certain stone, at the Post Office, when he received a letter, on\nwhich he speculated, and lost 20,000_l._ On this he cautioned his\nfriends never to stand on that stone, lest a similar ill-fortune should\nattend _them_.\n\nThe mind of this man was a storehouse of superstition\u2014an omen was his\nleading star. A drove of pigs would check the completion of a mighty\nbargain, and a flock of sheep would prompt him to sign his name to a\nmillion.\n\nThe three brothers of his great house were once on their way to Lord\nLiverpool, in order to the completion of a loan to the Treasury; when,\nlo! an army of swine met them on their way. There was no more progress\nto Downing Street that day; but they retired to Stamford Hill, and the\nLord Treasurer waited twenty-four hours for the Hebrews\u2019 gold.\n\nWith Brinsley Sheridan, _Friday_ was a sort of holiday; neither journeys\nwere undertaken, nor new plays allowed to be produced, on that day.\n\nI presume you were ashamed to adduce ornithoscopy, or the divination by\nbirds, as an illustration. Do you forget the mystic influence of three\ncrows on man\u2019s destiny? But I will tell you an oriental fable; how an\naccomplished Jew, named Mosollam, puzzled an augur, by shooting a\nbeautiful bird, from which the augur was about to prophecy on the fate\nof an expedition. \u201cWhy,\u201d said Mosollam, \u201cdid not the bird foreknow the\nfate which awaited it? why did it not fly away\u2014or why come at all?\u201d\n\nASTR. I believe the augur did or might answer, that \u201ca prophet may be\nordained to tell the fate of nations, but _not his own_.\u201d\n\nEV. Another vague supposition, Astrophel: there is much virtue in these\n_may be\u2019s_.\n\nI have listened to your legends, and you will now listen to me, while I\npresume to illustrate my own proofs, searching for my causes in the\nbeautiful eccentricities of nature alone; and a scholar like yourself,\nAstrophel, with whom I have so often chopped Oxford logic, will grant it\nis a precept in philosophy not to seek for more causes, than the\nexplanation of the fact requires.\n\n * * * * *\n\nOn this scroll I have sketched an arrangement of phantoms or ghosts, in\ntwo grand classes.\n\n GHOSTS OF THE MIND\u2019S EYE,\n or\n PHANTASMA.\n\n Illusive _per_ception, or ocular { _Conversion_ of natural objects\n spectra. into phantoms.\n\n Illusive _con_ception, or spectral { _Creation_ of phantoms.\n illusion.\n\n GHOSTS OF THE EYE,\n or\n OPTICAL ILLUSION.\n\n Atmospheric. { Refraction.\n { Reflection.\n\n Gases.\n Lenses and mirrors.\n Disease of the eye.\n\nIn the first class there is no real or palpable object, or, if there be,\nit is not what it appears; the illusion is but the reality of romance,\ndepending altogether on excited or disordered conditions of the mind:\nthe source, therefore, either of bright or gloomy phantoms, as the mood\nmay be.\n\nOn this scroll I have recorded those _moods of mind_, which, excited by\nmemory or association, or influenced by such casualties as solitude,\nmoonlight darkness, or localities of interest, or the poring over tales\nof horror at midnight, may be considered the _predisposing causes_ of\nillusion. Such are:\u2014\n\n Temperament Credulity,\n Enthusiasm,\n Superstition,\n Timidity,\n Imagination,\n Poetic frenzy.\n\n Excitement Sympathy,\n Exalted joy,\n Deep grief,\n Love,\n Hatred,\n Protracted anxiety,\n Delirium of fever,\n Delirium of alcohol,\n Delirium of narcotics,\n Exhaustion,\n Disease of the brain.\n\nThe second class, which are spectres or ghosts of the eye, may be\nscientifically explained by the laws which govern the _material world_.\nThese are the only substantial ghosts which I can grant to my friend.\nThe objects themselves exist, and are exactly as they appear. The\nphilosopher regards them as interesting exceptions to general rules,\nfrom _peculiar_ combinations of _natural_ causes. The unlearned will\nterm them preternatural _phenomena_, simply because they are of uncommon\noccurrence. But which among the works of divine creation is not a\nphenomenon? We may think we know a law of nature, but can we analyse it?\nNovelty and magnitude astonish, but that which is familiar excites not\nour surprise. We gaze with delight on the progress of an eclipse; we\nwatch with wonder the eccentric course of the comet; but we look on the\nsun in its meridian glory with a cold and apathetic indifference. Yet do\nthey all alike display Divine Omnipotence, and the expansion of a\nvegetable germ, the bursting of a flower, is as great a miracle as the\noverwhelming of a deluge, the annihilation of a mighty world.\n\nTo discriminate between these classes is not difficult: we may prove\ntheir nature by simple experiment. _Optical illusions_ will be _doubled_\nby a straining or altering of the axes of the eyes; and, by turning\nround, as they are removed from the axis of vision, they will disappear.\n\nSo, indeed, will those of the second class, which are _real_ objects\nconverted into phantoms by mental excitement or disorder.\n\nBut in the purely _metaphysical ghost_ or phantom, the change of\nposition or locality will not essentially dispel the illusion, (the\nspectrum following, as it were, the motion of the eye;) because it\nexists in the mind itself, either as a faint or transient idea, or a\nmere outline, fading perhaps in a brighter light, or as the more\npermanent and confirmed impression of insanity, (unchanged even by\n\u201cbrilliant glare,\u201d) or from the day-dream of the castle-builder, to the\ndeep and dreadful delusion of the maniac.\n\nAmong the mute productions of nature, there are eccentricities and\nrarities, which, in default of analysis or explanation, would not fail\nof being referred to some supernatural agency: as Leo Afer, according to\nBurton, accounts for the swarms of locusts once descending at Fez, in\nBarbary, and at Arles, in France, in 1553. \u201cIt could not be from natural\ncauses; they cannot imagine whence they come, but from heaven. Are these\nand such creatures, corn, wood, stones, worms, wool, blood, &c. lifted\nup into the middle region by the sunbeams, as Baracellus the physician\ndisputes, and thence let fall with showers, or there engendered?\nCornelius Gemma is of that opinion, they are there conceived by\ncelestial influences: others suppose they are immediately from God, or\nprodigies raised by arts and illusions of spirits which are princes of\nthe ayre.\u201d\n\nOver Languedoc there once burst an awful and supernatural cloud, from\nwhich fell immense snow-flakes like glittering stars. There is nothing\nstrange in this, for the shape of the snow-flake is ever that of an\n_astero\u00efd_. But then there came pouring down gigantic hail-stones, with\ntheir glassy surface impressed with the figures of helmets, and swords,\nand scutcheons. This too may be the effect of very sudden and irregular\ncongelation; but this law was not known, and therefore its result was a\nmystery.\n\nAmong the wonders seen by the great traveller, Pietro della Valla, was\nthe _bleeding_ cypress-tree, which shadows the tomb of Cyrus, in Italy.\nUnder the hollow of its boughs, in his day, it was lighted with lamps\nand was consecrated as an oratory. To this shrine resorted many a devout\npilgrim, impressed with a holy belief in the _miracle_. And what was\nthis but the glutinous crimson fluid, exuding from the diseased alburnum\nof a tree, which the woodmen indeed term _bleeding_, but which the\nancient Turks affirmed, or believed, to be converted on every Friday\ninto drops of real blood?\n\nThe red snow, which is not uncommon in the arctic regions, is thus\ntinted by very minute cryptogamic plants; and the fairy ring is but a\ncircle of herbage poisoned by a fungus.\n\nIn Denbighshire (I may add) the prevalent belief is, that the\n_shivering_ of the aspen is from _sympathy_ with that tree in Palestine,\nwhich was hewn into the true cross.\n\nThe simple stratification of vapours, especially during sudden\ntransitions of temperature, may produce very interesting optical\nphenomena; not by refraction or reflection, but merely by partial\nobscuration of an object. We have examples of these illusive spectra in\nthe gigantic icebergs seen by Captain Scoresby, and other arctic\nvoyagers, which assumed the shape of towers, and spires, and cathedrals,\nand obelisks, that were constantly displacing each other in whimsical\nconfusion and endless variety, like the figures of a kaleidoscope.\nPhipps thus describes their majestic beauty: \u201cThe ice that had parted\nfrom the main body, they had now time to admire, as it no longer\nobstructed their course; the various shapes in which the broken\nfragments appeared were indeed very curious and amusing. One remarkable\npiece described a magnificent arch, so large and completely formed, that\na sloop of considerable burden might have sailed through it without\nlowering her masts. Another represented a church, with windows, pillars,\nand domes.\u201d\n\nWe may scarcely wonder at the mystifications of nature, when she assumes\nthese gorgeous eccentricities, as have been witnessed also in the barren\nsteppes of the Caraccas, on the Orinoko, where the palm-groves appear to\nbe cut asunder; in the Llanos, where chains of hills appear suspended in\nthe air, and rivers and lakes to flow on arid sand; in the lake of the\nGazelles, seen by the Arabs and the African traveller; and the lakes\nseen by Captain Munday, during his tour in India.\n\nThe very clearness of the atmosphere, like that which floats around the\nRhine, renders distance especially distinct; but mountainous regions,\nfrom the attraction of electric clouds, afford the highest examples of\natmospheric beauty and effect. London and other cities, however crowded\nwith lofty buildings, are not deficient in these a\u00ebrial illusions. Even\nfrom the bridge of Blackfriars I have seen a cumulo stratus cloud so\nstrangely intersect the steeples and the giant chimneys of London, as\ndistinctly to represent a sea-port, with its vessels and distant\nmountains.\n\nWe have among us several minor illusions, which are only less imposing\nbecause more familiar; and though often occurring, few are recorded with\nscientific accuracy. The phosphorescence of the marshes, the ignis\nfatuus, Will o\u2019Wisp, Jack o\u2019 the Lanthorn, or Friar Rush, and the\ncorpse-candles, are mere luminous exhalations, strained into the\nmarvellous by the vulgar, and thus set down as heralds of mortality. The\ndancing-light of luminous flies has been termed the _green light of\ndeath_; and, if you wish for more, Astrophel, read the \u201cArmorican\nMagazine\u201d of John Wesley, or the quaint volume of Burton, and\nthereabouts where he writes in this fashion: \u201cThe thickness of the aire\nmay cause such effects, or any object not well discerned in the dark,\nfear and phantasie will suspect to be a ghost or devil. Glowwormes,\nfiredrakes, meteors, ignis fatuus, which Plinius calls Castor and\nPollux, with many such that appear in moorish grounds, about\nchurch-yards, moist valleys, or where battles have been fought, the\ncauses of which read in Goclenius, Velcurius, Finkius, &c.\u201d\n\nThe Parhelia, or mock suns, are produced by the reflection of the sun\u2019s\nlight on a frozen cloud. How readily these phenomena are magnified you\nmay learn from ancient and modern records. In 1223 four suns were seen\nof crimson, inclosed in a wide circle of crystal colour. This is\nnatural: but then comes the miracle. In the same year two giant dragons\nwere seen in the air, flapping their monstrous wings and engaging in\nsingle combat, until they both fell into the sea and were drowned! Then,\nin 1104, there were seen four white circles rolled around the sun: and\nin 1688, two suns and a reversed rainbow appeared at Bishop\u2019s Lavington,\nin Wiltshire: and in February, 1647, there is an account and sketch of\nthree suns, and an inverted rainbow, which Baxter terms \u201cBinorum\nPareliorum \u03a6\u03b1\u03b9\u03bd\u03bf\u03bc\u03b5\u03bd\u03bf\u03bd.\u201d And because there were two lunar and one solar\neclipses in 1652, it was called, as Lily records, \u201cAnnus tenebrum,\u201d or\n\u201cthe dark year.\u201d\n\nThe Corona, or halo around the sun, moon, and stars, is easily\nillustrated by the zone formed by placing, during a frost, a lighted\ncandle in a cloud of steam or vapour.\n\nThe Aurora Borealis is _arctic electricity_, and is beautifully imitated\nby the passage of an electric flash through an exhausted glass cylinder.\n\nThe rainbow is a combination of _natural prisms_ breaking the light into\ncolours; and it may be seen in the cloud, or in the spray of the ocean,\nor in the beautiful cascades of Schaffhausen, Niagara, or Terni, or\nindeed in any foaming spray on which the _meridian_ sunbeams fall, or\neven in the dewy grass, lying, as it were, on the ground.\n\nWhen the sun shines on a cloud, there is always a bow produced visible\nto all who are placed at the proper angle. The lunar rainbow is\nachromatic, or destitute of colour, because reflected light is not\neasily refracted into colour. In a brilliant sunset the floods of light\naround him often indicate the gradation of prismatic colouring.\n\nCAST. In some waterfalls I have seen the Iris form a complete circle; as\nin the Velino at Terni, and in others, especially in Ionia and Italy. A\nperfect illusion is produced, for the bow seems to approach the\nspectator and then recede, as if Juno were sending her messenger on some\nspecial mission. There are many minds which would yield with delight to\nthis conviction, and such probably was the illusion of Benvenuto\nCellini\u2014was it not? \u201cThis resplendent light is to be seen over my\nshadow till two o\u2019clock in the afternoon, and it appears to the greatest\nadvantage when the grass is moist with dew. It is likewise visible in\nthe evening at sunset. This phenomenon I took notice of when I was at\nParis, because the air is exceedingly clear in that climate, so that I\ncould distinguish it there much plainer than in Italy, where the moists\nare much more frequent, &c.\u201d A consciousness of superior talent, and\nprobably the homage which was paid him even by the members of the holy\nconclave, were the springs of this flattering vision.\n\nIDA. The beauty of these must light up even the fancy of a child, yet a\nholier feeling will ever inspire a Christian philosopher, when the bow\nis seen in the cloud, for it was the sign of the covenant. There is,\nindeed, something in the glories of the firmament which never fails to\nelevate my own thoughts, and I can readily sympathise with the Spanish\nreligionists of the fifteenth century, and with the North Americans, who\ngaze upon the beautiful constellation of the \u201cSouthern Cross,\u201d insulated\nas it is from all other stars in its own dark space; in solemn belief\nthat it is the great symbolical banner held out by the Deity in approval\nof their faith.\n\nEV. The \u201cFata Morgana,\u201d in the straits of Reggio, presents a perfect\nscene of enchantment; when the shouts of \u201cMorgana, Morgana,\u201d echo from\nrock and mountain, as the wondering people flock in crowds to the shore.\nDuring this splendid illusion, gigantic columns, and cloud-capt towers,\nand gorgeous palaces, and solemn temples, are floating on the verge of\nthe horizon, and sometimes beneath this picture of a city, on the very\nbosom of the water, a _fainter_ spectrum may be seen, which is a\nreflected image of the other. These spectra are usually _colourless_,\nbut if certain watery vapours are floating in the air, they are\nbeautifully fringed with the three primitive colours of the prism. Such\nalso is the illusion of the Calenture, or _sylvan scenes_ of the ocean.\n\nCAST. Let us seek these wonders of the waters, Astrophel; perchance we\nmight, in some enchanted hour, see even beneath yon Severn flood the\ngrotto of Sabrina, with its green and silver weeds, its purple shells\nand arborescent corallines; and, if we dive into the depths of the sea,\nmight we not light on the palace of Amphitrite, and, while the Nereids\nand Tritons were mourning over the desolation of a shipwreck, hear the\necho of some Ariel\u2019s song \u201cfull fathom five,\u201d undulating through the\nwater; or realise the overwhelming of Maha-Velipoor, in the curse of\nKehama:\n\n \u201cTheir golden summits in the noontide ray,\n Shone o\u2019er the dark green deep, that roll\u2019d between;\n For domes, and pinnacles, and spires were seen\n Peering above the sea.\u201d\n\nOr the legend of _Thierna Na Oge_, in Lough Neagh, in Ireland; for Moore\nhas sung\u2014\n\n \u201cOn Lough Neagh\u2019s banks, when the fisherman strays,\n He sees the round towers of other days;\u201d\n\nand why may not _we_?\n\nWho that has wandered among the dark mountains of Brecon, remembers not\nthe blue pool of Lynsavaddon, and has not listened to the tales of the\nmountaineers, of the city over which to this day its waves are rolling?\nand in the beautiful vale of Eidournion, in Merioneth\u2014but listen to a\nfragment of a romance of this valley, which from memory I quote:\u2014\n\nThere was a proud and wealthy prince in Gwyneth, when the beautiful isle\nwas under the rule of the Cymri. At his palace gate a voice was once\nheard echoing among the mountains these words: \u2018Edivar a\nddau\u2019\u2014Repentance will come. The prince demanded \u2018When?\u2019 and in the\nrolling thunder the voice was again heard, \u2018At the third generation.\u2019\n\nNothing daunted, the wicked lord lived on, committing plunder and all\nevil excesses, and laughing to scorn the holy hymns in the churches. A\nson and heir was born to him, and there was a gorgeous assemblage in the\nhall of beautiful ladies and high-born nobles, to celebrate the festival\nof his birth.\n\nIt was midnight, when in the ear of an old harper, a shrill voice\nwhispered, \u2018Edivar, Edivar;\u2019 and a little bird hovered over him, and\nflew out of the palace in the pale moonshine: and the harper and the\nlittle bird went together into the mountains. The bird flitted before\nhim in the centre of the moon\u2019s disc, and warbled its mournful cry of\n\u2018Edivar\u2019 so plaintively, that the old man thought of the shriek of his\nlittle child Gwenhwyvar, as she sunk beneath the waters of Glaslyn.\n\nOn the top of the mountain he sank down with weariness, and the little\nbird was not with him; all was silent, save the cataract and the\nsheep-bells on the mountain side. In alarm at the wild solitude around\nhim, he turned towards the castle, but its lordly towers had vanished,\nand in the place of its woods and turrets there was a waste of rolling\nwaters\u2014with his lone harp floating on their surface.\n\nEV. I am unwilling to check your flight, fair Castaly, but my\nillustrations are not yet exhausted.\n\nThe \u201cSpectre of the Brocken\u201d is a mere shadow of the spectator on a\ngigantic scale. This phantom, the \u201cSchattenmann,\u201d according to vulgar\ntradition, haunts the lofty range of the Hartz mountains, in Hanover. It\nis usually observed when the sun\u2019s rays are thrown horizontally on thin\nfleecy clouds, or vapour of highly reflective power, assuming the shape\nof a gigantic shade on the cloud.\n\nThe romantic region of the Hartz was the grand temple of Saxon idolatry,\nthe very hot-bed of terrible shadows; the first of May especially being\nthe grand annual rendezvous of unearthly forms. Even now, it is\naffirmed, Woden, known in Brunswick as the Hunter of Hackelburgh, (whose\nsepulchre, an immense rough stone, is shown to the traveller,) is still\ninfluential in the Oden Wald and among the ruins of Rodenstein: even as\nin our own Lancashire, a dark gigantic horseman rushes on a giant steed\nin stormy nights, over \u201cHorrock Moor;\u201d indeed, a spot or tomb is still\nshown where he used to disappear.\n\nThus are the \u201cSpectres of the Brocken\u201d invested with supernatural\ndignity, in the minds of credulity and ignorance. And no wonder, for,\nalthough the discoverer of this gigantic illusion, Mr. Jordan, might\nconvince the Germans of the nature of this shadow, how could the\ncredulous believe, when they beheld a _second figure_, a faint refracted\nspectrum of the shadow, that it was any other than the shadow king of\nthe Brocken himself, frowning defiance on intruders.\n\nAnd this reminds me of the confession of Gaffarel, in his \u201cUnheard of\nCuriosities\u201d of the seventeenth century; in his quaint chapter on the\n\u201creadynge of the cloudes and whatever else is seene in the air, and of\nhieroglyphicks in the cloudes.\u201d\n\nAmong other miraculous illusions, as recorded by Cardanus, \u201cAn angel\nonce wafted on the cloudes above Millane, and great was the\nconsternation at its appearance, until Pellicanus, a philosopher, made\nit plainly appear, that this angel was nothing else but the reflection\nof an image of stone, that was on the top of the church of Saint Godart,\nwhich was represented in the thick cloudes as in a looking-glasse.\u201d\n\nWhile I was in South Wales, in 1836, I conversed with a labourer in the\nCyfarthfa works at Merthyr Tydvil, an illiterate seer, who saw, three\ntimes appearing before him, an unsubstantial tram-road; and on it a\ntrain drawn by a horse, and in this, the dead body of a man. Twice this\n_shadow_ emerged from the earth, and on the third ascent he looked on\nit, and recognized the well-known face of a comrade. The man was horror\nstruck, but his friend lived to laugh _at him_.\n\nWhen my friend, Mr. David Taylor, ascended the mountain that rises over\nChamouni, on the opposite side of the valley to Mont Blanc, his\nmagnified shadow was distinctly seen by him on the vapoury cloud that\nfloated between these giant rocks.\n\nIn February 1837, two gentlemen, on whom I confidently trust, were\nstanding on Calton Hill while a murky cloud hung over Edinburgh. Above\nthis veil Arthur\u2019s Seat peeped out like a rocky island beneath two white\narches, like the lunar bows; and on the cloud itself, each gentleman saw\nthe shadow of his companion magnified to gigantic proportions.\n\nThe aeronaut, among other glories of his ascent, may by chance be\ngratified by the shadow of his balloon on the face of a cumulus cloud;\nthus did the Duke of Brunswick, who ascended with Mrs. Graham, in August\n1836. And this is the analogous recital of Prince Puckler Muskau, in his\n\u201cTutti Frutti.\u201d\n\n\u201cWe dipped insensibly into the sea of clouds which enveloped us like a\nthick veil, and through which the sun appeared like the moon in Ossian.\nThis illumination produced a singular effect, and continued for some\ntime, till the clouds separated, and we remained swimming about beneath\nthe once more clear azure heavens. Shortly after we beheld, to our great\nastonishment, a species of \u2018Fata Morgana,\u2019 seated upon an immense\nmountain of clouds the colossal picture of the balloon and ourselves\nsurrounded by myriads of variegated rainbow tints. A full half hour the\nspectral reflected picture hovered constantly by our side. Each slender\nthread of the network appeared distended to the size of a ship\u2019s cable,\nand we ourselves two tremendous giants enthroned on the clouds.\u201d\n\nThe phantom, which rode side by side with Turpin, might be a mere\nreflected shadow in the mist; indeed, Burton writes that \u201cVitellio hath\nsuch another instance of a familiar acquaintance of his, that after the\nwant of three or four nights\u2019 sleep, as he was riding by a river-side,\nsaw another riding with him, and using all such gestures as he did, but\nwhen _more light appeared, it vanished_.\u201d\n\nThe principles of refraction are the sources of many an illusion, which\nis startling even to those who are aware of them. The sea, the vessels\nfloating on its surface, the rocks and buildings on its shores, often\nappear elevated far beyond their usual position: things are thus\npresented to the eye which, in the direct course of the rays, would be\ncompletely out of sight; and the praises bestowed on the Irish telescope\nmay not have been a bull, although we are assured that we may _see\nthrough it round the corner_.\n\nBaron Humboldt, Mr. Huddart, Professor Vince, Captain Scoresby and\nothers, will entertain you with these natural eccentricities, if you\nread the learned letter of Sir David Brewster, on \u201cNatural Magic;\u201d and\nhe will teach you how easy is the solution of all these marvels, on the\nprinciples of atmospheric reflection. Yet how many are there who are not\ncontented with the light of our philosophy, though it may fall like a\nsunbeam on the mind. Like the recorder of the \u201cUnheard-of Curiosities,\u201d\nthey, at one time, confess the _optical illusion_, as when the Romans\n\u201csaw their navy in the clouds;\u201d at another, as when Constantine\nprofessed to see the \u201cCrosse shining most gloriously in the aire,\u201d\nmarked with the motto, \u201cIn hoc signo vinces,\u201d\u2014philosophy was silent,\nand they believed it _might_ be divine.\n\nBut a mind in its _state of nature_ cannot know all this. If a savage\nlooked on the two white horses cut on the chalk hills of Berkshire and\nof Wiltshire, on the white cross of the Saxons on the Bledlow Ridge in\nBuckinghamshire, and on the white-leaf cross near Princes\nRisboro\u2019,\u2014would he not deem them deities, or the work of a magician or\na devil?\n\nWhen the sailors of Lord Nelson saw the bloated corpse of the murdered\nPrince Caraccioli floating erect in the water directly towards their\nship, can we wonder they should deem it a _supernatural_ visitation?\n\nWhen Franklin set his bells a ringing, by drawing down the electric\nfluid from the thunder-cloud, and when Columbus foretold to the hour the\nsun\u2019s eclipse;\u2014can we wonder that the transatlantic Indians listened,\nas to one endued with preternatural knowledge, or that the other might\nbe thought superhuman? And when the king of Siam was assured that water\ncould be congealed into ice, on which the sounding skate could\nglide,\u2014can we wonder that he smiled in absolute disbelief of such a\nchange, and called the tale a lie.\n\nThus, when the peasants of Cardigan, who were not versed in Pontine\narchitecture, looked on the bridge which the monks of _Yspitty C\u2019en\nVaen_ had thrown across the torrent of the _Monach_, they could not\nbelieve it a work of human, but of _infernal_, hands, and called it the\n\u201cDevil\u2019s Bridge.\u201d\n\nOn my ascent of the Vann mountain in Brecon, there often came a mass of\nlimestone rolling down the precipice. \u201cAh sure,\u201d said the old shepherd,\nwho was watching his fold on the mountain-side, \u201cthe fairies are at\ntheir gambols, master, for they sometimes do play at bowls with these\nchalk stones.\u201d Such was his explanation; but, on my gaining another\nridge of the Brecon Beacon, I startled a whole herd of these fairies,\nwho scudded off as fast as their legs could carry them, having first\nchanged themselves into a flock of sheep.\n\nThere was once a caravan journeying from Nubia to Cairo, which met the\nSavans attending on the expedition of Napoleon into Egypt, among whom\nwas Rigo, the painter. Struck with the deep character of expression in\nthe face of one of the Nubians, Rigo induced him, with gold, to sit for\nhis portrait. The African sat calmly perusing its progress until the\nlaying on of the _colours_, when, with a cry of terror, he rushed from\nthe house, and, to his awe-struck companions, affirmed that his head and\nhalf his body had been cut off by an enchanter. And this impression was\nnot solitary, for an assemblage of the Nubians were equally\nterror-struck, and (somewhat like those _monomaniacs_ who refuse to\ndrink water which reflects their faces, believing that they are\n_swallowing their friends_,) could never be dispossessed of the notion\nthat the picture was formed of the loppings and toppings of the human\nframe.\n\nWe believe these influences the more, because we see that, even to some\nfew men wiser than they, a leaning to superstition will warp a simple\nfact into a wonder; and that mere sensitiveness of mind may work as\ngreat a fear.\n\nSuetonius tells us that Caligula and Augustus were the most abject\ncowards in a thunder-storm; and the bishop of Langres D\u2019Escaro fell in a\nfainting-fit whenever an eclipse took place,\u2014a weakness which at length\nproved his death.\n\nThere was an old house in Angoul\u00eame, the \u201cChateau du Diable,\u201d on the\nspot where the sable fiend was wont to repair to enjoy his moonlight\nwalk. The house was never finished, for the devil, jealous of this\nusurpation, like Michael Scott\u2019s spirit, destroyed every night the walls\nwhich had been erected during the day. At length the men abandoned their\nwork in despair. On the twenty-fifth night in May (1840), the ruined\nwindows seemed on an instant in brilliant illumination, which struck the\ninhabitants of the little village of \u201cPetit-Rochford\u201d with wonder and\ndismay. Some dauntless heroes, however, sallied forth with weapons to\nstorm the enchanted castle. In an upper room, lighted by eight blood-red\nwax candles, they discovered a man of a strange and melancholy aspect,\ntracing cabalistic figures on the sanded floor. He was conveyed to the\nmaire, and was proved to be a poor sawyer, named Favreau, who, bound by\na superstitious oath, self-administered, had thus created a sensation of\nterror throughout a whole community.\n\nIn the records of the Harleian Miscellany, the curious reader may\ndiscover one which might impress his mind with some terrific ideas of\nthe natural history of the south of England in the seventeenth and\neighteenth centuries. It is styled, \u201cThe True and Wonderful.\u201d The\nportion of the MSS. to which I allude is the \u201cLegend of the Serpent of\nSt. Leonard\u2019s Forest.\u201d This terrific legend of my own native town was a\nfavourite of my boyish days; it has moulted some feather of its once\nawful interest, and is now but the shadow of a memory; and those who\nwere once converts to its reality, now laugh the legend to scorn.\n\n\n\n\n ILLUSIONS OF ART.\n\n\n \u201cIf in Naples\n I should report this now, would they believe me?\u201d\n TEMPEST.\n\nEV. The science of chemistry has unfolded most of the secrets of\n_material_ miracles, as Psychology those of the intellect and senses.\n\nNot that I would attempt thus to _explain_ your wonders of Palingenesy,\nAstrophel; I will rather favour you with another batch, for I was once\nfond of unkennelling these sly foxes.\n\nIt is solemnly attested by the noble secretary of a Duke of Guise, that,\nin company with many scientific men, he saw the face of a person in his\nblood, which had been given by a bishop, for experiment, to La Pierre,\nthe chemist, of Le Temple, near Paris.\n\nThere is an old book of one Dr. Garmann, \u201cDe Miraculis Mortuorum,\u201d and\nthus _he_ writes:\u2014\u201cWhen human salt, extracted and depurated from the\nskull of a man, was placed in a water dish, there appeared next morning\nin the mass, figures of men fixed to a cross;\u201d and \u201cwhen human skulls,\non which mosses had vegetated, were pounded, the family of the\napothecary who pounded them were alarmed in the night by strange and\nterrific noises from the chamber.\u201d\n\nThe body of the Cid, Ruy Diaz, as we read in Heywood\u2019s \u201cHierarchie,\u201d sat\nin state at the altar of the cathedral at Toledo for ten years. A Jew\none day attempted, in derision, to pull him by the beard; but on the\nfirst touch, the Cid started up, and in high resentment scared the\nIsraelite away by the unsheathing of his mighty sword. And Master\nPlanche has brought you legends from the church of Maria Taferl, in\nLower Austria, and other noted spots on the Danube.\n\nWhen Bernini\u2019s bust of Charles I. was being conveyed in a barge on the\nThames, from a strange bird there descended a drop of blood on the bust,\n_which could never be effaced_.\n\nThis is nothing but a fact in nature _mystified_, and (like the growth\nof the Christmas flowering thorn of Glastonbury, from the\n_walking-staff_ of Joseph of Arimath\u00e6a) is too glaring to be\nmisconstrued.\n\nOther of these blood miracles are still more easy of solution. The blood\nspots from David Rizzio are _shown_ to this day in Holyrood: and it was\nbelieved, that after the Irish massacre the blood of the victims then\nslain on Portnedown Bridge, has indelibly stained its battlements. But\nthese spots are nothing but the brown vegetative stains which geology\nhas discovered on many fossils.\n\nNow listen to Father Gregory of Tours. \u201cA thief was committing sacrilege\nat the tomb of Saint Helius, when the saint caught him by the skirt, and\nheld him fast.\u201d Probably his garment hitched on a nail. Another old man,\nwhile removing a stone from the grave of a saint, was in a moment struck\nblind, dumb, and deaf. Probably the mephitic gases exhaling from the\ntomb were the source of all this mystery.\n\nThen, as to the impositions of the priesthood. In Naples was the blood\nof Saint Januarius concealed in a phial, and on certain solemn days this\nso called blood really became liquified; but it was effected secretly,\nby chemical means; and I remember, the archbishop who confessed the\nsecret to the French general Championet, was exiled by the Vatican.\n\nIn the reign of Henry VIII. too (I quote from Hume), other bloody\nsecrets of this sort were unfolded. \u201cAt Hales, in the county of\nGloucester, there had been shown during several ages the blood of Christ\nbrought from Jerusalem; and it is easy to imagine the veneration with\nwhich such a relic was regarded. A miraculous circumstance also attended\nthis relic. The sacred blood was not visible to any one in mortal sin,\neven when set before him; and, till he had performed good works\nsufficient for his absolution, it would not deign to discover itself to\nhim. At the dissolution of the monastery the whole contrivance was\ndetected. Two of the monks, who were let into the secret, had taken the\nblood of a duck, which they renewed every week; they put it in a vial,\none side of which consisted of thin and transparent crystal, the other\nof thick and opaque. When any rich pilgrim arrived, they were sure to\nshow him the dark side of the vial till masses and offerings had\nexpiated his offences, and then, finding his money, or patience, or\nfaith, nearly exhausted, they made him happy by turning the vial.\u201d\n\nBut there is no end to relics in Italy. Even two hundred years ago, John\nEvelyn makes out this catalogue of those he saw in St. Mark\u2019s, at\nVenice.\n\n\u201cDivers heads of saints, inchased in gold; a small ampulla, or glass,\nwith our Saviour\u2019s blood; a great morsel of the real cross; one of the\nnails; a thorn; a fragment of the column to which our Lord was bound\nwhen scourged; a piece of St. Luke\u2019s arm; a rib of St. Stephen; and a\nfinger of Mary Magdalene!\u201d\n\nAmong the more innocent illusions of art, I may remind you of concave\nand cylindrical mirrors and lenses, the magic lanthorn, \u201cles ombres\nchinoises,\u201dand the phantasmagoria of Cagliastro, by which daggers appear\nto strike the breast of the spectator, and images of objects in other\nrooms are thrown on the walls of that in which we are sitting. A mirror,\nthus accidentally placed, has afforded the evidence of murder within our\nown time.\n\nThe duration of impressions on the eye, is another source of illusion.\nAn image remains on the retina, I believe, about the eighth of a second;\nas it departs, if another object supplies its place in quick succession,\nthe two images form, as it were, a union, and become blended. A\nknowledge of this law, in the ages of blind superstition, would have\nplaced an overwhelming weapon in the hands of priestcraft; in our day,\nit is the source of rational and innocent pleasure, by the invention of\noptical toys.\n\nThe whisking of an ignited stick produces a fiery circle\u2014why? Because\nfrom _excessive rapidity_ the rays from one point remain impressed on\nthe retina, until the revolution completes the circle.\n\nThe _Thaumatrope_, or wonder-turner, and the Phantasmascope, are\ningenious illustrations of this law of impression; so also is the\n_whirling machine_, which so beautifully evinces the fact of white being\ncompounded of all the prismatic colours, blended in certain proportions.\nThe prismatic Iris is painted on a revolving circle; by excessive\nrapidity of revolution, the colours are actually blended (as if mixed in\na vessel) on the retina, and the surface of the machine is white to the\neye.\n\nTo these may be added the combustion of phosphorus and other substances,\nin oxygen: red, green, and blue lights, which change the angel face of\nbeauty into the visage of a demon; and the inhalation of noxious fumes\nand gases, creating altogether a new train of phantoms in the world of\nexperimental magic, and developing the formerly occult mysteries of the\nart of incantation.\n\nChance may also involve a seeming mystery of very awful import. Some\nyears ago the town of Reading was thus bewildered. On the loaves were\nseen the most mysterious signs. On one, a skeleton\u2019s head and\ncross-bones; on another, the word \u201cresurgam;\u201d on another, a date of\ndeath was marked in deep impressions. The loaves of course were, by some\nmysterious influence, the vehicles of solemn warning from the Deity.\n\nThe baker was _churchwarden_ of St. Giles\u2019s; his oven needed flooring,\nand, winking at the sacrilege, he stole the flat inscribed tombstones\nfrom the church-yard, and therewith floored his oven. From the\ninscriptions of these stones the loaves took their mystic impressions.\n\nIn the reign of Edward the Martyr, during one of the synods assembled by\nDunstan, the floor of the chamber suddenly gave way, involving the death\nof many of its members. It chanced that Dunstan had on that day warned\nthe king not to attend the synod, and the only beam which did not give\nway was that on which his own chair was placed. This might be\ncoincidence merely, although I believe it was discovered that it was a\nconcerted trick; but the preservation of the king and the priest were,\nof course, attributed to special interference of the Deity.\n\nBut there is one phenomenon in animal chemistry so rare, and indeed so\nwonderful, that there are few even among philosophers who can give it\ncredence. This is \u201cspontaneous combustion,\u201d the result of an evolution\nof phosphorated hydrogen from the blood; the remote cause of which may\nbe traced in some cases to the free use of alcohol. The records of these\ncases are very circumstantial, especially the two most remarkable\u2014that\nof the Contessa Cornelia Bandi, of Cerena; and of Don Bertholi, an\necclesiastic of Mount Valerius. But I check my wanderings into this maze\nof mystery, in pity to your patience, fair ladies; for I perceive\nAstrophel is again out of our sphere, and, enveloped in the cloud of his\nown mystic meditations, will not know that this spontaneous combustion\nis almost as wondrous a tale as his \u201cLady of the Ashes.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n ILLUSTRATION OF MYSTERIOUS SOUNDS.\n\n\n \u201cThe isle is full of noises,\n Sounds and sweet airs, that give delight and hurt not.\n Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments\n Will hum about mine ears: and sometimes voices.\u201d\n TEMPEST.\n\nEV. So, you see, the effect of novelty is never more powerfully\ndisplayed than by unusual impressions on the finer senses; that\nappearances which the eye perceives, and which the mind cannot explain,\nbecome phantoms, involving some special motive of wonder or dismay.\n\nSo eccentric impressions on the mechanism of the internal _ear_ may be\nequally illusive. We have ghosts of the ear as well as of the eye.\n\nAs ignorance has often warped the optical phenomena which certain\natmospheric changes may produce, so peculiar and unusual sounds may be\naccounted for on equally erroneous principles, especially if they chance\nto resemble sounds which are the effects of daily or common causes.\n\nAs the Hebrew bards hung their harps by the waters of Babylon, the Irish\nwere wont, during their mourning for the death of a chief, to loosen\ntheir harp-strings, and hang them on the trees; and while the wind swept\nthe strings, they ever believed that the harp itself sympathized in\ntheir sorrow.\n\nThus, when the lament, or \u201cullaloo,\u201d of these wild Milesians boomed\nalong the mountain glens, mingled with the coione, or funeral song, and\nthe poetical cadence blended with the winds, how easy to impart to it a\nmore than human source; and thus the dismal coronach among the Scottish\nHighlands may be mystified into the \u201cboding scream of the Banshee.\u201d\n\nIt is a classical question whether the rebel giant, Typh\u0153us, was crushed\nby Jupiter beneath the island of Inarime, or Mount \u00c6tna; but it might\nreadily be believed by the Sicilian, who had read this mythological\ntale, that the volcanic convulsions arose from the vain struggles for\nfreedom of this monster, who sent forth flames from his mouth and eyes.\n\nWithin a mountain of Stony Arabia, to the north of Tor, very strange\nnoises are often heard as of the striking of an harmonic hammer, or the\nsound of a humming-top, which completely infuriate the camels on the\nmountain when they hear it. The Arabs believe these sounds to proceed\nfrom a subterranean convent of monks, the priest of which, to assemble\nthem to prayer, strikes with a hammer on the nakous, a metallic rod\nsuspended in the air. M. Teetzen, who visited the spot, assures us that\nthe cause of all this is the mere rolling of volumes of sand from the\nsummit and sides of the mountain.\n\nIn the last century, I remember there was a legend current in the west\nof England, of the \u201cBucca,\u201d a demon whose howling was heard amid the\nblast which swept along the shore. It was a sure foreboding of\nshipwreck. The _prophecy_ was often but too fully verified, but the\nvoice of the demon was merely the premonitory gale from one certain\nquarter, which is always the _avant-courier_ of a tempest.\n\nI remember, when I was a child, the prevalent belief in Horsham, that,\nat a certain hour of the night, the ghost of Mrs. Hamel was heard\ngroaning in her vault, beneath the great eastern window, and it required\nsome self-possession to walk, at midnight, around this haunted tomb; for\nfew would believe that the noises were nothing more than the wind\nsweeping along the vaulted aisles of the church.\n\nThose very extraordinary impositions on the sense of hearing at\nWoodstock, in the truth of which, Astrophel, your faith was so firm,\nwere resorted to to create terror, and effect a political purpose. In\n\u201cthe genuine History of the good Devil of Woodstock,\u201d written in 1649,\nwe are told of the pealing of cannon, the barking of dogs, and neighing\nof horses, and other mysterious sounds, which certainly created the\ngreatest wonder and anxiety, until \u201cfunny Joe Collins\u201d explained and\ndemonstrated all the mechanical process of this imposture. You will find\nalso the account of these gems of marvellous history in Sinclair and\nPlott, and the chronicles of those days, which eclipse the haunted house\nof Athenodorus in Pliny.\n\nIn the 16th century, Master Samuel Stryck discussed the whole question\nregarding these haunted houses, and warnings of ghosts, and belief in\nthe reality of apparitions, in his work published at Francofurt, \u201cDe\nJure Spectrorum,\u201d and thus he runs up the question of damages: \u201cIf the\nhouse be haunted, the tenant might bring in a set-off against his rent,\nthus\u2014\u2018Deduct for spectres in bed and bed-room, and elsewhere, 5_l._\n10_s._\u2019\u201d\n\nThe drama of the Drummer, by Addison, I believe was founded on the\nmystery of the \u201cDemon of Tedworth,\u201d which beat the drum in the house of\nMr. Mompesson. This also was the source of extreme wonder, until the\ndrummer was tried, and convicted, and Mr. Mompesson confessed that the\nmystery was the effect of contrivance.\n\nThe author of the Pandemonium, or Devils\u2019 Cloyster, garnished his book\nwith tales of this nature. In 1667, when he slept in \u201cmy Lady chamber,\u201d\nin the house of a nobleman, he was waited on by a succession of spectral\nvisitors; the explanation of which Ferriar and Hibbert, and others, have\nwrought for you, if you deign to turn over the leaves of their natural\nphilosophy.\n\nThe impostures of the Stockwell miracles of 1772 are recorded, with\nother curiosities, in the \u201cEvery-day Book\u201d of Hone, the skilful and\nunwearied collector of our ancient mysteries.\n\nThe Cock-lane ghost is another instance of illusion in the ears of the\ncredulous. Although Dr. Johnson, the Bishop of Salisbury, and other\nlearned Thebans, sat in solemn judgment to develop its mystery, I\nbelieve many were so in love with the marvellous, that they regretted\nthe unravelling of the plot, and still believed; as Commodore Trunnion,\nin despite of evidence as to the fluttering in his chimney, swore that\nhe knew a devil from a jackdaw, as well as any man in the kingdom.\n\nASTR. I wonder, Evelyn, at your veneration for the classics; for are\nthey not replete with stories, which, if true, (and I believe them so,)\nwill undermine all your philosophy? When Pausanias writes of the ghosts\nat Marathon, of horses and men who were heard rushing on to battle four\nhundred years after they were slain; and Plutarch of the spectres and\nsupernatural sounds in the baths at Ch\u00e6ronea, the scene of bloodshed and\nmurder;\u2014what may be their motives, but the record of acknowledged\nincidents?\n\nEV. The classics, if they might rise up and listen, would believe me,\ndear Astrophel, so clear and simple is the source of these illusions.\n\nOf the credulity of the Romans I have spoken; but even in minds not\nprone to superstition, deep mental impression, or constant dwelling on a\nsubject of interest, will effect this illusion of a sense.\n\nIn Holy Island, near the ruins of the convent (in the dungeons of which\nromance has decided the fate of Constance Beverley), was a small\nfortress of invalid soldiers. One of them once conducted a visitor to a\nsteep rock, under which, he said, there must be a profound cavern, as\nthe sound of a bell was distinctly heard every night at twelve o\u2019clock,\ndeep in the bowels of the earth. The traveller soon discovered that the\nmysterious sound had _never been heard_ by the oldest inmates, _until_\nthe poem of \u201cMarmion\u201d appeared, in which the condemnation and the death\nof Constance in the dungeons of the cathedral are so forcibly described.\nThis is, however, a _metaphysical_ source of mystery.\n\nIn volcanic regions, as in that of the Solfatara, near Naples, these\nstrange and subterranean sounds are not unfrequently heard; and in the\nrocky and caverned coasts of our own island also, where dwell the\nunlettered and the superstitious, by whose wild and romantic fancy these\nnoises are readily magnified into the supernatural.\n\nCamden, in his \u201cBritannia,\u201d informs us,\u2014\u201cIn a rock in the island of\nBarry, in Glamorganshire, there is a narrow chink, or cleft, to which if\nyou put your ear you shall perceive all such sorts of noises as you may\nfancy smiths at work under ground, strokes of hammers, blowing of\nbellows, grinding of tools.\u201d At Worm\u2019s Head, in the peninsula of Gower\nin Glamorganshire, these sounds are, even now, often heard; and it\nrequires but a moderate stretch of imagination to create all this\ncyclopean imagery, when the sea is rolling in cavities under our feet,\nand the tone of its voice is magnified by confinement and repercussion.\nFrom some such source probably sprung the fable of \u201cthe Syrens,\u201d two\nsolitary maidens, who, by their dulcet voices, so enchanted the\nnavigators who sailed by their rocks, that they forgot home and the\npurpose of their voyage, and died of starvation. Ulysses, instructed by\nhis mother Circe, broke the spell, and the ladies threw themselves into\nthe sea with vexation. This fable, like many of the classic mysteries,\nmay be thus topographically explained.\n\nIn the grand duchy of Baden, near Friburg, is a very curious example of\nan \u00c6olian lyre, constructed, as the traditions of the mountains will\nhave it, by the very _genius loci_ himself.\n\nIn a romantic chasm of these mountains, most melodious sounds are\nsometimes heard from the top of fir-trees overhanging a waterfall. The\ncurrent of air, ascending and descending through the chasm, receives a\ncounter impulse from an abrupt angle of the rock, and, acting on the\ntops of the string-like branches of the trees, produces the soft tones\nof the \u00c6olian harp, the effect of which is much enhanced by the gushing\nof the waterfall.\n\nThere may be in these natural sounds the source of many fables of the\nancients: the moaning of the wind among the branches of a pine-grove\nmight be the wailing of a hamadryad.\n\nAmong the granite rocks on the Orinoco, Baron Humboldt heard the\nstrangest subterranean sounds; and at the palace of Carnac, some of\nNapoleon\u2019s _savans_ heard noises exactly resembling the breaking of a\nstring. It is curious that Pausanias applies exactly this expression to\nthe sounds of the Memnonian granite,\u2014the colossal head of Memnon, which\nwas believed to speak at sunrise. He writes,\u2014\u201cIt emits sounds every\nmorning at sunrise, which can be compared only to that of the breaking\nof the string of a lyre.\u201d\n\nJuvenal has the same notion, but he has multiplied the sounds.\n\nThe mystery of Memnon may be readily explained, by the temperature and\ndensity of the _external_ air differing from that _within_ the crevices,\nand the effort of the current to promote an equilibrium; yet these\nsimple sounds were in course of time warped into articulate syllables,\nand at length obtained the dignity of an oracular voice. And in these\nillustrations, fair Castaly, you have the clue to all the mysteries of\ndemonia and fairyland.\n\nTo these natural illusions, let me add the triumphs of phonic mechanism\nand the peculiar faculty of the ventriloquist, the secrets of which the\nscience of Sir David Brewster has so clearly developed. The wondrous\nheads of Memnon, and Orpheus, and \u00c6sculapius, the machines of Albertus\nMagnus, and Sylvester, are now held but as curious specimens of art, and\nare indeed eclipsed by the speaking toys of Kratzenstein, and Kempelin,\nand Willis, and Savart, and the ingenious instruments of Wheatstone.\n\nOf ventriloquism, it is not my purpose to speak; but there is a wonder\nof our time in the person of young Richmond, which, with many\ndistinguished physiologists, I examined at the _conversazione_ of Dr.\nE\u2014\u2014, in C\u2014\u2014 Street.\n\nWhen Richmond sat himself to _perform_, we heard a subdued murmur in his\nthroat for about half-a-minute, when suddenly a sound issued of the most\nexquisite and perfect melody, closely resembling, but exceeding in\ndelicacy, the finest musical box. The mouth was widely open, and the\nperformance was one of considerable effort. The sounds were a mystery to\nus at the time, for they were perfectly unique, and are yet not\nsatisfactorily explained. It is decided, however, by some, that the\nupper opening of the windpipe may be considered as a Jew\u2019s-harp, or\n\u00c6olina, of very exquisite power, _behind_ the cavity of the mouth,\ninstead of being placed _between the teeth_.\n\nASTR. And thus concludes our lecture on special mechanics.\n\nEV. I professed no more, Astrophel. It may be the privilege of the\n_sacred poet_ to soar beyond the confines of our own planetary system:\n\n \u201cInto the heav\u2019n of heav\u2019ns he has presum\u2019d,\n An earthly guest, and drawn empyreal air.\u201d\n\nBut the study of philosophy is nature and nature\u2019s _known laws_. If we\nlean, for one moment, to the credence of a _modern_ miracle, there is an\nend to our philosophy. Revealed truth, and the immaterial nature of the\nmystical essence within us, we may not lightly discourse on. The sacred\nhistories of Holy Writ, and the miracles recorded in its pages\u2014the\nhand-writing in the hall of Belshazzar, the budding of Aaron\u2019s rod, the\nstanding still of the sun upon Gibeon, and, above all, the miracles of\nthe Redeemer, are of too holy a nature to be submitted to the test of\nphilosophical speculation: they rest on the _conviction_ of conscience\nand the heart; a proof far more sublime than may ever be elicited by the\ningenuity of man, or the workings of his sovereign reason.\n\n\n\n\n FAIRY MYTHOLOGY.\n\n\n \u201cI\u2019ll give thee fairies to attend on thee.\u201d\n MIDSUMMER NIGHT\u2019S DREAM.\n\nASTR. Why so thoughtful, fair Castaly? I fear Evelyn has clipped your\nsylphid wings, and made a mortal of you.\n\nCAST. Your finger on your lips, Astrophel; for the world, not a syllable\nof confession to Evelyn.\n\nI could think I heard the murmurs of a host of fairies streaming up to\nearth from elf-land, in fear of libels on their own imperial sovereignty\nby this matter-of-fact scholar.\n\nASTR. Why did we listen to his philosophy? why not still believe the\nvolumes of our antique legends; that those which tell the influence of\nfairies and demons on man\u2019s life, have their source in the real history\nof a little world of creatures more ethereal than ourselves? Perhaps\neven the bright thoughts of a poet\u2019s fancy are not his own creation.\n\nCAST. We must hear no more, although Evelyn will still convert syrens\ninto rocks and trees, and make a monster out of a mist or a\nthunder-cloud. The sunlight is sleeping on Wyndcliff, and the breeze,\ncreeping among the leaves, seems to me a symphony meet to conjure the\nphantoms of romantic creatures. Evelyn is far away among the rocks; let\nus steal the moment to revel in our dreams of fa\u00ebry. Even now, are we\nnot in a realm of Peristan? Yon mossy carpet of emerald velvet, strewed\nwith pearls and gold, may be the presence-chamber of Titania; and fays\nare dancing within their ring, which the silvery beech o\u2019ercanopies so\nshadily; and the chaunting of their _viralays_, or green-songs, comes\nlike the humming of a zephyr\u2019s wing flitting o\u2019er the mouth of a lily.\nAriel is lying asleep in her cinque-spotted cowslip bell, and the fays\nare feeding on their fairy-bread, made of the pollen of the jasmine; and\nOberon quaffs to his queen the drops that hang on the purple lip of the\nviolet, or glitter in the honied bell of the hyacinth, or that purest\ncrystal of the lotus, that brings life to the fainting Indian in the\ndesert, or the liquid treasure of the _nepenthe_.\n\nWe pray you, Astrophel, recount to us, now we are in the humour, the\ninfancy of bright and dark spirits; for you have dipped deep, I know,\ninto the Samothracian mysteries.\n\nASTR. Know, then, that the birth-time of mythology and romance was in\nthe primeval ages of man. The ancient heathens believed in the legends\nof their deities, as we have credence in modern history and biography;\nindeed, the _romance_ of the moderns was with the ancients _truth_. They\nhad implicit faith in the presence of their gods, and that they might\nperchance meet them in the groves and hills, which were consecrated to\ntheir worship, and adorned with sculpture and idols in honour of the\ndeities. Hence the profusion of their names and nature, recorded in the\npages of the olden time, when the scribe traced his reed letter on the\npapyrus.\n\nFrom the climes of the sun came the orient tales of genie, and deeves,\nand peris; and of naiad, and nereid, and dryad, and hamadryad, from\nGreece and Rome. In the Koran shone forth the promised houris of\nMahomet\u2019s paradise; and its mysteries were echoed to us from the lips\nand tables of pilgrims and crusaders, who had blazoned their red cross\nin the holy wars. Thus was romance cradled and bosomed in religion.\n\nFrom the legends of the East, spring the fairy romances of our own days.\nThe _Peri_ of Persia was the denizen of Peristan, as the _Ginn_ of\nArabia was of Ginnistan, and the _Fairy_ of England of Fairyland; and we\nhave their synonyms in the _Fata_ of Italy and the _Duerga_ of northern\nEurope.\n\nThese spirits of romance are almost innumerable; for thus saith the\n\u201cGolden Legend:\u201d that \u201cthe air is full of sprites as the sonnebeams ben\nfull of small motes, which is small dust or poudre.\u201d\n\nThe alchemyst Paracelsus asserts that the elements were peopled with\nlife; the air with _sylphs_ and _sylvains_, the water with _ondines_,\nthe earth with _gnomes_, and the fire with _salamanders_. And Martin\nLuther coincides with these assertions; nay, hath not Master Cross of\nBristol illustrated the creed, and shown, by his galvanic power, an\nanimated atom starting forth, as if by magic, from a flint, a seeming\ninorganic mass?\n\nThe sagas, or historical records of Scandinavia, of the Celtic, Scaldic,\nand Runic mythology, assert that the duergas or dwarfs, which are the\nRunic fairies, sprang from the worms in the body of the giant Ymor,\nslain, according to the Edda, by Odin and his brother; and Spenser has\nleft a very interesting genealogical record of the fa\u00ebry brood, in that\nromantic allegory of the Elizabethan age, the \u201cFa\u00ebry Queen.\u201d Elf, the\nman fashioned and inspired by Prometheus, was wandering over the earth\nalone, and in the bosky groves of Adonis he discovered a lady of\nmarvellous beauty\u2014Fay. From this romantic pair sprang the mighty race\nof the fairies, and we have wondrous tales of the prowess of their\nheroic princes. Elfiline threw a golden wall round the city of\nCleopolis; Elfine conquered the Gobbelines; Elfant built Panthea, of\npurest crystal; Elfan slew the giant twins; and Elfinor spanned the sea\nwith a bridge of glass.\n\nCAST. Spenser, I presume, borrowed _his_ romance from Italy. We read\nthat the rage and party spirit of the potent Guelphs and Ghibellines\nrankled even in their nurseries. The nurses were wont to frighten the\nchildren into obedience with these hated names, which, corrupted to the\nepithets of elf and goblin, were hence-forth applied to fairies and\nphantoms.\n\nASTR. This story is itself a mere fiction. Ere the period of these feuds\nof party, the term _Elfen_ (and Dance identifies this with the Teutonic\n_Helfen_,) was a common epithet of the Saxon spirits: Weld-elfen were\ntheir dryads; Zeld-elfen their field-fairies, &c.\n\nThe American Indians to this day have faith in the presidencies of\nspirits over those lakes, trees, and mountains, and even fishes, birds,\nand beasts, which excel in magnitude. The orient Indian, too, at this\nhour, peoples the forests with his gods; and peacocks, and squirrels,\nand other wild creatures, are thus profanely deified.\n\nThe legends of later days have quaintly blended the classic with the\nfairy mythology. Hassenet tells us that Mercurius was called the Prince\nof Fairies; and Chaucer sings of Pluto, the King of Fayrie; and, in the\nromance of the Nine Champions, Proserpine sits crowned among the\nfairies. The great zoologist, Pliny, writes in his Natural History, that\n\u201cyou often encounter fairies that vanish away like phantasies.\u201d And\nBaxter believed that \u201cfairies and goblins might be as common in the air,\nas fishes in the sea.\u201d\n\nAs the Peri could not enter Paradise in consequence of the errors of her\n\u201crecreant race,\u201d so the elves could not enjoy eternity without marrying\na Christian; and on this plea they came up to the daughters of men. And\nwe read, in the tenets of the Cabala, that, by these earthly weddings,\nthey could enjoy the privileges and happiness of each other\u2019s nature.\nBut these unnatural unions were not always happy. There is, in our old\nchronicles, a tradition of a marriage between one of the counts of Anjou\nand a fair demonia, which entailed misery and commission of crime on the\nnoble house of Plantagenet.\n\nNow there are appointed times when the influence of the spirit fades for\na season. It was the moment of the eclipse, among the American Indians\nand the African blacks; in Ireland, it is the feast of the Beltane; in\nScotland, this immunity came over the mortal life on Hogmanay, or\nNew-year\u2019s Eve, and during the _general assemblies_ of these mystic\nspirits of the world.\n\nIn Britain, it was on the eve of the first of May, the second of\nNovember, and on All Souls\u2019 Day. At these times, indeed, they might be\ninduced to divulge the secrets of their mysterious freemasonry.\n\nIn Germany, on May-day, when the unearthly rendezvous was on the dark\nmountain of the Hartz, and on Halloween, in Caledonia, even the secrets\nof time and futurity were unfolded by the spirits to a mortal, if one\nwere found so bold as to repair on these festivals to their unhallowed\nhaunts.\n\nIf a mortal enters the secret abodes of the Daoine Shi, in Scotland, and\nanoints his eyes with their charmed ointment, the gift of seeing that\nwhich is to all others invisible is imparted; but this must be kept\nsecret, for the Men of Peace will blind the second-sighted eye, if once\nthey are recognized on earth by a mortal.\n\nIn the gloomy forests of Germany rose the legends of _Kobolds_, and\n_Umbriels_, and _Wehrwolves_, the _Holts Konig_, the _Waldebach_, the\n_Reiberzahl_, and the _Schattenman_, the _Hudekin_, the _Erl Konig_, and\nthe beautiful naiad, the _Nixa_. The devil himself was believed to be a\ngnome king; for when the Elector of Saxony offered Martin Luther the\nprofit of a mine, he refused it, \u201clest by accepting it he should tempt\nthe devil, who is lord of those subterraneous treasures, to tempt\n_him_.\u201d\n\nThen we have the _Putseet_, or Puck of the Samogit\u00e6, on the Baltic; the\n_Biergen Trold_, or _Skow_, of Iceland; and those mermaids which gambol\naround the Faroe Islands. We read in the _Danske Folksaga_, that these\n\u201cmerrows\u201d cast their skins like the boa, and in that condition are\nchanged into human beings, till their scales are restored to them. And\nthe Shetlanders implicitly believe that awful storms instantly arise on\nthe murder of one of these sea-maids.\n\nThere was the Norse goddess, Freya, which, like the Dragon of Wantley,\nand the Caliban of the \u201cstill vexed Bermoothes,\u201d blasted the fair face\nof nature, and far eclipsed the giant-serpent off Cape Saint Anne, or\nthe _kraken_ of Norway; and even that monstrous sea-snake, the\n_jormungandz_ (so conspicuous among the wild romances of the Edda),\nwhose coils entwined the globe. Thor angled for this snake with a bull\u2019s\nhead, but it was not to be caught, being reserved for some splendid\nachievement in the grand conflict which is to herald the\n_Ragnarockr_,\u2014the twilight of the gods.\n\nAmong the mountains of our own island we have a profuse legion. In\nWales, the _Tylwth Tag_ and the Pooka; and many a hollow in the mountain\nwhere these strange animals resort, is called _Cwm Pooka_; and the\nwondrous cavern of the Melt\u00e8, in Breconshire, was believed to be haunted\nby this little pony.\n\nIn Ireland, they have a _Merrow_, the Runic sea, or oigh-maid; the\n_Banshee_, or fairy prophet; the _Fear-Dearg_, the Irish Puck; the\n_Clurricane_, a sottish pigmy; and the _Pooke_, the wild pony.\n\nCAST. These must have been a prolific as well as a wandering brood, for\nI also have seen many caverns in the rocky districts, called _Poola\nPhouka_, in which these mischievous little creatures concealed\nthemselves.\n\nASTR. In Man there is a hill called the \u201cFairy Hill,\u201d a tumulus of the\nDanes, which is thought to be a nocturnal revel-place for the Man\nfairies which preside over their fisheries.\n\nScotland was a fertile mother of monsters: the _Ourisks_ or _Uriskin_,\nthe goblin-satyrs or shaggy men; the _Brownies_; the _Kelpies_, or\nriver-demons; the _Bargheists_; the _Red-cap_; the _Daoine Shi_, or Men\nof Peace; the _Glaslic_, or noontide hag, which haunted the district of\nKnoidart; and the _Lham-Dearg_, or red-hand, in the forests of Glenmore,\nand Rothiemurchus; the _Bodach-Glas_; and the _Pixies_, or small grey\nmen.\n\nCAST. There is an islet among the Scottish Hebrides, which is called the\nIsle of Pigmies; and I remember a chapel there, in which very minute\nhuman bones were some time ago discovered. Think you, Astrophel, that\nthese were the skeletons of pixies?\n\nASTR. I cannot think the notion irrational; there are dwarfs and giants\neven in our days. The _Bosgis-men_ of the Cape, and the Patagonians of\nSouth America, prove the existence of beings of another stature; and\nperchance of another _nature_, in days long agone. The Laplander and\nBushman of the Cape are little more than three feet high; and that there\nwere giants _too_, is proved by the fossil bones which have been found\nin the strata of our earth.\n\nCAST. Then we have really dwindled in our growth, and Adam was really a\nhundred and twenty-three feet nine inches high, and Eve a hundred and\neighteen feet nine inches and three quarters, as we are solemnly\ninformed by our profane chronicles? Nay, even the story may be true of\nthe Pict, who bit off the end of the mattock, with which some slave of\nscience was opening his coffin, and thundered forth this exclamation: \u201cI\nsee the degeneracy of your race by the smallness of your little finger.\u201d\n\nIDA. If Evelyn were here, he would ask why we have no skeletons of\ngiants as of lizards in our secondary rocks; and he would tell this\nlearned Theban, Castaly, that Cuvier decided these fossils, which seemed\nto be the _d\u00e9bris_ of a giant race, to be the bones of elephants. The\nlegends of Athen\u00e6us are probably a fable, and the fossils of the pigmies\nwere, I dare say, the petrified skeletons of \u201cspan-long, wee\nunchristen\u2019d bairns.\u201d\n\nYour allusion to the brownies, reminds me of the monstrous errors which\nhave crept into our legends from the mingling of _two stories_, or the\nwarping of plain facts in natural history. And indeed I interrupt you to\nrecount, in proof of this, some fragments from \u201cSurtees\u2019 Durham.\u201d\n\n\u201cEvery castle, tower, or manor-house has its visionary inhabitants. \u2018The\nCauld Lad of Hilton\u2019 belongs to a very common and numerous class, the\nbrownie or domestic spirit, and seems to have possessed no very\ndistinctive attributes. He was seldom seen, but was heard nightly by the\nservants _who slept in the great hall_. If the kitchen had been left in\nperfect order, they heard him amusing himself by breaking plates and\ndishes, hurling the pewter in all directions, and throwing every thing\ninto confusion. If, on the contrary, the apartment had been left in\ndisarray, (a practice which the servants found it most prudent to\nadopt,) the indefatigable goblin arranged every thing with the greatest\nprecision. This poor _esprit folet_, whose pranks were at all times\nperfectly harmless, was at length banished from his haunts by the usual\nexpedient of presenting him with a suit of clothes. A green cloak and\nhood were laid before the kitchen fire, and the domestics sat up\nwatching at a prudent distance. At twelve o\u2019clock the spirit glided\ngently in, stood by the glowing embers, and surveyed the garments\nprovided for him very attentively, tried them on, and seemed delighted\nwith his appearance, frisking about for some time, and cutting several\nsummersets and gambados, till on hearing the first cock, he twitched his\nmantle tight about him and disappeared with the usual valediction:\n\n \u201c\u2018Here\u2019s a cloak, and here\u2019s a hood,\n The cauld lad of Hilton will do no more good.\u2019\u201d\n\nThe genuine Brownie, however, is supposed to be, _ab origine_, an\nunembodied spirit; but the boy of Hilton has, with an admixture of\nEnglish superstition, been identified with the apparition of an\nunfortunate domestic, whom one of the old chiefs of Hilton slew at some\nvery distant period, in a moment of wrath or intemperance. The baron\nhad, it seems, on an important occasion, ordered his horse, which was\nnot brought out so soon as he expected. He went to the stable, found the\nboy loitering, and seizing a hay-fork, struck him, though not\nintentionally, a mortal blow. The story adds, that he covered his victim\nwith straw till night, and then threw him into a pond, where the\nskeleton of a boy was (in confirmation of the tale) discovered in the\nlast baron\u2019s time.\n\nI am by no means clear that the story may not have its foundation in the\nfact recorded in the following inquest:\n\n\u201cCoram Johannem King, coron., Ward\u00e6 de Chestr\u00e6, apud Hilton, 3 Jul. 7 Jac.\n 1609.\u201d\n (And here follows a report in Latin.)\n\nNevertheless, I strongly suspect that the unhousel\u2019d spirit of Roger\nSkelton, whom in the hay-field the good Hilton ghosted, took the liberty\nof playing a few of those pranks which are said by writers of grave\nauthority to be the peculiar privilege of those spirits only who are\nshouldered untimely by violence from their mortal tenements.\n\n \u201cLing\u2019ring in anguish o\u2019er his mangled clay,\n The melancholy shadow turn\u2019d away,\n And follow\u2019d through the twilight grey.\u201d\n\nA free pardon for the above manslaughter appears on the rolls of Bishop\nJames, dated 6th September, 1609.\n\nI will only add that, among the Harleian MSS., the same legend is told\nwith some variations, in which this \u201ccauld lad\u201d is termed the \u201c_Pale\nBoy_ of Hilton.\u201d\n\nThis confusion of _our_ mythology is as conclusive of the fiction of all\nthe mysterious legends of the moderns, as the jumble which the classic\npoets have made of _their_ monsters. If we read Lempriere, the genealogy\nof the classic monster is involved in a maze of impious confusion; and\nthe mythology of _Chimera_, and _Echidna_, and _Typhon_, _Geryon_, and\n_Cerberus_, and the _Hydra_ and _Bellerophon_, and _Ortha_ and the\n_Sphynx_, and the _Nem\u00e6an Lion_, and the _Minotaur_, and the demoniac\nrecords of their origin, it is almost profanation even to reflect on.\n\nBut when Martianus Capella tells us that devils have a\u00ebrial bodies, that\nthey live and die, and yet, if cut asunder, soon re-unite; and when\nBodine asserts, in his \u201cSolution of Natural Theology,\u201d that spirits and\nangels are _globular_, as being of the most perfect shape, I confess I\nfeel more disposed to smile at their imposture than to frown, were it\nnot for their utter worthlessness.\n\nYet all the allegories which adorn our legends are not so remote from\ntruth or nature. The vampires are said to have gloated over the\nsacrifices of human life, while the gouls and afrits, the hyenas in\nhuman shape, not only fed on dead carcases, but, by a special\ntransmigration, took possession of a corpse. On this fable is founded\nthe monstrous legend of \u201cAssuet and Ajut.\u201d I confess it monstrous; but\nindeed there is little exaggeration even in these tales of horror, if we\nmay believe, for once, Master Edmund Spenser, in that part of his record\nof the rebellion of Desmond, in Ireland, which treats of the Munster\nmassacre:\u2014\u201cOut of every corner of the woodes and glennes, they came\ncreeping forth upon their handes, for their legges could not bear them;\nthey looked like anatomies of death; they spake like ghostes, crying out\nof their graves: they eat the dead carrions\u2014happy were they could they\nfind them\u2014yea, and one another soon after, insomuch as the very\ncarcases they spared not to scrape out of their graves.\u201d That episode\nalso, in the \u201cInferno\u201d of Dante, in which Count Ugolino wears out days\nand nights in gnawing the skull of an enemy, may well seem a fiction;\nbut even this hellish repast is but a prototype of the savage rage for\nscalping and cannibalism among the Indian hordes of America.\n\n\n\n\n DEMONOLOGY.\n\n\n \u201cBe thy intents wicked or charitable,\n Thou com\u2019st in such a questionable shape\u2014\u201d\n HAMLET.\n\nASTR. Now from the holy records, from the creed of the Magus Zoroaster,\nfrom the Greek, and Roman, and other legends, how clear is the influence\nof ethereal beings, of angels and demons, on man\u2019s life; and of the\nimparted power of _exorcism_! In allusion to this divine gift to\nSolomon, Josephus has the following story:\u2014\u201cGod also enabled him to\nlearn that skill which expels demons, which is a science useful and\nsanative to men. And this method is of great force unto this day, for I\nhave seen a certain man of my own country, whose name was Eleazer,\nreleasing people that were demoniacal in the presence of Vespasian, and\nhis sons, and his captains, and the whole multitude of his soldiers. The\nmanner of the cure was this. He put a ring, that had a root of one of\nthose sorts mentioned by Solomon, to the nostrils of the demoniac, after\nwhich he drew out the demon through his nostrils; and when the man fell\ndown immediately, he adjured him to return into him no more, making\nstill mention of Solomon, and reciting the incantations which he\ncomposed. And when Eleazer would persuade and demonstrate to the\nspectators that he had such a power, he set a little way off a cup or\nbason full of water, and commanded the demon, as he went out of the man,\nto overturn it, and thereby to let the spectators know that he had left\nthe man.\u201d\n\nThe gods of the Greeks and the Latins, the _lares_ and _lemures_, or\nhearth-spirits, the pagan and the Christian elves, were ever held as\ndelegated agents of the Deity, who worked, not by a fiat, but by an\ninstrument. Such were the _Cemies_ of the American islanders, and the\n_Kitchi_ and _Matchi Manitou_ of the Indians; and, if we consult Father\nBorri, we shall learn that in Cochin China _Lucifer_ himself promenaded\nthe streets in _human_ shape.\n\nPsellus records six kinds of devils; and the arrangements of Agrippa,\nand other theologians, enumerate nine sorts of evil spirits, as you may\nread in one of old Burton\u2019s eccentric chapters.\n\nThe mythology of the _Baghvat Geeta_, the sacred record of the Hindoo\ntheists, is based on the notion of good and evil spirits, the emblems of\nvirtue and of vice under the will and power of Brahma. Indeed, the\nHindoo mythology is but that of the classic in other words. _Agnee_, the\ngod of fire, _Varoon_, the god of the ocean, _Vayoo_, the god of the\nwind, and _Cama_, the god of love, are but other names for Jupiter, and\nNeptune, and \u0152olus, and Cupid.\n\nThe creed of Zoroaster asserts a perpetual conflict between the good and\nevil deity, the types of religious knowledge and ignorance. The southern\nAsiatics are people of _good_ principle, and the northern nations people\nof _evil_ principle. And why may not the Persian thus coincide with\nBacon himself, who in his book \u201cDe Dignitate,\u201d confesses his belief in\ngood and bad spirits, in charms, and prophecies, and the varieties of\nnatural magic. Or is it inconsistent that the Hindoos should incarnate\nthe malignant disease, small pox, in the person of the deity\n_Mah-ry-umma_, of whose lethal influence they lived in abject fear.\n\nIDA. In the holy records, it is true, we read that demons were even\npermitted to enter the bodies of other beings, and that when they had so\nestablished a possession, by divine command they went out of those\npossessed, as, for sacred example, into the herd of the Gadarenes; that\nthey were also commissioned, for the fulfilment of the inscrutable will\nof the Creator, to try the endurance of Job, and even to tempt the\ndivinity of the Saviour, and that they were the immediate cause of\nmadness and other sad afflictions.\n\nI do fear, Astrophel, that there is much danger, _now_, in this\n_embodying_ of a demon; and that we too often model our modern\nprinciples, on the proud presumption of still possessing that miraculous\npower of exorcism. With sorrow may I confess, that the holy truths of\nScripture, so clearly evincing a _special_ purpose, should have been\never warped, by worse than inquisitorial bigotry, into the motive for\ncruelties unparalleled. From the Scripture histories of demoniac\npossession have arisen the coercion and cruelties, which once marked\nwith an indelible stain the records of our own madhouses; where chains\nand lashes, inflicted by the demons of science, have driven the moody\nwretch into a raving maniac, when a light hand and a smile would have\nbrought back the angel reason to the mind.\n\nImpersonation is the grand source of many similar errors. The demon,\nwhich, since the light of the Christian dispensation has brooded in\nman\u2019s heart and mind, is his own base passion, which incites him to shut\nhis eyes to this holy light, and follow deeds of evil; to be a slavish\nworshipper in the hall of _Arimanes_. With this profane homage, we court\nour evil passions, to betray and destroy the soul. And this is the\ninterpretation of an allegory in the profane legends of the Talmud\u2014that\nLilis, the wife of Adam, ere the creation of Eve, brought forth none but\ndemons; the origin, indeed, of moral evil.\n\nThere are many popular stories which bear a moral to this end: that the\nevil spirit is powerless over the heart, if it be not encouraged and\ninvited; and, alas! the alluring masque under which evil looks on us, is\noften but too certain to charm us to its influence, or we are too\nthoughtless to beware the danger. Thus the disguised enchanter enters\ninto the palace of the Sultan Mesnar, (in \u201cThe Tales of the Genii,\u201d) and\nthus the gentle Christabel of Coleridge leads the false Geraldine over\nthat threshold, which she could not cross without the help of confiding\nand unsuspecting innocence.\n\nCAST. The crones of retired villages have not yet yielded their belief\nin fairy influence.\n\nAmong the low Irish it is believed that (as the _nympholepts_ of old who\nhad looked upon Pan, sealed an early doom), the paralytic is\n_fairy-struck_; and superstition has inspired them with a belief in the\ninfluence of the _evil eye_ or _glamourie_, especially in the vicinity\nof Blackwater.\n\nI remember, when our wanderings among the Wicklow mountains led us\nthrough the dark glen of the Dargle, the implicit faith of the Irish\nwomen in the charm of amulets and talismans. Like the fabled glance of\nthe basilisk, the evil eye is bestowed on some unhappy beings from their\nvery birth; nay, the spell infests the cabin in which they herd. To\navert this fatal influence from the children, a charm is suspended\naround their necks, which when blessed by the priest is called a\n\u201cgospel.\u201d\n\nWhen a happy or evil star shines at a birth, it is the eye of a cherub\nor a demon, smiling or frowning on the destiny of the babe; and when\nhappiness or misery predominates in a life, it is a minister of good or\nill that blesses or inflicts. There is one beautiful scrap of this\nmythology\u2014the thrill of holy joy which the Irish mother feels when her\ninfant smiles in its sleep; for she _knows_ it is a holy angel\nwhispering in its ear.\n\nIn our own island they are often celebrated as the very pinks of\nhospitality.\n\nIn Cornish history, we read how Anne Jeffries was fed for six months by\nthe small green people. And in yonder forest of Dean, (as writeth\nGervase, the Imperial Chancellor, in his \u201cOtia Imperialia,\u201d) \u201cIn a grovy\nlawn there is a little mount, rising in a point to the height of a man,\non which knights and other hunters are used to ascend, when fatigued\nwith heat and thirst, to seek some relief for their wants. The nature of\nthe place and of the business is, however, such, that whoever ascends\nthe mount must leave his companions and go quite alone. When alone, he\nwas to say, as if speaking to some other person, \u2018I thirst,\u2019 and\nimmediately there would appear a cup-bearer in an elegant dress, with a\ncheerful countenance, bearing in his outstretched hand a large horn,\nadorned with gold and gems, as was the custom among the most ancient\nEnglish. In the cup, nectar of an unknown but most delicious flavour was\npresented; and when it was drunk, all heat and weariness fled from the\nglowing body, so that one would be thought ready to undertake toil,\ninstead of having toiled. Moreover, when the nectar was taken, the\nservant presented a towel to the drinker to wipe his mouth with, and\nthen, having performed his office, he waited neither for recompense for\nhis services, nor for questions, nor inquiry.\u201d\n\nThis frequent and daily action had, for a very long period, of old times\ntaken place among the ancient people, till one day a knight of that\ncity, when out hunting, went thither, and having called for drink, and\ngotten the horn, did not, as was the custom, and as in good manners he\nshould have done, return it to the cup-bearer, but kept it for his own\nuse. But the illustrious Earl of Gloucester, when he learned the truth\nof the matter, condemned the robber to death, and presented the horn to\nthe most excellent king, Henry the Elder; lest he should be thought to\nhave approved of such wickedness, if he had added the rapine of another\nto the store of his private property.\n\nBut the fairies might rue their kindness, if you frowned so darkly on\nthem, Astrophel. They would fear the influence of your spells, for there\nis blight and mildew in that glance. At the banquet of the fairies, if\nthe eye of the _seer_ but look on them, the romance is instantly at an\nend: the nymphs of beauty are changed into withered carles and crones,\nand the splendour of Elfin-land is turned to dust and ashes.\n\nIDA. As a set-off against the _virtues_ of your fairies, Castaly, you\nforget there was a propensity to _mischief_. They were rather fond, like\nthe Daoine Shi, of stealing unchristened babes, and of chopping and\nchanging these innocents, thence called _changelings_. On this fable\nyour own Shakspere has wrought the quarrel of Oberon and Titania:\u2014\n\n \u201cA lovely boy, stol\u2019n from an Indian king;\n She never had so sweet a changeling.\u201d\n\nI am willing, dearest, that the _poet_ shall make a good market of these\nfictions; but superstitious ignorance may make a sad and cruel work of\nit, even among your romantic Irish peasantry.\n\nA few months since, on the demesne of Heywood (as we learn from the\n\u201cTipperary Constitution\u201d), the death of a child, six years old, was\naccomplished with a wantonness of purpose almost incredible. Little\nMahony was afflicted with spinal disease, and, like many other deformed\nchildren, possessed the gift,\u2014in this case the _fatal_ gift,\u2014of acute\nintellect. For this quality, it was decided that he was not the son of\nhis reputed father, but a fairy changeling. After a solemn convocation,\nit was decreed that the elfin should be scared away: and the mode of\neffecting this was, by holding the child on a hot shovel, and then\npumping cold water on his head! This had the effect of extorting a\nconfession of his imposture, and a promise to send back the _real_\nJohnny Mahony; but ere he could return to elfland and perform this\npromise, _he died_. But who is he sitting at your ear, Castaly?\n\nCAST. Sir, is this fair? You have played the eaves-dropper. Why come you\nhere?\n\nEV. To counsel you to silence on these mysteries, sweetest Castaly:\nremember the fate of Master Kirke, of Aberfoyle, for his dabbling in\nelfin matters, which you may read in Sir Walter\u2019s \u201cDemonology.\u201d Yet I\nwill not flout all your fayrie legends; there may be _innocent_\nillusions, that carry with them somewhat of morality and\nretribution,\u2014seeing that there are good and bad spirits, which reward\nand punish mortality. But, in sooth, I never think of fairyland, without\nremembering that good Sir Walter, as sheriff of Selkirkshire, once took\nthe deposition of a shepherd, who affirmed that he saw the good\nneighbours sitting under a hill-side: when, lo! it was proved that these\nwere the _puppets of a showman_, stolen and left there by some Scotch\nmechanics. And, better still, the story of the Mermaid of Caithness, as\nrelated to Sir Humphrey Davy, and recorded in his \u201cSalmonia;\u201d\u2014the\nmermaids, as I take it, being nearly allied to the _Nereid_, or\nSea-fairy, and the reality of one about as true as that of the other.\n\nNature is wild and beautiful enough, without these false creations. Read\nher _truth_, fair lady, and leave the _fables_ to the fairies. There is\nnot a ripple or a stone that is not replete with scientific interest,\nand yields not a study that both ennobles and delights the mind.\n\nThe doublings, or _horse-shoes_, of this Wye, or _Vaga_ as the Romans\nnamed it, within its circle of rocks, so exquisitely fringed with green\nand purple lichens (like the Danube, round the castle of Hayenbach in\nthe gloomy gorge of Schlagen, or the Crook of Lune, in Westmoreland, and\nmany others), illustrate at once the nature of the stratification on the\nearth\u2019s surface; even the varied tints of these mountain streams may\nread the student a practic lesson in geology.\n\nFrom the lime-rock springs the azure-blue, as the Glaslyn stream, at\nBeddgelert, the Rhone, and the Traun in Styria; from the chalk ripples\nthe grey water of the Dee and the Arve; from the clay hills the stream\ncomes down yellow, as \u201cthe Derwent\u2019s amber wave;\u201d and where the\npeat-mosses abound, especially in the autumnal flood, the stream is of a\nrich and dark sienna brown, as the Conway, and the Mawddach, in\nMerioneth; or even of transparent black, as the Elain, which flows down\nthrough the white schist rocks of Cardiganshire.\n\nCAST. And is there wisdom, Evelyn, in thus\n\n \u201cFlying from Nature to study her laws,\n And dulling delight by exploring the cause?\u201d\n\nI do fear that this analytic study of nature destroys the romance of\nlife which flings around us its rainbow beauty.\n\nOh, for those halcyon days of infancy, when every thought was a promise;\nwhen hope, the _dream_ of waking men, was lost in its fulfilment; and\neven fear itself was a thrill of romance!\n\nBehold yon silver moon! it is, to the _poet\u2019s eye_, an orb of unsullied\nbeauty, and the planets and their satellites glitter like diamond studs\nin the firmament. Yet shift but the lens of the star-gazer, and lo! dark\nand murky spots instantly shadow o\u2019er its purity; nay, have I not read\nthat one deep astronomer, Fra\u00fcenhofer, has discovered mountains and\ncities; and another, Sir John Herschell, the laying down of rail-roads\nin the moon? So the optics of Gulliver magnified the court beauties of\nBrobdignag into monsters, and the auburn tresses of a maid of honour\ninto a coil of dusty ropes!\n\nEV. A truce, fair Castaly. If science discovers defects, does it not\nunfold new beauties, a new world of animated atoms, endowed with\nfaculties and passions as influential as our own? Nay, science has\nthrown even a _poetry_ around the blue mould of a cheese-crust; and in\nthe bloom of the peach the microscope has shown forth a treasury of\nflowers, and gigantic forests, in the depths of which the roving\nanimalcule finds as secure an ambush as the lion and the tiger within\nthe gloomy jungles of Hindostan. In a drop of liquid crystal the\nwater-wolf chases his wounded victim, till it is changed to crimson with\nits blood. Ehrenberg has seen monads in fluid the 24,000th part of an\ninch in size; and in one drop of water 500,000,000 creatures\u2014the\npopulation of the globe! I hope, Castaly, you will not, like the\nBrahmin, break your microscope, because it unfolds to you these wonders\nof the water.\n\nThen, by the power of the telescope, we roam into other systems\u2014\n\n \u201cWorld beyond world in infinite extent,\n Profusely scattered o\u2019er the blue expanse,\u201d\n\nand orbs so remote as to reduce to a mere span the distance between us\nand the Georgium Sidus; and revel in all the gorgeous splendour of\nrings, and moons, and nebul\u00e6, the poetry of heaven.\n\nIs there not an exquisite romance in the closing of the barometrical\nblossoms; of the white convolvulus, and the _anagallis_ or scarlet\npimpernel; of the sun-flower, and the leaves of the _Dion\u00e6a_ and\n_mimosa_?\n\nIs there not poetry in the delicate nautilus, with its arms dropped for\noars; in the _velella_ and purple _physalia_ expanding their membranous\nsails; and the beautiful fish-lizard, the _Proteus_ of transparent\nalabaster, found in the wondrous cavern of Maddalena, among the Styrian\nmountains; and even in the _Stalactytes_ of Antiparos, as glittering as\nthe gems and crystal pillars of Aladdin\u2019s palace? Are not these more\nbeautiful because they are _true_, and better to be read than all the\nimpersonations of mythology, or that voluptuous romance which would\nendow a flower with the fervour of sense and passion?\n\nIDA. I have ever wondered that a scholar, like Darwin, should have so\nwasted time with his \u201cLoves of the Plants.\u201d For the study of nature and\nthe discoveries of science are ever vain, if they lift not the heart in\nadoration. The insect, that fans the sunbeam with its golden wing, or\neven the flower that opes its dewy eyes to the light, are unconscious\nworshippers of the Divine Being.\n\nThe Epicurean, who weeps for a decaying body, but mourns not for a lost\nsoul, will enjoy these beauties of nature with a heart faithful to his\ncreed, that pleasure is the only good; but the Christian feels that,\nwhen he chips a stone, or culls a flower, he touches that which comes\nfresh from the hand of its Creator.\n\nHow full is nature, too, of mute instruction! the simplest incident is a\nlesson, if we will but learn it. You see that fading blossom floating on\nthe surface of the stream. That inanimate type of decaying beauty shows,\nto the reflective mind, that even in the summer of life the flower of\nexistence will lose its youthful lustre, and float down the stream of\ntime into the depths of eternity.\n\nBut tell me, Evelyn, may not the influence of that science that\nmagnifies the lights of heaven (created to _rule day and night_) into\nhabitable worlds, weaken the influence of faith in holy writ?\n\nMay we not fear that, like the Promethean Preadamites of Shelley, the\nCain of Byron, the fabled beings of Ovid, and the mythology of Milton,\nwill be the vaunted discoveries of the geologist, in controversion of\nthe Mosaic records, of the creation and the deluge; proving the wisdom\nof Bacon, that to associate natural philosophy with sacred cosmogony,\nwill lead to heretical opinions? Indeed, I remember in the _Zendavesta_\nof Zoroaster, the chronicle of the Magian religion (supposed to be a\npiracy from the book of Genesis), the sun IS created _before light_.\n\nEV. Fear not this, fair Ida. Rather believe with Bouget, that philosophy\nand _natural_ theology mutually _confirm_ each other. The latter teaches\nus that which it is our duty to believe; the former to believe more\nfirmly. And Lord Bacon himself, in his \u201cCogitata et Visa,\u201d deems natural\nphilosophy \u201cthe surest antidote of superstition, and the food of\nreligious faith.\u201d\n\nThe belief in existence of a preadamite world, presumes not to\ncontrovert the Mosaic record of the development of the globe, the\ncreation of Adam, or the fall of man. Modern geology has peopled this\npreadamite world with _saurians_, or lizards, a race of beings _not\nconcerned in the punishment of that delinquency_. Of the existence of\nthese creatures there is no doubt; the discovery of their fossil\nremains, without a vestige of the human skeleton, marks the period of\ntheir destruction, and that the crust of the globe enveloping these\nrelics, might have been reduced to that chaos when \u201cthe earth was\nwithout form and void, and darkness was upon the face of the deep;\u201d and\nfrom which our beautiful world was fashioned by a fiat.\n\nThe truth of holy Scripture is too clear even to be disturbed by a\nsophist. You may recollect that Julian, the apostate, contemplated the\nreconstruction of the Temple of Jerusalem, in order to confute the\nprophecies; but Julian failed, and misfortune was the lot of all who\nwere leagued in the impiety.\n\nAs to natural laws, think me not so profane as to cite such as the\nsuperstitious alchemyst, Paracelsus, in proof of their use in the\nworking of a miracle; who says that \u201cdevils and witches raise storms by\nthrowing up alum and saltpetre into the air, which comes down as\nrain-drops!\u201d\n\nAnd it were reversing this solemn argument were I to confess the\ndoctrines of the Illuminaten, who, taught by Jacob Boehmen, and the\nmysticisms of his \u201cTheosophia Revelata,\u201d explained all nature\u2019s laws by\nwarping texts of Scripture to their purpose. Yet it is clear that even\nthe miracles of the prophets may have been sometimes influenced by\nestablished laws. Elisha raised the Shunamite\u2019s son by placing mouth to\nmouth, as if by inhalation.\n\nBelieve not then, fair Ida, that philosophy is set in array against\nreligion, when the student of nature endeavours to explain her phenomena\nby physical laws, _for those laws the great Creator himself hath made_.\n\n\n\n\n NATURE OF SOUL AND MIND.\n\n\n \u201cAnd for my soul, what can it do for that,\n Being a thing immortal?\u201d\n HAMLET.\n\nCAST. We have risen with the lark to salute you, Astrophel. And you have\nreally slept in Tintern Abbey? Yet not alone; \u201cI see queen Mab hath been\nwith you,\u201d and brushed you with her wing as you lay asleep.\n\nASTR. Throughout the live-long night, sweet Castaly, I have revelled in\na world of dreams. My couch and pillow were the green grass turf. No\nwonder that tales of the times of old should crowd on my memory, that\nelfin lips should whisper in my ear\u2014\n\nCAST. \u201cThe soft exquisite music of a dream.\u201d\n\nIDA. Talk not of dreams so lightly, dear Castaly; the visions of sleep\nare among the most divine mysteries of our nature: these transient\nflights of the spirit in a dream, unfettered as they seem by the will,\nare, to my own mind, among the most exalted proofs of its immortality.\nIs it not so, Evelyn?\n\nEV. The mystery which you have glanced at, Ida, is the most sublime\nsubject in metaphysics. Yet in our analysis of the phenomena of\nintellect, it is our duty to discard, with reverential awe, many of the\nnotions of the _pseudo psychologists_ in allusion to that self-evident\ntruth, that requires not the support of such arguments.\n\nIn tracing the mystery of a dream to its association with our immortal\nessence, reason will at length be involved in a maze of conjecture. True\nphilosophy will never presume to _explain_ the mystical union of spirit\nand of flesh; she would be bewildered even in their _definitions_, and\nwould incur some peril of forming unhallowed conclusions. Even the\n_nature_ of the rational soul will involve him in endless conjecture,\nwhether it be _fire_, as Zeno believed; or _number_, according to\nXenocrates; or _harmony_, according to Aristoxenus; or the lucid\nfire\u2014the Creator of all things, of the Chaldean astrologers.\n\nHe who aspires to a solution of the mystery, may wear out his brain in\nthe struggle, as Philetas worked himself to death in a vain attempt to\nsolve the celebrated \u201cPseudomenos,\u201d the paradox of the stoics; or, like\nthe gloomy students of the German school, he might conclude his\nresearches with a question like this rhapsody\u2014unanswerable.\n\n\u201cBut thou, my spirit, thou that knowest this, that speakest to thyself,\nwhat art thou? what wast thou ere this clay coat was cut for thee? and\nwhat wilt thou be when this rain-coat, this sleeping-frock, fall off\nthee like a garment torn to pieces? Whence comest thou? where goest\nthou? Ah! where from and to, where darkness is before and behind thee?\nOh ye unclothed, ye naked spirits, hear this soliloquy\u2014this\nsoul-speech. Know ye that ye be? Know ye that ye were, that ye are as we\nare or otherwise, in eternity? Do ye work within us, when a holy\nthrilling darts through us like lightning, where not the skin trembles\nbut the soul within us? Tell us, oh tell us, what then is death?\u201d\n\nNow, if we reflect on the psychology of the Greeks, can we discern their\ndistinctions of \u03bd\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2, \u03c0\u03bd\u03b5\u03c5\u03bc\u03b1, \u03c8\u03c5\u03c7\u03b7, \u03c3\u03c9\u03bc\u03b1, of soul or spirit\u2014of\nspiritual body, or of idol and of earthly body; or of \u03b8\u03c5\u03bc\u03bf\u03c2, \u03c8\u03c5\u03c7\u03b7, and\n\u03bd\u03bf\u03c5\u03c2, \u03c8\u03c5\u03c7\u03b7, and so forth?\n\nThis fine distinction may be reduced to one simple proposition:\u2014that\nsoul and mind are the same, under different combinations: mind is soul\nevinced through the medium of the brain; soul is mind emancipated from\nmatter. This principle, if established, might associate the anomalies of\nmany sophists; the existence of two minds, the sensitive and\nintellectual, taught by the Alexandrian philosophers, or the tenets of\nBishop Horsley, in his sermon before the Humane Society, the separation\nof the life of _intellect_ from _animal_ life; and it might reconcile\nthe abstract reasoning of medical philosophy, with the pure but\nmisdirected arguments of the theological critic.\n\nWe believe the spirit to be the essence of life and immortality; and it\nsignifies not whether our words are those of Stahl\u2014that it presided\nover the animal body; or those of Galen and Aristotle\u2014that it directed\nthe function of life. It is enough that we recognize the \u03c0\u03bd\u03bf\u03b7 \u03be\u03c9\u03b7\u03c2, or\nthat _breath of life_, which the Creator breathed into none _but_ man;\nand the \u03b5\u03b9\u03ba\u03c9\u03bd \u03b8\u03b5\u03bf\u03c5, the _image of God_, in which he was created. In this\none proposition all the points of this awful question are comprehended.\nAnd it is on this _combined_ nature that we must reason, ere we\ndiscourse on _sleep_ and _dreams_.\n\nCAST. I condole with you, Astrophel; you must forget the splendour of\nyour dreams, and listen to their dull philosophy.\n\nASTR. We may indeed sympathize with each other, Castaly; we are\nthreatened with another abstruse exposition of the mind, although we are\nalready sated with the contrasted hypotheses of our deepest\nphilosophers: the _cogitation_ or self-reasoning of Descartes, (the\nessence of whose \u201cPrincipia\u201d was \u201c_Cogito, ergo sum_;\u201d and it is an\nadoption of Milton\u2019s Adam, \u201cThat I _am_, I know, because _I think_:\u201d\nforgetting that the very _ego_ which thinks, is a proof of prior\nexistence;) and of Malebranche, who believed they existed because they\nthought; the abstract _spiritualism_ of Berkley, who believed he existed\nmerely because others thought of him; the _consciousness_ of Locke; the\n_idealism_ of Hume; the _material psychology_ of Paley; the _mental\ncorporeality_ of Priestley; and the absolute _nonentity_ of Pyrrho.\n\nEV. I leave these hypotheses to speak for themselves, Astrophel; my own\ndiscourse will be wearying enough without them.\n\nOver the intricate philosophy of mind, Creative Wisdom has thrown a\nveil, which we can never hope to draw aside. True, the beautiful\nmechanism of its _organ_, the brain, is apparent; and we can draw some\nanalogies from inspection of the brain of a brute, and its progressive\ndevelopment in _f\u0153tal_ life, in reference to comparative simplicity and\ncomplexity; but its phenomena are not, like most of the organic\nfunctions of the body, _demonstrable_.\n\nNow, although we know not the _mode_ of this mutual influence, the\n_seat_ of mind is a subject of almost universal belief; not that\nAristotle, and \u00c6tius, and John Locke, are our oracles on this point,\nalthough they have even identified the _spot_, terming the _ventricles_\nthe mind\u2019s presence-chamber, while Descartes decided on the _pineal\ngland_. It is, however, into the _brain_ that the nerves of all the\nsenses enter, or from which they emanate: the senses constitute the\n_media_ by which the mind gains its knowledge of the world, and\ntherefore we regard the brain as its seat.\n\nWe believe that the mind may possess _five_ faculties; perception,\nassociation, memory, imagination, and judgment, and their focus or\nconcentration is in the brain. We may argue long on the _earthly_ nature\nof mind, contrasted with that of matter; yet, in the end, we commonly\nthus define it: _a combination of faculties, and their sympathy with the\nsenses_.\n\nThat to different parts of this organ are allotted different functions\ncannot be doubted, when we look at its varied structure, its intricate\ndivisions, its eccentric yet uniform cavities, its delicate and almost\ninvisible membranes; and, indeed, physiological experiments are proof of\nit.\n\nASTR. Then there is some truth in the whimsical localities in the\n\u201cAnatomy of Melancholy,\u201d and the pictures of the tenants and apartments\nof the brain in the ingenious romance of the \u201cPurple Island\u201d of\nFletcher.\n\nEV. Although I grant that these eccentric writers evince much reading, I\nam not sure that their impersonations (like the \u201cPolyolbion\u201d of\nDrayton,) do not tend to confuse, rather than elucidate, a natural\nsubject.\n\nOf a plurality of organs in the brain, I have been convinced, even from\nmy own knowledge and dissections. I have seen that very considerable\nportions of the _cerebrum_ may be removed, the individual still\nexisting. The _vital_ functions may continue, the _animal_ functions are\nderanged or lost. The most extensive injuries of the brain, too, are\noften discovered, which were not even suspected; and the converse of\nthis is often observed,\u2014the diseases of the brain being commonly found\nin an _inverse ratio_ to the severity of the symptoms. When chronic\ntumours and _cysts_ of water are _gradually_ formed, the extreme danger\nis averted by the balancing power of the circulation of the brain\u2019s\nblood; without which its incompressibility would subject it to constant\ninjury.\n\nIn _tubercles_ of the brain, it is curious that _memory_ is the faculty\nchiefly influenced; it is sometimes rendered dull, while the fancy is\nvivid,\u2014often more perfect and retentive.\n\nBrain, however, can no more be considered as mind itself, than _retina_\nsight, or than the sealing-wax can be identical with the electricity\nresiding in it. For if we look at the brain of a brute, we see how\nclosely it resembles our own; then, if we reflect on human intellect and\nbrute instinct, we must all believe at once that there is some diviner\nthing breathed into us than the _anima brutorum_ of Aristotle, something\nmore than the mere vitality,\u2014\n\n \u201cSpiritus intus alit, totamque infusa per artus\n Mens agitat molem.\u201d\n\nBrain is therefore the _habitat_ of mind, the workings of which cannot\nbe indicated without it; for, as the material world would be intact\nwithout a sense, so there can be no mortal evidence of mind without a\nbrain, which is indeed the sense of the spirit. Thus, without adopting\nthe creed of the _Hyloist_, the _moderate_ materialist,\u2014that the mind\ncannot have, during the life of the body, even a momentary existence\nindependent of matter,\u2014I believe, that when this matter is in a state\nof repose, mind is perfectly passive to _our cognizance_.\n\nIDA. It is with diffidence, Evelyn, that I enter this arena with a\nphysician, learned in the body; but is there no danger in this doctrine?\ndoes it not imply the office of a _gland_,\u2014that brain is the _origin_\nof soul, and that its function was the _secretion of thought_.\n\nEV. Such is the timid error of the mere metaphysician, Ida. There is no\nsuch danger; for, remember, if there _be_ secretion, it is the _soul_\nwhich _directs_. Many a thought is referred to things which we cannot\nbring into contact with our consciousness,\u2014_except by the brain_.\n\nDr. Gall writes of a gentleman, whose forehead was far more elevated on\nthe right side than the left; and he deeply regretted that with this\nleft side he could never think. And Spurzheim, of an Irish gentleman,\nwho has the left side of the forehead the least developed by four\nlines,\u2014he also could not think with that side, as indeed I have before\nhinted.\n\nI may tell you the brain is _double_, and _one_ healthy _hemisphere_ is\nsufficient, as the organ of mind, if pain or encroachment of the\nopposite, when diseased, does not destroy life, and this especially when\nit is a _chronic_ change, or exists from birth; so that I have often\nseen one hemisphere of the brain a pulpy bag of water, and yet vitality\nand many signs of intellect may still exist; nay, even if the _whole_\nbrain be reduced to one _medullary_ bag, _animal_ life shall for some\ntime be preserved.\n\nTo oppose this blending of mind and matter, Lord Brougham (in his\nNatural Theology) likens the marble statue hewn into beauty, to the\nperfect arrangement of organization in a being. While I admire the idea,\nI may observe that he forgets this truth,\u2014that the maker of the one was\na mere _statuary_, without even the fabulous power of Prometheus, or\nPygmalion, or Frankenstein; the other, the _Creator_ of all things, who\n_breathed a breath of life into the shape he had made fitted to receive\nit_. My lord thus halts at the threshold of discovery: mind is not the\n_product_ of organization, but it works _by_ and _through_ it; and\ntherefore, for its _earthly_ uses, cannot be independent of the\nqualities of matter. We may as well agree with Plato, in endowing the\nsoul with \u201ca plastic power, to fashion a body for itself, to enter a\nshape and make it a body living.\u201d I remember Plutarch (in his Qu\u00e6st.\nPlaton.) makes him say, that the soul is older than the body, and the\nsource of its existence, and that the intellect is in this soul. But\nwhere is the sacred evidence of this? for, even in our _antenatal_\nstate, we live, and yet there is probably no consciousness; there is\nvitality, at least, without the _consciousness_ of an intellect.\n\nASTR. As the creation of light was _before_ that of the sun, its\nreservoir, so the creation of the soul might be before the brain, in\nwhich the Creator _subsequently_ placed it.\n\nEV. For this there _is_ sacred evidence, Astrophel. There _was_ light,\nere the sun was created as its reservoir; but the soul was breathed into\nthe body, which was already then created.\n\nASTR. This is a specimen of your special pleading, Evelyn, allied to\nthat perilous error of Priestley, that supposed function and structure\nto be identical, because they are influenced by the same disease, and\nseem to live and die, flourish and decay, _together_. Democritus also\nhas written his belief that, \u201cas the smell of a rose exists in the\nbloom, and fades as that dies, so the soul of an animal is born with its\nbirth, and dies with its death.\u201d You have conceded to me (and we must\nall be conscious of) the great difficulty of conceiving the _nature_ of\n_spirit_; but, if we are required to prove its existence, we may answer,\nby analogy, that we cannot always palpably prove the existence of\n_matter_, although we _know it_ to exist. The _electric fluid_ may\nremain for an indefinite period invisible, nay, may never meet the\nsight,\u2014it may even traverse a space without any evidence but that of\nits wonderful influence, and at length be collected in a jar.\n\nAs light, existing in remote stars, has not yet reached our earth, so\nthe electricity is now residing in myriads of bodies, which will never\nbe elicited; and thus (if I may extend the simile) the principle of\nlife, whatever it be, may have an independent existence during life, may\nleave the body and yet not perish. Is not this a fine illustration of\nthe living of the soul without the body; for here even a grosser matter,\nyet invisible, is evinced by its passage from one thing to another,\nalthough it is inert when involved in the substance?\n\nIDA. May I not fear that the errors of philosophy, grounded on the\ndifficulty of conceiving the nature of a self-existent spirit, will not\nstop until they lapse into the belief of annihilation?\n\nFor there are many suspicious sentiments even in the pages of\nwell-meaning writers; such are the dangerous sentiments which Boswell\nhas ascribed to Miss Seward: \u201cThere is one mode of the fear of death\nwhich is certainly absurd, and that is the dread of annihilation, which\nis only a pleasing sleep without a dream.\u201d\n\nThere may be nothing terrible in the condition of annihilation, yet the\nmoral effect is deplorable; indeed, to doubt the eternal existence is to\nargue that man\u2019s life is but a plaything of the Deity. The notion of\nannihilation is so abhorrent, that he who believes it dooms himself\nindeed to a miserable existence; for the crowning solace of a Christian\nlife is holy hope, and belief in the priceless gift of immortality.\n\n \u201cKnow\u2019st thou th\u2019 importance of a soul immortal?\n Behold this midnight glory\u2014worlds on worlds!\n Amazing pomp: redouble this amaze!\n Ten thousand add; and twice ten thousand more;\n Then weigh the whole; one soul outweighs them all,\n And calls th\u2019 astonishing magnificence\n Of unintelligent creation poor.\u201d\n\nWould that Priestley had read wisely that prophetic truth in\nEcclesiastes: \u201cThen shall the dust return to the earth as it was, and\nthe spirit shall return unto God who gave it.\u201d\n\nEV. I do not approve his latitude of thought, yet it were severe to\nthink this, even of Priestley, merely because he disbelieved _separate_\nspiritual existence; for Aristotle also asserts, that \u201cthe soul could\nnot exist _without the body_, and yet that it was not the body, but a\npart of it.\u201d Zeno, and the Stoics, termed that which was called a spirit\n_material_; and not only Ray and Derham, but even Paley, and Johnson,\ndisbelieved the separate existence. The archdeacon\u2019s opinion, that we\nshould have a _substantial_ resurrection, is founded on New-Testament\nevidence, and expressed in his discourse on a future state. The\napostle\u2019s simile of the wheat implies a _death_ of the grain: it dies,\nbut there is no _remodelling_, for it is the _germ_ that lives and\ngrows; so, although the body may not be restored, there is a development\nof _its_ germ in the transit or resurrection of _its_ spirit. The sage\nthought also the simile of St. Paul should be taken _literally_, and not\n_figuratively_: and yet he qualifies it thus: \u201cWe see that it is not to\nbe the same body, for the Scripture uses the illustration of grain sown\n(which in its exact sense implies an offspring, and not a resurrection),\nand we know that the grain which grows is not the same with what is\nsown. You cannot suppose that we shall rise with a diseased body; it is\nenough if there be such a sameness as to distinguish identity of\nperson.\u201d\n\nBlumenbach believed that when the soul revived, after death, the brain\nwould equally revive; and there is, indeed, nothing very irrational in\nall this, for death is, even to our senses, not an annihilation, but\nonly a new combination of matter. The Greek sceptics thought that the\nteeth would remain perfect, if all else was decomposed and lost; and the\nrabbins conferred this perpetuity on _one_ bone of the _spinal column_,\nwhich they called LUZ. These strange notions of the mystic union may\nexplain to us that diversity of custom, in various nations, as to the\ndisposal of the dead. While the Irish papists, with a superstitious\nreverence for inanimate clay, celebrate their wakes with rites often as\nlicentious as they are profane; the cannibal _Calati\u00e6_ thought it more\nrespectful to _eat_ the bodies of _their_ departed friends, at least so\nwrites Herodotus; and the filial love of other Indian tribes invites the\nchildren to strangle their aged parents, as they sit in their fresh-made\ngraves.\n\nIt is certainly more consolatory to associate our thoughts with the\n_immortal_ part of a lost friend; to believe the _spirit_ to be in\ncelestial keeping, and that it still hovers around us. The collapse and\nchange of features prove that the _body_ is then but as the dust from\nwhich it was first formed. I would not wish, like Socrates, to have my\nlimbs scattered over the earth, because\n\n \u201cC\u0153lo tegitur qui non habet urnam;\u201d\n\nbut, as the body _must_ be consumed, were it not better and safer, as\nthe Greeks did, to _burn_ the dead, to resolve the corpse, as soon as\npossible, into its constituent elements. I shall ever remember with\nhorror the scenes which I witnessed in Naples, when a _pile of bodies_,\ncollected from the chapels by the dead carts, which go round the city at\nnight, was thrown by irreverent hands into the public cemetery of the\nCampo Santo.\n\nThe fiat of the Creator MAY at once produce a reconstruction of the\nbody, however widely scattered its particles, and the return of the soul\nto the brain, from which it had once departed; but is it not somewhat\nirrational to think that we should again be endowed with organs, without\nthe functions and passions to which they are subservient?\n\nIDA. It may be a bliss to gaze even on the _shadows_ of those we love.\nThere is a beautiful allegory of this solemn question told in the\n\u201cSpectator,\u201d which, as Addison approves, it cannot be profanation to\nadmire. It is the Indian legend of \u201cMarraton and Yaratilda,\u201d in which\nthe devoted husband comes unawares on Paradise, and sees the shadowy\n_forms_ of his wife and children, without their _substance_. The story\nexquisitely blends the fond wish of Marraton to die, that he may be\nagain admitted to the holy communion of those so fondly loved; for\nParadise is painted in the mind\u2019s eye even of the heathen, although, in\nhis dearth of revelation, he associates the joys of his elysium with the\nsensual pleasures of terrestrial life. The Indian dreams of his dogs,\nbelieving that the greatest hunters shall be in the highest favour with\nBrahma; the proselytes of the prophet die in a vision of their houri\u2019s\nbeauty; and the warriors of Odin already drink the honey-water from the\nskulls of their enemies, served up to them by the beautiful \u201cValkhas\u201d of\nthe \u201cValhalla.\u201d Thus even the creed of infidels is not atheism. What\nthinks Evelyn?\n\nEV. As you do, Ida. As to the atheist, one, perchance, may have _lived_,\nif we rightly interpret the sentiments of Diogenes, and Bion, and\nLucian, and Voltaire; but, I believe, one never _died_. My solemn duty\nhas summoned me to the death-bed of more than one reputed infidel, who\nhave in health reasoned with fluency and splendour, and have penned\nabstruse theses on life and the world\u2019s creation. But, when danger lay\nin their path of life, their stoic heroism fled, and left them abject\ncowards. They looked not even on the lightning\u2019s flash without\ntrembling, and the vision of death was a sting to the conscience. I have\nseen many a death-bed like that of Beaufort, who made \u201cno signal of his\nhope,\u201d not because he disbelieved a God, but because a conviction of his\nsin left him without a hope and faith in the promises.\n\nOf course there cannot be an _Euthanasia_ where irreligion has marked a\nlife, but, believe me, there would be no _fear_ of death in an atheist.\n\nASTR. The mythologist and pagan may cite their tables, and worship their\nidols in the recesses of their pagodas and choultries; but some idea of\nthe Deity has been unfolded to the mind of all. Even the eastern princes\nhave had some glimpses of the true faith, and shahs and caliphs were\nonce engaged in building their Nestorine or Christian churches.\n\nThe profane Chinese has, it is true, called his realm the _celestial\nempire_; Fohi, who is believed to have reigned three thousand years\nbefore Christ, established his \u201cIconolatria\u201d or \u201cidolatry,\u201d and Si Lao\nKiun struck at the establishment of _polytheism_, but the purer theology\nof Confucius prevailed over his rival.\n\nThe Deity, indeed, is the essence of every creed, for all believe in a\ngreat spirit as well as an immortal mind and a paradise. Like the\nreasonings of natural philosophy, our notions and epithets of the great\nCreator certainly differ, but in all there is faith in his perfection.\nXam Ti is the great spirit of the Chinese, as Woden is the god of the\nGothic races, and Brahma, or Alla, or the Kitchi Manitou, or even the\nsun, the source of light, and heat, and joy to the creation, are the\ndeities of other nations. Nor may we wonder more that the Ghebir, and\nthe Peruvian, and the Natches should worship their orb of fire, than\nthat the Irish should, on the morning of their _Beltane_, light their\npeat fires to the sun.\n\nThe doctrines of the Brahmins all attest their creed of _theism_, if we\ninterpret aright the evidence of the learned _Pundits_ of Benares,\nespecially in the Gentoo code; and the records of Abul Fazel in the\n\u201cBaghvat Geeta,\u201d an episode in the poem of the \u201cMahabarat,\u201d written to\nprove the unity. The devout Christian will deem this creed a woful\nerror, but he will confess his admiration of their sublime notion of the\ndivine attribute, which Colonel Dow has thus imparted to us: \u201cAs God is\nimmaterial, he is above all conception; as he is invisible, he can have\nno form; but from what we behold of his works, we may conclude that he\nis eternal, omnipotent, knowing all things, and present everywhere.\u201d\n\nI will grant that the oriental notions of cosmogony, or the creation of\nthe world, are a blot on their scripture page: because the pagan\ntheologians were shorn of the light of Christianity, they were prone to\nrefer creation to natural causes within their own comprehension, and\ntheir ideas were fabulous and impure. Thus, among the Hindoos and\nEgyptians, there is a mass of obscenity adduced to account for the\ndevelopment of the globe, in the associations of _Vishnu_ and _Siva_,\nand _Osiris_ and _Isis_; and the temples of Elephanta and Elora are\nadorned with symbolic paintings of this incarnation of Vishnu. Yet, with\nall this error, there is in the \u201cVedas\u201d or Hindoo scriptures, a not\nremote analogy to the Bible itself; and, granting that the cosmogony of\nPh\u0153nicia is little more than a mysterious romance; yet, whether the\ngreat cause be the _demiurgic spirit_ uniting with desire, or the being\n\u201cThat\u201d of the Hindoos, the essence of all these mysteries still combines\nthe grand scheme of the creation,\u2014the formation of a beautiful world\nfrom a chaos of wide and dark waters.\n\nIDA. You are wandering very far eastward, Astrophel: I will propose this\nquestion to Evelyn.\n\nIf it is so evident that the brain and mind, although not identical,\nexist in a most intimate union, may we not undervalue their relative\ninfluence by adducing the energy of intellect and brilliancy of\nconception possessed by many in advanced life? Remember the green old\nage of Plato, and Cicero, and Newton, and Johnson, and, above all,\nGo\u00ebthe, whose last work was brilliant as his first. And all this,\ncoincident with that love of Infinite Wisdom that exists, (as we read in\nthe \u201cConsolations of a Philosopher,\u201d) \u201ceven in the imperfect life which\nbelongs to the earth, _increases with age_, outlives the perfection of\nthe corporeal faculties, and, at the moment of death is felt by the\nconscious being.\u201d Does this imply decay?\n\nEV. The retentive powers of old age, are the _exception_ to a rule,\nwhich the ultra spiritualist assumes as a _general_ rule, in attempting\nto disprove the growth and decay of mind, according to the age of the\nbody. But as _lives_ are of different duration and _constitutions_ vary,\nso may _mental powers_ indicate different degrees of vigour. If mind\n_in_creases, no doubt it _de_creases; and I have known many, who retain\nevery faculty but _memory_, which is the first to decay and indicate\nfailing power; and so also is it with idiots, in whose _memory_,\nusually, the greatest defects appear; the faculty of counting numbers\nreaches only to three, and of letters to C, the third letter in the\nalphabet.\n\nIda will grant that there is no more impressive lesson of humility than\nthe dwindling and decay of genius, when, in the words of the Athenian\nmisanthrope\u2014\n\n \u201cNature, as it grows again toward earth,\n Is fashion\u2019d for the journey, dull and heavy.\u201d\n\nReflect on the painful end of Sheridan and other brilliant wits of their\nday; that\n\n \u201cFrom Marlborough\u2019s eyes the streams of dotage flow,\n And Swift expires a driveller and a show;\u201d\n\nand we may almost wish that biography should begin at each end, and\nfinish in the middle, or zenith of a life.\n\nIDA. If the fact be so, I grant the lesson to our pride, Evelyn; and we\nmay dwell with fervent admiration on the divinity of that mind, which\ncan ennoble and consecrate our body, so fraught as it is with basest\npassions, and so decayable withal.\n\n\n\n\n NATURE OF SLEEP.\n\n\n \u201c\u2014\u2014Sleep, gentle sleep!\n Nature\u2019s soft nurse.\u201d\n HENRY IV. Part ii.\n\nIDA. I begin to perceive the importance of this digression on the nature\nof mind. You wish us to believe, there is a temporary desertion of the\nspirit from the body, and _therefore_ the body sleeps?\n\nEV. Not absolute desertion, but a limit to its influence. Many have\nthought in conformity to your question; and indeed, Ida, it is a belief\nso holy, that I may feel it to be almost an impiety to differ.\n\nFrom the time of Aristotle to Haller, the term \u201cSleep\u201d expresses that\ncondition which is marked by a cessation of certain mental\nmanifestations, coincident with the degree of oppression; for it is an\nerror to say that the _body_ sleeps,\u2014it is the _brain_ only, perhaps I\nmay say, the _cerebrum_, or the _fore_ lobes; for I believe the lower\npart of it (that which imparts an energy to the process of breathing and\nof blood circulation) is never in a complete sleep, but merely in a\nstate of languor, or rather of repose, sufficient for its\nrestoration,\u2014if it were to sleep, _death_ would be the result.\n\nThis repose is in contrast with a state of _waking_, that activity of\nmind in which ideas are constantly chasing each other like the waves of\nocean; the mode of displacing one idea being by the excitement of\nanother in its place.\n\nIn that state of sound sleep which overcomes children, whose tender\nbrains are soon tired, or old persons whose brains are _worn_, and in\npersons of little reflection,\u2014the mind is perfectly passive, and its\nmanifestations cease.\n\nSo writes Professor Stewart,\u2014that there was a total suspension of\nvolition during sleep, as regards its influence over mental or corporeal\nfaculties; and I may even adduce a scrap from Burton, although I am an\nadmirer of the quaint old compiler for little else than his measureless\nindustry:\u2014\n\n\u201cSleep is a rest or binding of the outward senses, and of the common\nsense, for the preservation of body and soul. Illigation of senses\nproceeds from an inhibition of spirits, the way being stopped by which\nthey should come; this stopping is caused by vapours arising out of the\nstomach, filling the nerves by which the spirits should be conveyed.\nWhen these vapours are spent, the passage is open, and the spirits\nperform their accustomed duties: so that _waking_ is the _action_ and\n_motion_ of the senses, which the spirits, dispersed over all parts,\ncause.\u201d\n\nASTR. But is volition always suspended even in sound sleep? Was it not\nthe opinion of Berkley, that the mind even then was _percipient_? How\nelse can we account for the waking exactly at one predetermined hour? If\nwe retire to sleep at the latest hour, or oppressed with fatigue, so\nstrong an impression is produced in our mind, that the breaking of our\nsleep is almost at the given moment.\n\nEV. I will answer you at present, Astrophel, only by analysis; it is not\nyet time to _explain_.\n\nI may grant that there is some _latent_ effect,\u2014_passive_ memory, if\nyou will,\u2014for we do not _count_ the hours in sleep, and calculate our\ntime _by the clock_; but we wake, and soon the bell strikes.\n\nWe have on record some very curious instances of the periodical\nrecurrence of ideas in a waking state, the measurement of time being\nreferrible to mental impression, mechanically established by constant\nhabit.\n\nThere was an idiot once, who was in the habit of amusing himself\nconstantly by counting the hours as they were struck on the clock. It\nchanced, after some time, that the works of the clock were injured, so\nthat the striking for a time had ceased. The idiot, notwithstanding,\ncontinued to measure the day with perfect correctness, by counting and\nbeating the hour. This is a story of Dr. Plott\u2019s, in his History of\nStaffordshire.\n\nThere is one of more modern date, somewhat analogous to this.\n\nI may quote Holy Writ in support of this passive condition of true\nsleep; nay, even its similitude to death. How often do we find allusions\nto sleep and death as synonymous! Sir Thomas Brown was impressed so\ndeeply with this _likeness_, that he \u201cdid not dare to trust it without\nhis prayers.\u201d And the Macedonian, who wished for more worlds to conquer,\nconfessed his sleep proved to him his mortality. I may quote ancient\npoetry also in my support. Homer and Virgil describe sleep as the\n\u201cBrother of Death;\u201d and, among the profane poets of later times, the\nsame sublime association is traced of this\n\n \u201cMortis imago\u2014et simulacrum.\u201d\n\nAmong the ancient allegories, sleep is portrayed as a female, with black\nunfolded wings,\u2014in her left hand, a white child, the image of Sleep; in\nher right, a black child, the image of Death.\n\nOn the tomb of Cypselus, according to Pausanias, _night_ is thus\npersonified.\n\nCAST. How true, then, was the thought of the first deep sleeper, on the\nsensation of slumber:\u2014\n\n \u201c\u2014\u2014There gentle sleep\n First found me, and with soft oppression seiz\u2019d\n My drown\u00e9d sense, untroubled; tho\u2019 I thought\n I then was passing to my former state,\n Insensible, and forthwith to dissolve.\u201d\n\nBut how fearful is this resemblance which changes \u201ctir\u2019d nature\u2019s sweet\nrestorer\u201d into a type of death! Pr\u2019ythee, Evelyn, do not affright me\nthus, by clothing sleep with terror, as if it were disease and danger.\n\nEV. Why tremble for the mortal sleep of the just and good, who will\nfeel, with William Hunter, on their death-bed, \u201chow _pleasant_ and easy\nit is to die;\u201d and with another moralist,\u2014\n\n \u201cOh what a wonder seems the fear of death,\n Seeing how gladly we all sink to sleep;\n Night following night!\u201d\n\nFear not, Castaly; I do not term _slumber_ and _gentle_ sleep disease,\nbut signs of health. Not so, however, many a _profound_ sleep, and its\nadvances towards _coma_; those results of exhaustion from excess, or\nfrom intense and direct narcotics, as opium sleep, and the paralyzing\nsenselessness from extreme cold, as in the story of Sir Joseph Banks and\nDr. Solander in the antarctic regions.\n\nYou are aware that many _remedies_ in medicine may be so intense as to\ncause fatality: inflammation, too, is the restorative process of wounds,\nbut if in _excess_ it is fatal. Appetite also, to a certain degree, is\nhealthy; but craving and thirst, its extremes, are proved, by\n_suffering_, to be morbid.\n\nIf the mind is composed to perfect rest, it is lulled to senselessness;\nthen metaphysically we are said to sleep: the mind is not excited by\nthought, and, in consequence, its supply of _arterial_ blood is less,\nthe more _rapid_ flow of which would be the cause of waking.\n\nWithin certain limits sleep is a _remedy_; but it becomes perilous when\nintense, or too much indulged. One eccentric physician, as we read in\nthe learned Bo\u00ebrhave, even fancied sleep the _natural_ condition of man,\nand was wont to yield to its influence during eighteen of the\ntwenty-four hours; but apoplexy soon finished his experiment.\n\nThis _negative_ quiescence (for sleep is not a _positive_ state) allows\nthe restoration of energy, and then we wake. Even the senses accumulate\ntheir power in sleep; the eye is dazzled by the light when we wake, from\nthe sensitiveness imparted by this accumulation.\n\nThe conceits regarding the cause of sleep are so various, that if I were\nto discuss their merits I should only weary your patience, as I perceive\nI have already done.\n\nSome have thought that sleep arose from certain conditions of the blood\nin the vessels and nerves of the brain; its congestion in the _sinuses_;\nor a _reflux_ of a great portion of it towards the heart: the result of\ndepressed nervous energy\u2014exhaustion, fatigue, cold, and the influence\nof powerful narcotics, or the combustion of charcoal. Others, that sleep\narises from the deposition of fresh matter on the brain, and its sudden\npressure. Then we have the cerebral collapse of Cullen, and of\nRicherand; the deficiency of animal spirits of Haller; the diminished\nafflux of blood to the brain of Blumenbach; and the exhausted\nirritability of the Brunonian theory adopted by Darwin.\n\nWhere the truth lies I presume not to decide, but it is clear there is a\nnecessity for the occasional repose of the mental organ:\n\n \u201cNon semper arcum\n Tendit Apollo.\u201d\n\nWatchfulness invariably reduces, even in the brute: the wild elephant is\ntamed by the perseverance of the hunter in keeping it constantly awake.\n\nThe mind, then, as it is manifested to us (for deeply important is it\nthat we confound not the perfect and pure, because unembodied essence of\nthe soul, with its _combined_ existence in the brain\u2014that union from\nwhich a _thought is born_), the mind cannot exert itself beyond a\ncertain period without a sensation of fatigue in the brain, as palpable\nas the exhaustion from excessive muscular exertion. And this depends on\na natural law, that organs after acting a certain given period, flag and\nlose their energy. Thus the first harbinger of sleep is the _closing of\nthe lids_ from languor, and relaxation of the muscles. Muscular fibre\nwill, however, regain its expenditure by simple rest, requiring a\ncertain period for this re-accumulation, like the charging of an\nelectrical jar. Sleep, however, is not always a sequence of exhausted\nirritability of muscle; we may be _too tired_ to sleep; and thought and\nmemory also will keep the mind awake, and prevent nervous energy from\nrenewing corporeal vigour.\n\nThe excitement of thought beyond certain limits is both painful and\ndestructive, evincing its effects by various grades of mental disorder,\nfrom simple headache to confirmed mania. Our first ray of hope, in\nfever, is often the coming on of a quiet sleep, and in the sad cases of\n_delirium tremens_ we must either _sleep or die_; the effort of\nphilosophical determination to overcome the depression only adding to\nits intensity, as in the case of a person worn out by labour, in\nattempting to labour on. This conflict cannot be more pertinently\nexemplified than by some passages in the life of Collins, by one who\nknew him well:\u2014\n\n\u201cHe languished some years under that depression of mind which unchains\nthe faculties without destroying them, and leaves reason the knowledge\nof right without the power of pursuing it. These clouds which he\nperceived gathering on his intellects, he endeavoured to disperse by\ntravel, and passed into France; but found himself constrained to yield\nto his malady, and returned. His disorder was no alienation of mind, but\ngeneral laxity and feebleness, a deficiency rather of his vital than\nintellectual powers. What he spoke wanted neither judgment nor spirit,\nbut a few minutes exhausted him, so that he was forced to rest upon the\ncouch, till a short cessation restored his powers, and he was again able\nto talk with his former vigour.\u201d\n\nI believe that sensibility and fatigue of mind, by inducing\nsleeplessness, may often be the source even of mania.\n\nThe sleep of animals is usually _light_, especially that of birds, and\nthey are easily startled when at roost. The cackling of the geese on\ntheir awaking, you know, saved the Roman capitol. Yet sleep is\naltogether very nearly balanced with waking. Some animals sleep often,\nlike the cats, but they are long awake, and prowling in the night. The\npython and the boa are also long awake, and then sleep for many days\nduring the process of digestion. Indeed, all the _fer\u00e6_ fall into sound\nsleep after feeding; while the ruminants scarcely sleep at all; nor do\nthey crouch like the _fer\u00e6_, with the head between the legs: but then\ntheir whole life is one scene of quiet; rumination is a mindless\nreverie. The West Indian slaves and the Hottentots, or woolly bipeds,\nresemble the brute animal in this, that they fall asleep as soon as\ntheir labour is concluded.\n\nThat activity of mind in excess may induce even mania, I may offer two\nimpressive, although negative, proofs, from the records of Dr.\nRush.\u2014\u201cIn despotic countries, and where the public passions are torpid,\nand where life and property are secured only by the extinction of\ndomestic affections, madness is a rare disease. Dr. Scott informed me\nthat he heard of but one single instance of madness in China.\u201d\n\n\u201cAfter much inquiry, I have not been able to find a single instance of\nfatuity among the Indians, and but few instances of melancholy and\nmadness.\u201d\n\nI may add, that Baron Humboldt assures us of this immunity among the\nwild Indians of South America.\n\nIDA. And may not this melancholy effect be averted by caution and rule?\nWe have a saying in Herefordshire, that \u201cSix hours are enough for a man,\nseven for a woman, and eight for a fool.\u201d\n\nEV. There cannot be a fixed rule on that point, except the prevailing\nlaw of nature,\u2014the feeling of necessity; but this may often lead\nastray.\n\nIt is calculated that one half of a child\u2019s life is passed in sleep, and\none quarter to one sixth of the adult existence; but for old age there\nis no essential period or limit. Old Parr slept almost constantly about\nthe close of his life; while Dr. Gooch records the case of one whose\nperiod of sleep was only one quarter of an hour in the twenty-four. It\nis well to inure an infant to a _gradual_ diminution of its time of\nsleep, so that at ten years old its period should be about eight hours.\n\nThe strength or energy of brain will, when aided by custom, modify the\nfaculty of controlling the disposition to slumber. Frederick the Great,\nand our own Hunter, slept only five hours in the twenty-four; while\nNapoleon seemed to exert a despotic power over sleep and waking, even\namid the roaring of artillery. Sir J. Sinclair slept eight hours, and\nJeremy Taylor three. As a general precept, however, for the regulation\nof sleep in energetic constitutions, I might propose the wise\ndistribution which Alfred made of his own time into three equal\nperiods,\u2014one being passed in sleep, diet, and exercise, one in despatch\nof business, and one in study and devotion. Careful habit will often\nproduce sleep at regular and stated periods, as it will render the\nsleeper insensible or undisturbed by loud noises; the gunner will fall\nasleep on the carriage amid the incessant discharge of the cannon; and,\nif I remember right, the slumbers of the bell-ringer of Notre Dame were\nnot broken by the striking of the quarters and the hour close to his\near.\n\nIDA. And at what seasons should we wake and sleep? It seems to me, that\nthe Creator himself has written his precepts in the diurnal changes of\nthis world, that are still so healthfully observed by the peasant, but\nso strangely perverted by the capricious laws of fashion, and even by\nthe romantic\n\n \u201csons of night,\n And maids that love the moon;\u201d\n\nalways excepting Astrophel and Castaly. It moves my wonder that they who\nhave looked upon the beauty of a sunrise from the mountain, or the main,\ncan be caught sleeping, when such a flood of glory, beyond all the glare\nof peace-rejoicings and birth-lights, bursts upon the world.\n\nEV. The wisest have thought with you, Ida, although there was one idle\npoet, even Thomson, who confessed he had \u201cnoe motive for rising early.\u201d\nIt was the custom of Jewel and Burnet to rise at four; and Buffon, we\nare told, rewarded his valet with a crown, if he succeeded in getting\nhim up before six.\n\nIt is to slight the creation, not to enjoy the beauties of daylight; and\nit is the _natural_ time for sleep, when the dews of night are on the\nearth. The proof of this:\u2014There were two French colonels who were\nmarching their troops, one by day, the other by night; and the loss in\nmen and horses was very far greater among the night marchers.\n\nCAST. I believe it was Panza, who \u201cnever desired a second sleep, because\nthe first lasted from night till morning,\u201d\u2014that immortal Sancho Panza,\nwhose quaint rhapsody we must all echo so gratefully,\u2014\u201cBlessed is he\nthat first _invented_ sleep.\u201d The eulogies of this blissful state, and\nthe wailings of a sleepless spirit, have ever been a favourite theme of\nthe poet, and our own ancient dramatists,\u2014as Beaumont and Fletcher, in\nthe play of \u201cValentinian,\u201d and Shakspere, from the lips of Henry IV. in\nhis beautiful invocation, and Young, and many others.\n\nEV. Sleeplessness is one of the severest penalties of our nature. In the\ndarkness and silence of night the wakeful mind preys on itself; the\npulse is rapid, it is a throb of anguish,\u2014to the wearied thought there\nis no conclusion, and the parched tongue prays in vain for the morning\nlight. In the curse of Kehama, I think the sleepless lid is one of the\nmost cruel inflictions; and in the severe disorder which we term\n_hemicrania_, this curse is to a degree realized.\n\nThe sleeplessness of Caligula is related by Suetonius. In Bartholinus,\nwe read of one who slept not for three months, and he became a\nmelancholy hypochondriac. And Bo\u00ebrhave, from intense study, was\nconstantly awake during six weeks.\n\nIDA. We are happy in our quiet minds, are we not, dear Castaly? Yet, if\nwe are ever summoned to the couch of one wearied by night watching,\nEvelyn will tell us how we may soothe the pillow of a sleepless mind, to\nwhich the secret of inducing slumber would be a priceless treasure.\n\nEV. Study the causes of _insomnia_, or sleeplessness, Ida; as those\nwhich excite nervous irritability,\u2014coffee, green tea, _small_ doses of\nopium, the protracted use of antimony, &c.; and believe not in the\nvirtues of vulgar remedies, often as dangerous as they are ridiculous.\nThere is a batch of these which Burton has gleaned from various authors;\nas a sample,\u2014nutmegs, mandrakes, wormwood; and from Cardan and\nMiraldus,\u2014the anointing the soles of the feet with the fat of a\ndormouse, and the teeth with the ear-wax of a dog, swine\u2019s galls, hares\u2019\nears, &c.\n\nI might offer to you many plain precepts for the alleviation of the\n_light_ causes of sleeplessness; and while I dole them out to you in\nvery dullness, you will fancy my gold-headed cane to my chin, and other\nessential symbols of an Esculapius of the olden time. Adopt, then, a\nfree ventilation in summer, and airing in winter, of the chamber. This\nshould never be a mere closet, always above the ground floor, neither\nvery light nor dark, the window not being close to the bed, and, above\nall, not in the vicinity of stoves, ovens, and large kitchen fires. Do\nnot allow the windows to be open throughout the night, to admit the cold\ndew or air; and, in winter, the basket-fire should be placed there for\nan hour before you enter your chamber. A slight acceleration of the\ncirculation may be produced by gentle exercise before rest; and two or\nthree wafer biscuits or spring water, to prevent the wakeful effects of\nboth chilliness and hunger. A light woollen sock may be worn, which is\nunconsciously displaced when sleep comes on, and the night-cap should be\nlittle more than a net, except during the very cold months. The position\nof the body should be that which is the easiest, except the supine,\nwhich induces congestion and often \u201cnight mare;\u201d and if there be much\nsensitiveness of the surface, the hydrostatic bed should be employed,\nbut that not too long, as it will become heated by protracted pressure.\nChildren should not be enveloped in clothes, nor crowded in bed; nor\nshould infants be shaken, or tossed, or patted, as foolish nurses too\noften do.\n\nThere are many simple modes of inducing slumber: I allude not to poppy\nand henbane, nor to the pillow of hops, which, in the case of the third\nGeorge, was the charm that sealed up the lids of the king; but to other\nmodes, such as a tedious recital, (something like my own dull prosing,)\nthe gentle motion of a swing, a cot or cradle, the ripple of a stream,\nand the dashing of a waterfall, the waving of a fan, the caw of rooks,\nthe hum of bees, the murmur of an \u00c6olian harp\u2014\n\nCAST. So gracefully wound up in that quaint _morceau_, the \u201cFairy\nQueen,\u201d when Archimago sends the spirit to fetch a dream from Morpheus\u2014\n\n \u201cCynthia still doth steepe\n In silver dew his ever-drooping head,\n Whiles sad night over him her mantle black doth spred.\n\n And more to lull him in his slumber soft,\n A trickling stream, from high rocke tumbling downe,\n And ever dringling rain upon the loft,\n Mix\u2019d with a murmuring winde, much like the soune\n Of swarming bees, did cast him in a swoune.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n SUBLIMITY AND IMPERFECTION OF DREAMING.\n\n\n \u201cWe are such stuff\n As dreams are made of, and our little life\n Is rounded by a sleep.\u201d\n TEMPEST.\n\nEV. In the transition _to_ and _from_ the repose of sleep, the mind is\nsinking into oblivion, and thought is fading, and the senses and\nsensation are overshadowed in their regress to insensibility: even\ninstinct is well nigh a blank. This is the state of _slumber_. Then, I\nbelieve, and only then, are we ever wandering in the ideal labyrinth of\nDREAMS.\n\nThere is a curious calculation of Cabanis, that certain organs or senses\nof the body fall asleep at regular progressive periods; some, therefore,\nmay be _active_ while others are _passive_, and in this interesting\nstate, I may hint to you, consists the essence of a dream. It seems that\nin _dreamless_ sleep, the senses fall asleep altogether, as in the case\nof Plutarch\u2019s friends, Thrasymenes and Cleon, and others who _never\ndreamed_.\n\nASTR. So there is some truth in the fanciful conceit of Cardanus, that\n\u201cSleep is the rest of the spirits,\u2014waking their vehement motion, and\ndreaming their tremulous motion.\u201d\n\nCAST. And philosophy plumes herself on her wonderous intuition for this\n_discovery_. Let her blush, and kneel before the shrine of poesy. The\npoets, even of a ruder age than ours, have thought and written before\nyou, Evelyn, and have unfolded these _arcana_. How doth Chaucer usher in\nhis \u201cDreme?\u201d\u2014\n\n \u201cHalfe in dede sclepe, not fully revyved;\u201d\n\nand again:\n\n \u201cFor on this wyse upon a night\n As ye have herd withouten light,\n Not all wakyng ne full on slepe,\n About such hour as lovirs wepe;\u201d\n\nand in \u201cLa Belle Dame sans Mercy,\u201d there is the same thought:\n\n \u201cHalfe in a dreme, not fully well awaked;\u201d\n\nand in Sir Walter\u2019s \u201cAntiquary:\u201d \u201cEh, sirs, sic weary dreams as folk hae\nbetween sleeping and waking, before they win to the long sleep and the\nsound.\u201d So will your philosophy dwindle somewhat in its consequence, Sir\nClerke.\n\nEV. We are not jealous of these _glimpses_ of a poet, Castaly; they\nimpart a value to their rhymes: we enrol _such_ poets in the rank of\nphilosophers.\n\nIDA. Solve me this question, Evelyn: is there any relative difference\nbetween the subjects of dreams _before_ and _after_ sleep?\n\nEV. It has been thought that there is more reference to reality in the\n_first_, and more confusion and wandering of imagination in the\n_second_; but as nature is often _excited_ rather than exhausted at\nnight, there may be equal brightness with the morning dream, occurring\nafter the recreation and refreshment of sleep.\n\nCAST. We may concede, then, some wisdom to the Sybarites, who destroyed\ntheir morning heralds, the cocks, that they might enjoy their matin\ndreams undisturbed. And I remember one of Pope\u2019s allusions to the\nvirtues of this _\u03c5\u03c0\u03b1\u03c1_, or morning dream:\n\n \u201cWhat time the morn mysterious visions brings,\n While purer slumbers spread their golden wings.\u201d\n\nASTR. We have often discoursed on the psychology of Locke, Evelyn, and\nwe are now involved in one of its most interesting points\u2014_innate\nidea_. Is the dreamer _conscious_ of his dream? It has been asserted,\nespecially by two profound metaphysicians, Beattie and Reid, that they\n_persuaded_ themselves in their dreams that they _were_ dreaming, and\nwould then attempt to throw themselves off a precipice; this awoke them,\nand proved the impression a fiction. Were there not present in this,\nvolition and consciousness; and is it not an evidence of an innate idea\nwithout sensation?\n\nEV. No. A train of thought and passive memory may take place without\nvolition, even in a waking mind; a train of _reasoning_ cannot. So\nfeeling and _passive_ thought may in the mere dream, but not a\n_conscious acting_ on it. The phenomena, and the expressions used to\ndescribe these impressions, are precisely illustrative of another\ncondition of sleep, to which we have not yet pointed. This notion of\nBeattie was but an echo of Aristotle. The Stagyrite himself was subject\nto dreams of danger, and, after a while, he used to whisper to himself:\n\u201cDon\u2019t be frightened,\u2014this is only a dream:\u201d the glaring proof that it\nwas _not_; and yet psychologists still talk of the _management_ of a\ndream.\n\nThe fairest explanation is, that there has been a predetermination on\nsome point, and _unconscious_ ideas on the same point are elicited, or\nmay be the first to present themselves to the mind in the morning, _at\nthe moment_ we awaken, and thus it is the first which the judgment acts\non in its reverie; that is, the line between dreaming and being awake.\nIf there be many organs asleep, there is still some _clouding_ of this\njudgment; but if that be asleep also, there is an absolute dream.\n\nIf we _know_ that we are dreaming, the faculty of judgment _cannot_ be\ninert, and the dream would be _known_ to be a _fallacy_. We might, by\nthinking, render our dream what we pleased, and be sure we should never\nwish for devils or dangers. The essence of the dream is that it is\n_uncontrolled_: other states are not dreaming. Above all, if judgment\ninfluenced the dream of Beattie, who was not a madman, would he have\n_wished_ to have toppled down headlong from a rock? Listen to Johnson on\nthis point. \u201cHe related that he had once, in a dream, a contest of wit\nwith some other person, and that he was very much mortified by imagining\nthat his opponent had the better of him. Now.\u201d said he, \u201cone may mark\nhere the effect of sleep in weakening the power of reflection; for had\nnot my judgment failed me, I should have seen that the wit of this\nsupposed antagonist, by whose superiority I felt myself depressed, was\nas much furnished by me as that which I thought I had been uttering in\nmy own character.\u201d\n\nNay, in the words of Beattie himself, in his \u201cEssay on Truth,\u201d\u2014\n\n\u201cSleep has a wonderful power over all our faculties. Sometimes we seem\nto have lost our moral faculty; as when we dream of doing that without\nscruple or remorse, which, when awake, we could not bear to think of.\nSometimes memory is extinguished; as when we dream of conversing with\nour departed friends, without remembering any thing of their death,\nthough it was, perhaps, one of the most striking incidents we had ever\nexperienced, and is seldom or never out of our thoughts when we are\nawake.\u201d\n\nEven the most sensitive and amiable girls will dream of committing\nmurder, or the most awful crimes, without any sense of compunction. We\nfeel no surprise at the working of our own miracles; and we know not how\nto avoid danger. I have myself dreamed of occurrences long past, as if\nthey were of to-day; have fretted in my sleep, on ideal events, and on\nwaking was for a moment wretched. But I have reflected, _awake_, on\nthese very events, and have not only felt resigned, but deemed them\nbenefits.\n\nThere was in the university of Gottingen the physician Walderstein. He\nwas a constant dreamer, and this is his account of one of these\nillusions. \u201cI dreamt that I was condemned to the stake, and during my\nexecution I was perfectly composed, and indeed _reasoned_ calmly on the\nmode in which it was conducted;\u2014whispering to myself, \u2018Now I am\nburning, and presently I shall be converted into a cinder.\u2019\u201d It seems\nthat he was dissatisfied with his dream, on account of this apathetic\ncalmness; and he concludes: \u201cI was fearful I should become all thought,\nand no feeling.\u201d _I_ would say, he was all illusion and no judgment.\n\nIt is but lately that I dreamed I was reciting a metaphysical poem,\nwhich my vanity whispered me possessed a deal of merit. During the\nrecitation I thought there was a turning up of noses, and of tongues\ninto cheeks\u2014a very expressive sign of incredulity and satire. At length\na general murmur ran through the assembly that it was a complete\n\u201cboggle.\u201d Nothing daunted, I assured them that it was a very abstruse\npassage, and the fault was in the shallow comprehension of my audience.\nNeed I add, that I should blush at such an evasion in my waking\njudgment?\n\nHow different also is our dream from a waking thought, in which we can\ncontrol the fancy!\n\nIf in the dream the chain be abruptly broken, the waking mind does not\nthen carry on the train, and if any thing occur in waking, associating\nwith the dream, to join the broken link, the dream is not completed, but\nthe ideas _revert_, or are retraced, to their source; and if any idea at\nthe origin of the dream be _re-excited_, there will be no consistent\ncontinuance of it beyond the dream itself, or, if there be, it will bear\nthe stamp of reasoning, losing all connexion with the illusion. On the\ncontrary, if we read as we are falling asleep, we continue _in the\ndream_ the subject of our study, but _erroneously_; and if we then start\nand wake, we shall find that at the moment of slumber we had _changed\nthe integrity_ of our thinking. Be assured, then, that Virgil is correct\nin this\u2014\n\n \u201cShe seems alone\n To wander in her sleep, through ways unknown,\n _Guideless_ and _dark_.\u201d\n\nCAST. And now, Sir Knight, deign to look on the other side of the\nshield. Answer me with sincerity,\u2014if your words be true, is not this a\nhigh privilege of imaginative minds, to lift themselves out of the\ngloomy atmosphere of this world of woe; to soar with fancy, not to\ndrudge with fact? How do I envy a romantic dreamer, like him of whom\nMaster Edmund Spenser writes,\u2014\n\n \u201c\u2014\u2014at length, some wonted slepe doth crowne\n His new falne lids, dreames straight, tenne pound to one,\n Out steps some fa\u00ebry with quick motion,\n And tells him wonders of some flourie vale.\u201d\n\nSleep is indeed the reality of another existence.\n\nASTR. So breathed the thought of Heraclitus, in words like these,\u2014that\n\u201call men, whilst they are awake, are in one common world; but that each,\nwhen he is asleep, is in a world of his own.\u201d The fairies are his boon\nand chosen compeers, and the sylphs are as much his handmaidens, as\nthose around the toilet of Belinda. We are indeed the happy children,\nand, like them, our existence is a dream of felicity,\u2014one long and\nhappy thought of the _present_, with no reflection or forethought to mar\nits blisses.\n\nThen the shades and memory of departed friends and lovers, are they not\naround us as true and as beautiful as when they lived? The common\nsentiment of enamoured dreamers is\u2014\n\n \u201cI hear thy voice in dreams upon me softly call;\n I see thy form as when thou wert a living thing.\u201d\n\nIn the dream, ambition is lifted to the loftiest pinnacle of her high\naspirings; and power and riches are showered in profusion in the path of\ntheir votaries from the cornucopia of fancy; and all this with a depth\nand intensity that gilds for a time the moments of waking life. And I\nagree with Saint Augustine, that if we sleep and dream in Paradise, our\nexistence will be perfectly felicitous.\n\nBut then, alas! the cruel waking from this world of pleasure. I have\nbreathed many a sigh of sympathy with Milton\u2019s dream of his dead wife,\nand with Crabbe, in his \u201cWorld of Dreams.\u201d\n\nYou remember, Evelyn, how oft you have wondered at my absence from our\ncollege c\u0153na. You thought not that I was then deeply studying how I\nmight gain a victory over my thoughts in sleep. As my waking memory\nwould, from some indefinite cause, be re-excited after it had seemed to\nfade and die, so the subject of my dreams has been resumed after many\nmonths, without any chain of relative thoughts in the interval. I\nbelieved then that this might be a dream; that I had dreamt the same\nbefore; but on the morning of the _second_ dream, reflection assured me\nthat on the morning of the _first_ I had known and thought on it. I was\nwaiting for a golden hour of inspiration, and it was granted me. One\nnight came o\u2019er my slumber a dream of beauty: there was an innocent\nhappiness, a sense of purest pleasure, that might be the beatitude of a\nperi ere she lost her place in Eden. In the morning, the dream was a\npart of my being; I nursed it throughout the live-long day, and at night\nlay me down to slumber, and again with the sleep came the dream. I was\nthus the monarch of an ideal world: the dream was my life, so long as my\nthoughts were on it concentrated, and even study was a _Rembrandt_\nshadow on its brightness.\n\nIn a moment of rapture, I cried,\u2014\n\n \u201cWe forget how superior, to mortals below,\n Is the fiction they dream to the truth which they know.\u201d\n\nI opened the leaf of a volume, in which an accomplished pen had traced\nan episode so like my own, as to make me wonder at its truth.\n\nIt was of a visionary German, who, like myself, commanded the phantasie\nof sleep\u2019s own world, bringing one night thus in connexion with another.\nHe fashioned, like Pygmalion, his idol, Love, and nightly met and wooed,\ntill he won her to his heart, and then he cried,\u2014\u201cWhat if this glorious\nsleep be a real life, and this dull waking the true repose?\u201d At length\nhis ideal of beauty, his _dream_, died, stung by a serpent. And then the\norder of the vision was reversed; the dream lay again before him, dead\nand withered; he saw his idol only when he was awake, and this was to\nhim a dream. He pined in thought, and died,\u2014sleeping.\n\nWas not the sleep of this man his real life, and a scene of happiness?\nCould _he_ wish for reality who had enjoyed such a dream? For if in life\nthere were equal sleep and waking, and the sleep were all a happy dream,\nthis would indeed be a happy life.\n\nMay I tell you, Evelyn, that I enjoyed a deep sublimity of feeling, a\nconsciousness of that mental emancipation which devout philosophers have\nmore than glanced at?\n\nIDA. Although you have again rather run wild, Astrophel, I agree with\nyou in thinking that, under this influence, the dream may be an\nillustration of Plato\u2019s notion, regarding the existence of eternal\nforms, independent of matter,\u2014an emanation of the divine mind imparted\nto that of human beings; that _innate idea_, if you will, by which the\nmind views at large\u2014\n\n \u201cThe uncreated images of things.\u201d\n\nAnd I therefore revere the opinion of Sir Thomas Brown, the ingenious\nauthor of the \u201cReligio Medici,\u201d (with whom believed Sir Henry Wotton,\nBossuet, and other good men,) \u201cThat we are somewhat more than ourselves\nin our sleeps, and the slumber of the body seems to be but the waking of\nthe soul. It is the legation of sense, but the liberty of reason; and\nour waking conceptions do not match the fancies of our sleeps.\u201d And also\nthe sentiment of Addison, that \u201cthere seems something in this\nconsideration, that intimates to us a natural grandeur and perfection of\nthe soul.\u201d\n\nCAST. In your temple of transcendental philosophy you will leave a niche\nfor Shakspere, dearest Ida, who, even in one of his lightest characters,\nforgets not this perfection of our emancipated spirit. Lorenzo whispers\nto the fair Jewess, in the garden at Belmont\u2014\n\n \u201cSit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heav\u2019n\n Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold!\n There\u2019s not the smallest orb which thou behold\u2019st,\n But in his motion, like an angel sings,\n Still quiring to the young-ey\u2019d cherubims.\n Such harmony is in immortal souls;\n But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay\n Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n PROPHECY OF DREAMS.\n\n\n \u201cI have heard, the spirits of the dead\n May walk again: if such things be, thy mother\n Appeared to me last night; for ne\u2019er was dream\n So like a waking.\u201d\n WINTER\u2019S TALE.\n\nASTR. Evelyn, you have argued fluently on the _nature_ of mind\ncontrasted with that of matter; but, if desired to _define_ it, how will\nyou answer?\n\nEV. That it is a _combination of faculties_, and their _sympathy with\nthe senses_. But this definition presumes not to decide in what intimate\npart or texture of the brain is seated the essence itself, as we may\nimagine, of the mind\u2014the principle of _consciousness_; whether this be\nthe \u201celementary principle\u201d of Stewart, or the \u201cmomentary impression of\nsense or sensation\u201d of Brown, or the \u201csomething differing from\nsensation\u201d of Reid, or the \u201cpower of feeling that we differ from the\nmatter around us\u201d of some one else.\n\nASTR. Yet on this point, (if, indeed, such point be more than\nimaginary,) the whole phenomena of intellect must turn. But even if you\ncan ever hope to determine this locality, it will be long, very long,\nere the student of psychology will rise from his studies, with the\ntriumphant exclamation, \u201c\u03a4\u03b5\u03bb\u03bf\u03c2!\u201d ere he conclude his deepest researches,\nwithout the humiliating confession that his philosophy wears fetters.\n\nYet you consider our visions as one tissue of morbid phenomena; although\nthere are myriads even of profane visions and warning legends, which\nbear the certain impress of a prophecy. I never listen to those who\nlaugh at our interpretations, without remembering that melancholy story\nof a youth of Brescia, by Boccaccio, where Andreana, I think, is\nrelating to her betrothed Gabriello, an ominous dream of the stars, and\nof a shadowy demon, which had made her sad and spiritless, and for which\nshe had exiled her lover for a whole night from her bosom. The youth\nsmiled in scorn of such a presage; but, in relating a dream of his own\nto illustrate their fallacy, fell dead from her enfolding arms.\n\nFor once I will grant you, merely for the sake of argument, that there\nmay be exaggeration in many a legend. I will even yield to your\nimmolation the host of specious dreams in \u201cWanley\u2019s Wonders;\u201d you may\npass your anathema on the volumes of Glanville, and Moreton, and Aubrey,\nand Mather, and Berthogge, and Beaumont, as a tissue of imposture; call\nthem, if you will\u2014\n\n \u201cA prophet\u2019s or a poet\u2019s dream,\n The priestcraft of a lying world.\u201d\n\n_I_ will ensconce myself snugly behind the _classic_ shields, and ask\nyou if the pages of Pliny, of Cicero, of Socrates, are mere legends of\nfiction or credulity; nay, if the books of mythology and oriental\nlegends are not many of them founded on real events?\n\nIt is clear that there was ever implicit and extensive faith in the\nEast; the definition of \u03bf\u03bd \u03b5\u03b9\u03c1\u03c9, _I speak the truth_, implies faith in a\ndream. The office of the oneirocritic was a profession. Amphyction was\nthe first (according to Pliny) of the profane expositors, Hieronymus the\nmost profuse interpreter, and Lysimachus, the grandson of Aristides,\nexpounded dreams, for money, at the corners of the streets of Athens.\nThe doors of Junianus Majus, the tutor of Sanagorius, and Alexander ab\nAlexandro, were besieged with dreamers in quest of expositions.\n\nThe Romans worshipped with divine honours Brizo, the goddess of dreams;\nand the Galeot\u00e6, so named from Galei, a Hebrew word signifying to\nreveal, flourished in Sicily. So impressed were the Jews with the\nimportance of the dream, that they convoked a tryad of friends, and went\nthrough certain ceremonies, (as writes Josephus in his twelfth book,)\nwhich they called the benefaction of a dream.\n\nThe orientals, the Greeks, and the Romans, then, were all confident in\nthe truth of these omens. When Nestor urges his army to battle because\nAgamemnon had dreamed of such a course, it is but a picture of the\ncommon mind of Greece. Indeed, on great emergencies, it was the custom\nto solicit the inspiration of the dream, by first performing religious\nrites, and then in the temple, (it may be of Esculapius or Serapis,) to\nlie down on the reeking skins of oxen or goats, sacrificed by the\npriests.\n\nI may not hope, Evelyn, to convert or alarm you, or I would warn you of\nthe penalty incurred by the slighting of a vision. You may read in Livy,\nthat Jupiter imparted his displeasure at the punishment of a slave,\nduring a solemn procession in the forum to Titus Antinius. But Titus\nscorned the vision; when, lo! his son was struck dead at his feet, and\nhis own limbs were at once paralyzed. In a mood of penitence, he was\nborne on a couch to the senate, and after a public confession of his\ncrime, his limbs immediately began to recover their energy, and he\nwalked to his house unassisted, amidst the wonder of the people.\n\nIn Cicero\u2019s essay on \u201cDivination,\u201d we read the story of two Arcadian\ntravellers. On their arrival at Megara, these two friends slept in\ndifferent houses. In the night a dream came to one of them: the phantom\nof his companion appeared to him, and imparted to him that his landlord\nwas _about_ to murder him. He awoke, and feeling assured that the idea\nwas but a dream, fell quietly again to sleep; but then came over him a\nsecond dream, and again the phantom _was_ in his chamber, and told him\nthat the deed of blood was committed, that he was murdered: and in the\nmorning he learned that the vision was prophetic, and told him truth.\n\nBut the records of antiquity teem with tales of fatal prognostics to\nheroes, kings, and emperors, whose deaths, indeed, seldom took place\nwithout a prophecy. From Aristotle we learn that the death of Alexander\nwas foretold in a dream of Eudemius, and that of C\u00e6sar by his wife\nCalphurnia. The emperor Marius dreamed that he saw Attila\u2019s bow broken,\nand the Hun king died on the same night. And Sylla (according to Appian)\ndied on the night succeeding that on which he dreamed of such a fate.\n\nValerius Maximus records the death of Caius Gracchus, immediately after\na dream of it by his mother.\n\nCaracalla (as we learn from Dion Cassius) foretold his own assassination\nin a dream.\n\nCyrus (writes Xenophon) dreamed of the exact moment in which he died.\n\nAnd the death of Socrates was foretold to him in a dream, by a white\nlady, who quoted to him the 363rd line of Homer, in the ninth book.\n\nOf remarkable events there are many strange forebodings; as the dream of\nJudas Maccabeus when about to engage the Syrian army; of Sylla before\nhis engagement with Marius; of Germanicus on the night before his\nvictory over Arminius (as Tacitus records); and of Masilienus, the\ngeneral sent by the emperor Honorius to oppose Gildo, and regain the\npossession of Africa. To him St. Ambrose, the late bishop of Milan,\nappeared in a dream, and striking the ground at the scene of the vision\nthrice with his crozier, said, \u201cHere and in this place;\u201d and on the same\nspot, the following morning, Gildo was conquered by Masilienus. Such are\na few of the _fatal_ prophecies of old.\n\nThere are others of illustrious _births_ in the olden time, of which I\nwill recount a few.\n\nPlutarch writes of the dream of Agariste, announcing the birth of her\nson Pericles.\n\nSabellus, of the dream of Accia, the mother of Augustus.\n\nThe splendid impostures, as I confess them, of Mahomet, were ushered in\nby a dream of Cadiga, that the sun entered her house, and that his beams\nillumined every building in Mecca.\n\nIn later days, the mother of Joan of Arc dreamed that she brought forth\na thunderbolt; and Arlotte, the mother of the Conqueror, that her\nintestines covered the whole land of Normandy.\n\nBut I waive a host of ancient dreams, as those of Astyages, the last\nking of Media; Ertercules, and Antigonus, and Simonides, and others, for\nI study to be brief, and pass to the professors of more modern belief.\n\nOf Pascal Paoli, Boswell, in his account of Corsica, thus writes:\n\n\u201cHaving asked him one day, when some of his nobles were present, whether\na mind so active as his was employed even in sleep, and if he used to\ndream much; Signor Casa Bianca said, with an air and tone which implied\nsomething of importance, \u2018Si, si sogna,\u2019 Yes, he dreams. And upon my\nasking him to explain his meaning, he told me that the general had often\nseen in his dreams what afterwards came to pass. Paoli confirmed this by\nseveral instances. Said he, \u2018I can give you no clear explanation of\nit,\u2014I only tell you facts. Sometimes I have been mistaken, but in\ngeneral these visions have proved true. I cannot say what may be the\nagency of invisible spirits; they certainly must know more than we do;\nand there is nothing absurd in supposing that God should permit them to\ncommunicate their knowledge to us.\u2019\u201d\n\nIn Walton\u2019s life of Sir Henry Wotton, we read that his kinsmen, Nicholas\nand Thomas Wotton (whose family, by the by, were celebrated for their\ndreamings) had foretold their death most accurately.\n\nIn the beginning of the 18th century, a person in the west of England\ndreamed that his friend was on a journey with two men, whose persons\nwere strongly pictured in his dream, and that he was robbed and murdered\nby these companions. It chanced that in a short time he was about to\njourney with two men, the _very prototypes_ of his friend\u2019s dream. His\nearnest caution against this expedition so planned was slighted, and, on\nthe spot marked in the dream, was this traveller robbed and murdered,\nand by the vivid description of the dreamer, the two men were identified\nand executed.\n\nIn other cases, the dream has been the means of retribution; for\ninstance, by the discovery of a murderer. In \u201cBaker\u2019s Chronicle\u201d we read\nof the conviction of Anne Waters, for the murder of her husband, through\nthe circumstantial dream of a friend.\n\nI believe the fate of Corder was decided by a dream; and I may add, that\nArchbishop Laud dreamed himself that in his greatest pomp he should sink\ndown to h\u2014ll.\n\nThere is a chain of impressive visions, prophetic of the death of\nVilliers, Duke of Buckingham, as if some little spirit were flitting to\nand fro on a special mission from the realm of shadows.\n\nThe sister of the duke, the Countess of Denbigh, dreamed she was with\nhim in his coach, when the people gave a loud shout, and she was told it\nwas a cry of joy at the dangerous illness of the duke. She had scarcely\nrelated her dream to one of her ladies, when the bishop of Ely came to\ntell her, her brother was murdered by the dagger of Felton. Shortly\nbefore this, a Scotch nobleman asked a seer from the Highlands what he\nthought of this Villiers, Duke of Buckingham, then the court favourite:\n\u201cHe will come to naught,\u201d said he, \u201cfor I see a dagger in his heart.\u201d\n\nBut the most impressive presage were the visions of an officer of the\nwardrobe to the king, as related by the Earl of Clarendon and others.\nParker had been an old _proteg\u00e9_ of Sir George Villiers, the duke\u2019s\nfather. On a certain night, in Windsor Castle, he saw, or dreamed of, an\napparition of Sir George Villiers, who entreated him to warn his son not\nto follow the counsels of such and such persons, and to avert in every\nway the enmity of the people, as he valued his life. A second and a\nthird night this vision was repeated, and at the last, the phantom drew\na dagger from his gown, and said, \u201cThis will end my son, and do you,\nParker, prepare for death.\u201d On a hunting morning this vision was\nimparted to Buckingham, at Lambeth Bridge, and, after the chase, the\nduke was seen to ride, in a pensive mood, to his mother\u2019s in Whitehall.\nThe lady, at his departure, was found in an agony of tears, and when the\nstory of the murder was told, she listened with an apathetic calmness,\nas if the brooding over the prophecy had half dulled her heart to the\nreality. Well, _the duke was murdered, and Parker soon after died_.\n\nOn that night when the Treasury of Oxford was broken open, Sir Thomas\nWotton, then in Kent, dreamed circumstantially of the event, and, I\nbelieve, named and described the burglars.\n\nA clergyman, whose name I forget, was once travelling far from his home,\nwhen he dreamed his house was on fire. He returned, and found his house\na smoking ruin.\n\nI may here cite a very curious dreaming, which, though not exactly\nfulfilled, displayed at least a strange coincidence in three minds. The\nmother of Mr. Joseph Taylor dreamed of the apparition of her son, who\ncame to take leave as he was going a long journey. She started, and\nsaid, \u201cDear son, thou art dead.\u201d On the morrow, a letter came from his\nfather, expressive of anxiety on account of this dream. The son\ninstantly remembered his own dream, at the same hour, of having gone to\nhis mother\u2019s room to bid farewell.\n\nThere are many warning visions, which, being happily regarded, were\nblessed by the preservation of human life.\n\nWhen our own Harvey was passing through Dover, on his continental\ntravels, he was unexpectedly detained for a night by the order of the\ngovernor. On the next day, news came that the packet, in which Harvey\nwas to have sailed, was lost in a storm; and then it came out, that his\nexcellency had, on the night before his arrival, a phantom of the doctor\npassing before him, which besought him to detain _his substance_ in\nDover for a day.\n\nAlderman Clay, of Newark, dreamed twice that his house was on fire. From\nthe second dream, he was induced to quit with his family; and, soon\nafterwards, it was burned by the engines of Cromwell, which were\nbombarding the town. For this providential salvation, an annual sermon\nis preached, and bread given to the poor, in Newark.\n\nThe lady of Major Griffiths dreamed thrice of her nephew, Mr. D. The\nfirst vision imparted his intention of joining a party of his companions\non a fishing excursion; the second, that his boat was sinking; the\nthird, that it was actually sunk. At her entreaty, this gentleman was\ninduced to remain on land; and, in the evening, it was learned, that his\nill-fated friends had been all drowned, by the swamping of the boat.\n\nCAST. I pr\u2019ythee, Astrophel, draw not too largely on our faith; reserve\nyourself for a struggle, for I see in the glance of Evelyn\u2019s eye, that\nhe has taken up your glove.\n\n\n\n\n MORAL CAUSES OF DREAMING.\n\n\n \u201cI have had a dream, past the wit of man to say what dream it\n was. Man is but an ass, if he go about to expound this dream.\u201d\n MIDSUMMER NIGHT\u2019S DREAM.\n\nEV. Listen,\u2014it is my turn to speak.\n\nLike confirmed insanity, the essence of the dream is usually _a want of\nbalance between the representative faculty and the judgment_; being\nproduced, directly or indirectly, by the excitement of a chain of ideas,\nrational or probable in parts, but rendered in different degrees\nextravagant, or illusive, by imperfect association,\u2014as in the dream of\nthe \u201cOpium Eater:\u201d\u2014\u201cThe ladies of Charles I.\u2019s age danced and looked as\nlovely as the court of George IV.; yet I knew, even in my dream, that\nthey had been in the grave for nearly two centuries.\u201d\n\nThe relative complexity of these combinations includes the two divisions\nof dreams,\u2014the _plain_, \u03b8\u03b5\u03c9\u03c1\u03b7\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03b9\u03ba\u03bf\u03b9; and the _allegorical_, or images\npresented in their own form, or by similitude.\n\nIf we grant that certain faculties or functions of the mind are the\nresult of nervous influence, we can as readily allow that an\n_imperfection_ of these manifestations shall be the result of\nderangement of equilibrium in this influence, as the _material_ function\nof muscle shall be disturbed by primary or secondary disease about the\nbrain; of which we have daily examples among the spasmodic and nervous\ndiseases of the body.\n\nReferring to the calculation of Cabanis, on the falling to sleep of the\nsenses, I can readily carry on this analogy to the faculties of mind. We\nmay suppose that the faculty of judgment, as being the most important,\nis the first to feel fatigue, and to be influenced in the mode which I\nhave alluded to by slumber. It is evident, then, that the other\nfaculties, which are still awake, will be uncontrolled, and an\n_imperfect association_ will be the result.\n\nThus the ideas of a dream may be considered as a species of delirium;\nfor the figures and situations of both are often of the most\nheterogeneous description, and both are ever illusive, being believed to\nbe realities, and not being subject to the control of our intellect.\nYet, if the most absurd dream be _analyzed_, its constituent parts may\nconsist either of ideas, in themselves not irrational, or of sensations\nor incidents which have been individually felt or witnessed.\n\nSo the remembered faces and forms of our absent friends, faithful though\na part of the likeness may be, are associated with the grossest\nabsurdity.\n\n \u201cVelut \u00e6gri somnia, van\u00e6\n Fingentur species, ut nec pes nec caput uni\n Reddatur form\u00e6.\u201d\n\nOr, as Dryden has written,\u2014\n\n \u201cDreams are but interludes which Fancy makes:\n When monarch Reason sleeps, this mimic wakes;\n Compounds a medley of disjointed things,\n A mob of cobblers, and a court of kings.\n Light fumes are merry, grosser fumes are sad,\n Both are the reasonable soul run mad;\n And many monstrous forms in sleep we see,\n That neither were, nor are, nor e\u2019er can be.\u201d\n\nThe little variations in the tissue of a dream are not _rectified_ by\njudgment. So the vision may have led us to the very consummation of the\nhighest hopes with love and beauty, and then, if an object even of\ndegradation or deformity shall cross the dream, an association shall be\nformed imparting a feeling of loathing and horror.\n\nYou may take Hobbes\u2019 illustration, Astrophel, which you will probably\nprefer to mine. Hobbes says of the compositions of phantoms, \u201cWater when\nmoved at once by divers movements, receiveth one motion compounded of\nthem all; so it is in the brain, or spirits stirred by divers objects;\nthere is composed an imagination of divers conceptions that appeared\nsingle to the sense; as sense at one time showeth the figure of a\nmountain, at another of gold, and the imagination afterwards composes\nthem into a golden mountain.\u201d\n\nI believe Parkhurst also will tell you, that the Hebrew word for dream,\nrefers to things _erroneously viewed_ by the senses; for each may\nassume, individually, an intimate accordance with another, although the\nfirst and last appear perfectly incongruous, as the Chinese puzzle will\nbe a chaos, if its pieces be wrongly placed; a _faulty rejoining_, in\nfact, of scenes and objects reduced to their constituent elements.\n\n\u201cI dreamed once,\u201d said Professor Maass, of Halle, \u201cthat the pope visited\nme. He commanded me to open my desk, and he carefully examined all the\npapers it contained. While he was thus employed, a very sparkling\ndiamond fell out of his triple crown into my desk, of which, however,\nneither of us took any notice. As soon as the pope had withdrawn, I\nretired to bed, but was soon obliged to rise on account of a thick\nsmoke, the cause of which I had yet to learn. Upon examination, I\ndiscovered that the diamond had set fire to the papers in my desk, and\nburnt them to ashes.\u201d\n\nThis dream deserves a short analysis, on account of the peculiar\ncircumstances which occasioned it. \u201cOn the preceding evening,\u201d continues\nProfessor Maass, \u201cI was visited by a friend, with whom I had a lively\nconversation upon Joseph II.\u2019s suppression of monasteries and convents.\nWith this idea, though I did not become conscious of it in the dream,\nwas associated the visit which the pope publicly paid the emperor Joseph\nat Vienna, in consequence of the measures taken against the clergy; and,\nwith this again was combined, however faintly, the representation of the\nvisit which had been paid me by my friend. These two events were by the\nsubreasoning faculty compounded into one, according to the established\nrule\u2014that things which agree in their parts, also correspond as to the\nwhole; hence the pope\u2019s visit was changed into a visit paid to me. The\nsubreasoning faculty, then, in order to account for this extraordinary\nvisit, fixed upon that which was the most important object in my room,\nnamely, the desk, or rather the papers it contained. That a diamond fell\nout of the triple crown, was a collateral association, which was owing\nmerely to the representation of the desk. Some days before, when opening\nthe desk, I had broken the glass of my watch, which I held in my hand,\nand the fragments fell among the papers; hence no farther attention was\npaid to the diamond, being a representation of a collateral series of\nthings. But afterwards, the representation of the sparkling stone was\nagain excited, and became the prevailing idea; hence it determined the\nsucceeding association. On account of its similarity, it excited the\nrepresentation of fire, with which it was confounded; hence arose fire\nand smoke. But, in the event, the writings only were burnt, not the desk\nitself, to which, being of comparatively less value, the attention was\nnot at all directed.\u201d\n\nImpressions of memory may not perhaps appear consistent with\nimagination, but, on the principle I have advanced, it will be found\nthat, although the idea excited by memory be consistent, these ideas\nmay, by fanciful association, become imagination; appearing, on\nsuperficial view, to illustrate the doctrine of innate idea. But is this\ndoctrine proved? We may seem to imagine that which we do not remember,\n_as a whole_; but, as a curve is made up of right lines,\u2014as a mass is\ncomposed of an infinity of atoms,\u2014so may it follow, that what is termed\n\u201cinnate idea,\u201d if minutely divided, may be _proved_ to arise from\nmemory; made up of things, however minute, which we have _seen or heard\nof_. Analysis may thus unravel many a \u201cstrange mysterious dream.\u201d\n\nIDA. I have ever believed that there were incidents recorded, which left\nno doubt of the truth of innate idealism. Dr. Beattie has observed: \u201cMen\nborn blind, or who have lost all remembrance of light and colours, are\nas capable of invention, and dream as frequently, as those who see.\u201d\n\nEV. These, fair lady, are surely very imperfect data. If a person loses\nremembrance of _individual_ colour, he does not lose the power of\ncomparing or of judging _variety_ of colour. And, again, although he may\nbe congenitally blind, yet if there be any _other sense_ but sight,\nthrough which the mind can perceive or receive external impression, the\nobjection must fail.\n\nThere are very strange communities of the senses, which you may smile\nat, yet are they perfectly true.\n\nDr. Blacklock, (who was very early in life struck blind,) expressed his\nideas of colour, by referring to a peculiar sound, the two being as it\nwere _synonymous_ to him. And he fancied also, in his dreaming, that he\nwas connected to other bodies by myriads of threads or rays of feeling.\n\nI may assure you, too, that on the loss of any one sense, the subsequent\ndreams, after a lapse of time, will not be referred to _that_ sense.\n\nDr. Darwin will supply you with very illustrative instances of this;\nfrom which you will learn, that after blindness had afflicted certain\npersons, they never dreamed that they _saw_ objects in their sleep: and\na deaf gentleman, who had talked with his fingers for thirty years,\ninvariably dreamed also of _finger-speaking_, and never alluded to any\ndreaming of friends having _orally_ conversed with him.\n\nASTR. I believe that a black colour was disagreeable to Cheselden\u2019s\nblind boy, _from the moment he saw it_.\n\nEV. Because, from certain laws of refraction, the effect was instantly\n_painful_ to his eye.\n\nASTR. I remember, Sir Walter Scott, in his \u201cLetters on Demonology and\nWitchcraft,\u201d informs us that \u201cthose experienced in the education of the\ndeaf and dumb find that their pupils, even _cut off from all\ninstruction_ by ordinary means, have been able to form, out of their own\n_unassisted_ conjectures, some ideas of the existence of a Deity, and of\nthe distinction between the soul and body.\u201d\n\nEV. And do you not see, dear Astrophel, the dilemma of this argument?\nBefore the deaf and dumb pupil can adopt a language, by which to make\nhis preceptor sensible of his thoughts or sentiments, he must have had\ncertain facts or knowledge imparted to _him_, by _signs_ or other modes\nof instruction. The modes of mutual understanding must first emanate\nfrom the tutor, and with these ideas may be excited, which, at first\nsight, may seem to be innate or _unassisted_.\n\nBelieve not that I deny a moral consciousness of the existence of the\nDeity and of our immortality; but how can we _prove_ it, in those who\nhave no sense to explain it?\n\nIf it were possible to find a creature so wretched as to be endued with\nno external sense from his birth, such a being would neither dream nor\nthink; he would lead the life almost of a zoophyte, ceasing, of course,\nto be a responsible agent!\n\nCaspar Hauser never dreamed, till he slept at Professor Daunay\u2019s, and\nhad been introduced to intellectual society, and been _taught_; and\nthen, even, he could not comprehend the _nature_ of his dreams.\n\nThe arguments in the \u201cPh\u00e6do\u201d of Plato point to this truth, that the\n_germ_ of all ideas is _sown_ in the mind by the _senses_. So, also, the\nmetaphysics of Kant teach that the senses are feelers or conductors, by\nwhich we obtain materials of our knowledge; and indeed that matter and\nsensation are synonymous; that matter exists _\u00e0 priori_ in the mind.\nThis was the belief of Coleridge, that there can be nothing fancied in\nour dreams, without an _antecedent quasi cause_, a Roman having written,\nbefore him, the same sentiment:\u2014\n\n \u201cNihil in _intellectu_, quod non prius in _sensu_.\u201d\n\nRemember still that this philosophy is apart from revelation.\n\nI am aware that among the deaf and dumb high moral sentiments may exist.\nBut if they can read essays, these sentiments may be imbibed in their\nreading. And yet a very learned lord has asserted, that a being, doomed\nto absolute solitude and estrangement from his very birth, could\ndiscover the principles of algebra! At this sophism, oh shade of\nEpictetus! thou mightest rise, to vindicate the importance of our\nbeautiful senses; of the eye, beyond all, that achromatic globe of\nbrightest crystal, the contemplation of which first convinced thee of\n_design_ in the Creator, and prompted thee to pen the first \u201cBridgewater\nTreatise.\u201d\n\nOn the opening, or even the restoration of a sense, in this forlorn\n\u201cplant animal,\u201d all his associations would be erroneous. He would, at\nfirst, _see double_; he would, like children, consider all bodies,\nhowever distant, within his grasp; and, like the idiot, draw all his\nfigures _topsy-turvy_, as they are really painted on the retina, until\njudgment and practice rectified his error.\n\nI do not reason hypothetically, for these truths were illustrated in the\nyouth whose pupils were opened by the operation of Cheselden.\n\nThere are romantic stories, not foreign to this subject, in which the\ncreation of a Caliban is almost a truth; and which exemplify to us the\naccordance of nature with habit and circumstance, and the dearth of mind\nwhen deprived of the light of instruction.\n\nI allude to those unhappy creatures who, with the form and organs of\nman, have run wild in the woods, and fed on husks, and berries, and\nherded with the brute. We have some very curious histories of these\nbeings, especially in the 17th and 18th centuries. Two were discovered\nin the Forest of Lithuania; one in the Forest of Yuary, in the Pyrenees,\nby M. Le Roy; two wild girls by a nobleman, near Chalons, in Champagne;\nand Peter the wild boy, found by the escort of George I. in the woods of\nHertswold, in Hanover. In these cases disease _might have been_\ndiscovered; yet the effect of partial civilization, even in minute\npoints, indicates some power of _acquiring_ ideas not congenital.\n\nBut as to these dreaming flights of the spirit of good Sir Thomas Brown,\nI may confess, Astrophel, that you have some poets and metaphysicians,\nand even a few philosophers, on your side. You may read in Plato\u2019s\n\u201cPh\u00e6do,\u201d that \u201cthe body is the prison of the soul; that the soul, when\nit came from God, knew all; but, inclosed in the body, it forgets and\nlearns anew.\u201d And in Seneca:\n\n \u201cCorpus hoc animi pondus est.\u201d\n\nAnd in Petronius:\n\n \u201c\u2014\u2014Cum prostrata sopore,\n Urget membra quies, et mens sine pondere ludit.\u201d\n\nThis sentiment Addison has very readily adopted; prating about \u201cthe\namusements of the soul when she is disencumbered of her machine,\u201d and so\nforth. And yet Addison, I remember, thus qualifies his creed:\u2014\u201cI do not\nsuppose that the soul, in these instances, is entirely loose and\nunfettered from the body; it is sufficient if she is not so far sunk and\nimmersed in matter, nor entangled and perplexed in her operations, with\nsuch motions of blood and spirits, as when she actuates the machine in\nits waking hours. The corporeal union is slackened enough to give the\nmind more play,\u201d &c.\n\nIn this conceit, deficient both in philosophy and psychology, you\nperceive the speculator draws in his horns, and concludes with that\nwhich _means nothing_. It is, indeed, a mere compromise; an endeavour to\nextricate from their perilous dilemma the metaphysical pathologists who\ntalk so fluently of the _diseases_ of the immaterial mind, forgetful, it\nwould seem, of this truth\u2014_that_ which is diseased may die; a\nconsummation which would undermine the Christian faith, and blight the\nholiest hope of man\u2014the prospect of immortality.\n\nAnd yet my Astrophel will lean to the vagaries of our\npseudo-psychologists, who believed the dream to be the flight of the\nsoul on a visit to other regions; and its observation of their nature\nand systems from _actual survey_. Of the fruits of this ethereal voyage\nthe dreamer, I presume, is made conscious when the soul returns to the\nbrain, its earthly pabulum or home. Were this so, it should enjoy\nvisions of unalloyed beatitude; and even were there a limit to its\nexcursions, a thing so pure and perfect would select angelic communion\nonly. I do not aver that such things _are not_, but that we _cannot_\n_know it here_. We have no satisfactory remembrance of cities and\ntemples thus surveyed, more gorgeous than the waking conceptions of the\nthousand and one nights; or the legends of the genii; no wonders or\neccentricities which eclipse the exploits of Gulliver, Peter Wilkins,\nFriar Bacon, or Baron Munchausen.\n\nLavater carries out this caprice, by a very fine metaphysical thought,\nto illustrate the night-apparition. That it is their \u201ctransportive or\nimaginative faculty that causes others to appear to us in our dreams.\u201d\nAnd I myself was once gravely told by a visionary, that he dreamed, one\nnight, of a certain old woman; and _she_ afterwards told _him_, that she\ndreamed she was, on that very night, _in his chamber_. So, you perceive,\nher imago, or material thought, entered into his mind, and caused his\ndream.\n\nIs not this sublime?\n\nNow it is clear that these illusions cannot tend to advance the dignity\nof mind. Nothing can be more convincing to prove a suspension of\njudgment. Remember that during this life,\u2014the incorporation of the\nsoul,\u2014we are conscious of it _only through the brain_. It is not yet\nemancipated; and it is an error to think, because sometimes we have a\nbrilliant vision, that _therefore_, if the body were more inactive, the\nsoul would be more ethereal.\n\nASTR. And yet we are assured that Alexander, and Voltaire, and La\nFontaine, and Condillac, and Tartini, and Franklin, and Mackenzie, and\nColeridge, were wont to compose plans of battles, and problems, and\npoems, in their _dreams_, with a degree of vigour and facility, far\nexceeding their waking studies.\n\nEV. This very facility proves that there was association from memory,\nwithout volition or effort; the mind being in a state of _reverie_, and\nthe senses quiescent. In this consists the vivid and delightful visions\nlighted up by our memory in slumber, especially when there is darkness\nand silence, so that there is no perception; or when the mind is\nconcentrated, and has been reposing, so that its fancy is a novelty.\n\nBut this identifying, by Sir Thomas Brown, of reason and fancy, is\nitself a proof of error. The energy of the first is exercised on _data_\nor _facts_; that of the second, in mere _hypothetic_ amusement.\n\nIt were indeed much better that we established either the material\nhypothesis of Priestley, or his antipodes, Berkeley,\u2014that nature was\nbut a compound of spirits, ideas unfettered by matter; or the visionary\nscheme of Hume (borrowed indeed from the Hindoo philosopher, Abul\nFazel), that there is nought but impression and idea in nature; or even\nthe absolute scepticism of Pyrrho;\u2014than that we should favour the\nrhapsody of Brown, that the consciousness of _waking_ moments should\nthus deteriorate reason, and render the mind incompatible with sublunary\nduties.\n\nCAST. Coleridge, I believe, was so impressed with his own dreaming\ncompositions, that he said, \u201cthe dullest wight might be a Shakspere in\nhis dreams.\u201d What may he deserve for such presumption?\n\nEV. Coleridge was an opium-eater, and the whole intellectual life of\nthis mighty metaphysician was a dream. And you may forget that Coleridge\nwas _already_ a poet, and reasons thus from impressions in his _own_\nvisions, during the elysium of his anodyne. But the _contrasted_\nfeelings of Coleridge\u2019s nights at once confirm the monomania of his\ndreaming; and if you read his \u201cPains of Sleep,\u201d Castaly, you will not\ndeem them a _slight_ penalty, even for his libel on your sweet\nShakspere.\n\nBut the conclusions of three sage grave men on this subject will impress\nyour belief more than mine. The mentor of Rasselas, Johnson himself,\nspeaks by the lips of Imlac.\u2014\n\n\u201cAll power of Fancy over Reason is a degree of insanity. By degrees, the\nreign of Fancy is confirmed; she grows first imperious, and in time\ndespotic. Then fictions begin to operate as realities, false opinions\nfasten upon the mind, and life passes in dreams of rapture, or of\nanguish.\u201d\n\nAnd so convinced was the learned Bo\u00ebrhave of this, that he even held\nimagination and judgment to have different localities, because _this_\ninfluenced the mind _asleep_, and _that, awake_.\n\nAnd _why_, Astrophel, dream we of strange things? Because we cannot\n_compare_ illusion with reality. So we may reverse the doctrine of\nPyrrho (who doubted his own existence), and imagine ourselves possessed\nof ubiquity. We may fancy we are both old and young at the same moment,\nnay, that we _are_ and _are not_; possess the hundred eyes of Argus, or\nthe hundred arms of Briareus; that Zoroaster, and Virgil, and Shakspere,\nand ourselves, are co-existent. Indeed, our thoughts and actions are all\nmodelled on a principle of paradox,\u2014as wild even as the visions in the\n\u201cConfessions of an Opium-Eater.\u201d\n\nThen turn to the words of Marmontel, which identify the wanderings of a\ndream with the flitting fancies of a mind prostrate from the effect of\ndisorder. These words were written under _extreme indisposition_:\u2014\n\n\u201cI was reduced so low, that I could read nothing but the Arabian Nights\u2019\nEntertainments; and it is extraordinary that often, while every other\nfaculty, judgment, the will, association, perfection, even the memory\nitself, is in a state of almost total re-action, this volatile thing,\nimagination, should be the most robust and active; it seems to rejoice\nat the release from companionship with its fellows, and darts off on\nseraph-wings, rambles through all space, visits all places, turning, and\ntossing, and jostling all things in its progress, or conjoining them in\nthe most grotesque shapes. The imagination in _madmen_ is often of this\ndescription; and there may be\n\n \u201cA pleasure in madness, that none but madmen know.\u201d\n\nThen we may dream _ourselves_ to be _others_,\u2014an ideal transmigration;\nthis is error. We wake to a sense of our own reality; this is truth.\n\nCAST. Yet this truth may be often withheld by potent impression, as in\nthe illusion of Rip Van Winkle, and the trances of Nourjahad. I believe\nthe waking mind of Caspar Hauser knew not the difference between dream\nand reality; he related his dream as _fact_.\n\nEV. If there were ever such a being as Caspar Hauser, his _life_ was a\n_dream_; for, without the culture of his mind, he would be reasonless.\n\n\n\n\n ANACHRONISM AND COINCIDENCE OF DREAMS.\n\n\n\u201c_Rom._ I dreamt a dream to night.\n _Merc._ And so did I.\n _Rom._ Well, what was yours?\n _Merc._ That dreamers often lie.\u201d\n ROMEO AND JULIET.\n\n\nASTR. Then we are to learn that the mind is ever _imperfect_ in a dream.\nBut, Evelyn, is not that rather perfection, which magnifies space and\ntime a million-fold, completing the labours of years in a second? The\ntime occupied with the dream must be limited, often far short of the\nseeming duration of a scene. Like the wonderful velocity of atoms of\nlight, the crude and heterogeneous ideas succeed each other with\nincalculable rapidity. We appear to have travelled over a series of\nmiles, or to have existed for a series of years, during a very minute\nportion of the night,\u2014how minute it is perhaps impossible to determine.\nI believe it is the Opium-Eater, still, who thus confesses:\u2014\u201cI\nsometimes seemed to have lived for seventy or a hundred years, in one\nnight; nay, sometimes, had feelings representative of a millennium\npassed in that time, or however of a duration far beyond the limits of\nany human experience.\u201d\n\nThis may be, as your smile implies, the dream of opium madness; but let\nthis dream of Lavalette, also, prove some truth in my illustration.\n\nThe count, during his confinement, had a frightful dream, which he thus\nrelates: \u201cOne night, while I was asleep, the clock of the Palais de\nJustice struck twelve, and awoke me. I heard the gate open to relieve\nthe sentry, but I fell asleep again immediately. In this sleep I dreamed\nthat I was standing in the Rue St. Honor\u00e9, at the corner of the Rue de\nl\u2019Echelle. A melancholy darkness spread around me; all was still.\nNevertheless a low and uncertain sound soon arose. All of a sudden I\nperceived, at the bottom of the street, and advancing towards me, a\ntroop of cavalry; the men and horses, however, all flayed. The men held\ntorches in their hands, the flames of which illumined faces without\nskin, and with bloody muscles. Their hollow eyes rolled fearfully in\ntheir large sockets; their mouths opened from ear to ear, and helmets of\nhanging flesh covered their hideous heads. The horses dragged along\ntheir own skins in the kennels, which overflowed with blood on both\nsides. Pale and dishevelled women appeared and disappeared alternately\nat the windows in dismal silence; low inarticulate groans filled the\nair, and I remained in the street alone, petrified with horror and\ndeprived of strength sufficient to seek my safety by flight. This\nhorrible troop continued passing in rapid gallop, and casting frightful\nlooks on me. Their march, I thought, continued for five hours, and they\nwere followed by an immense number of artillery waggons, full of\nbleeding corpses, whose limbs still quivered. A disgusting smell of\nblood and bitumen almost choked me. At length the iron gate of the\nprison, shutting with great force, awoke me again. I made my repeater\nstrike,\u2014it was no more than midnight, so that the horrible\nphantasmagoria had lasted no more than _ten minutes_; that is to say,\nthe time necessary for relieving the sentry and shutting the gate. The\ncold was severe and the watchword short. The next day the turnkey\nconfirmed my calculations. I nevertheless do not remember one single\nevent in my life, the duration of which I have been able more exactly to\ncalculate.\u201d\n\nCAST. You are modest, Astrophel. Think of the wonders of fairyland. Our\ndainty Ariel will \u201cplace a girdle round the world in forty minutes.\u201d\nAnd, even more wonderful still, I have read, in the \u201cArabian Tales,\u201d of\na monarch who immersed his head in a water bucket, and imagined he had\nin one minute traversed a space of infinite extent; and (though\nperchance I should crave pardon for any thing Evelyn may term an imputed\nmiracle, or imposture, yet) for a moment listen to that exquisite\npassage in the \u201cSpectator,\u201d which Addison pretends to have gathered from\nthe Koran, although I believe there is in that book no such story. \u201cThe\nangel Gabriel took Mahomet out of his bed one morning to give him a\nsight of all things in the seven heavens, in paradise, and in hell,\nwhich the prophet took a distinct view of, and after having held ninety\nthousand conferences with God, was brought back again to his bed. All\nthis was transacted in so small a space of time that Mahomet, at his\nreturn, found his bed still warm, and took up an earthen pitcher, which\nwas thrown down at the very instant that the angel Gabriel carried him\naway, _before the water was all spilt_.\u201d\n\nEV. If all the circumstances of these dreams were rational, I might\nagree with you, Astrophel; but the ideas are irrational which _so far_\noutstrip the facts of our experience; except in _their_ estimation who,\nlike the Hibernian, would value their watch because it went _faster than\nthe sun_. Now the extent of velocity in the ideas of _insane_ minds is\nequally extreme; and, when these anachronisms occur in dreams, the ideas\nare, I believe, ever false. Deeply interesting, however, are tales of\nsuch curiosities of dreaming, as those which the two Scottish\nphysicians, Abercrombie and Gregory, have recorded.\n\n\u201cA gentleman dreamed that he had enlisted as a soldier; that he had\njoined his regiment; that he had deserted; was apprehended and carried\nback to his regiment: that he was tried by the court-martial, condemned\nto be shot, and was led out for execution. At the moment of the\ncompletion of these ceremonies, the guns of the platoon were fired, and\nat the report he awoke. It was clear that a loud noise, in the adjoining\nroom, had both produced the dream and, almost at the moment, awoke the\ndreamer.\u201d\n\nThere was another gentleman who for some time, after sleeping in the\ndamp, suffered a sense of suffocation when slumbering in a recumbent\nposition; and a dream would then come over him, as of a skeleton which\ngrasped him firmly by the throat. This dream became at length so\ndistressing, that sleep was to him no blessing, but a state of torture;\nand he had a centinel posted by his couch, with orders to awake his\nmaster when slumber seemed to be stealing o\u2019er him. One night, ere he\nwas awakened, he was attacked by the skeleton, and a long and severe\nconflict ensued. When fully awake, he remonstrated with the watcher for\nallowing him to remain _so long_ in his dream, and, to his astonishment,\nlearned that his dream had been _momentary_, and that he was awoke _on\nthe instant_ that he had begun to slumber.\n\nBut granting your notions of dreaming perfections, Astrophel, there are,\nto a certain extent, even here, _analogies_. You forget that in our\nwaking moments our ideas are often so fleet as to be profitless to our\njudgment; and why not in a dream? In the estimation of distance, with\nwhat velocity the train of reasoning passes through the mind! Ere we\nhave formed our notions of an object, how instantaneous our reflections\non all its qualities\u2014its brilliancy of colour, its apparent magnitude,\nits form, &c., and the angle of inclination in regard to the axis of the\neye; and our conclusions (for judgment is awake) are echoes of the\ntruth. But _in the dream_ is it so? No. We get the idea (as Mr. Locke\nhas written) of time or duration by reflecting on that train of ideas\nwhich succeed each other in the mind. In waking hours the judgment\nclearly regulates this; but in dreams this course of reflection is\n_impeded_, and the measurement of time is imperfect and erroneous, so\nthat it is the common characteristic of a dream, that there is _no idea\nof time_; the past and the future are equally present.\n\nStart not, if to strengthen this my illustration, I lead you again into\nthe mad-house; again unconsciously combine a dream with insanity, in\nquoting these expressions of the Rev. Robert Hall (from \u201cGreen\u2019s\nReminiscences\u201d), in allusion to his first attack of mania. \u201cAll my\nimagination has been overstretched. You, with the rest of my friends,\ntell me that I was only seven _weeks_ in confinement, and the date of\nthe year corresponds, so that I am bound to believe you, but they have\nappeared to me like seven _years_. My mind was so excited, and my\nimagination so lively and active, that more ideas passed through my mind\nduring those seven weeks than in any seven years of my life. Whatever I\nhad obtained from reading or reflection was _present to me_.\u201d\n\nIDA. The apparent anachronism of such dreams, Evelyn, refers to\n_imperfect_ function. Yet he will remember we are reasoning as _finite\nbeings_. True, Malebranche has asserted, that \u201cit is possible some\ncreatures may think half an hour as long as we do a thousand years, or\nlook upon that space of duration which we call a minute, as an hour, a\nweek, a month, or a whole age. But in regard to the prospect of\nfuturity, of a more perfect state, who of us can decide that this\nseeming illusion is not one evidence of the divine nature of mind; a\nremote resemblance, if I may presume so to say, of one attribute of the\nCreator, to whom a thousand years are as one day?\u201d\n\nI have learned from your own theory, Evelyn, that mind is either\nimperfect or passive in the dream. Does not this passive condition\nitself imply inspiration? For is not that, in which are produced\n_results_, while itself is _inactive_, under the special influence of\nsome high power, as were the visions of the holy records?\n\nAlthough I may not yield my entire belief in the fallacy of modern\ninspiration because it is not _proved_, yet I have not listened to your\nlearning, Evelyn, without some leaning to the apparent truth of your\ndissertations. I might hesitate to confess myself your pupil; still, the\nincidents you have adduced will make me pause, ere I again blend profane\narguments with the truths of holy writ. Yet I cannot yield the feeling,\nthat the dream is an _emblem_, at least, of immortality.\n\nAs a beautiful illustration of such philosophy, I remember (in\nFulgosius) a legend told by Saint Austin to Enodius:\u2014\n\nThere was a physician of Carthage, who was a sceptic regarding\nimmortality and the soul\u2019s separate existence. It chanced one night that\nGenadius dreamt of a beautiful city. On the second night, the youth who\nhad been his guide reappeared, and asked if Genadius remembered him; he\nanswered, yes, and also his dream. \u2018And where,\u2019 said the apparition,\n\u2018were you then lying?\u2019 \u2018In my bed, sleeping.\u2019 \u2018And if your mind\u2019s eye,\nGenadius, surveyed a city, even while your body slept, may not this pure\nand active spirit still live, and observe, and remember, even though the\nbody may be shapeless or decayed within its sepulchre?\u2019\n\nThe dreams of Scripture, those \u201cthoughts from the visions of night, when\ndeep sleep came upon men,\u201d were associated with the mission of an angel,\nor immediate communion with the Deity. For He has said, in the twelfth\nof Numbers, that he would \u201cspeak to his prophets in a dream:\u201d from the\nfirst and self-interpreting dream of Abimelech, the visions interpreted\nby the inspired propounder Joseph, the first dream of the New Testament,\nthe fulfilment of the Annunciation, the impressive trance of Peter, in\ncoincidence with the visions of the centurion, even to the holy visions\nof the Apocalypse.\n\nIndeed, the surpassing evidence and truth in all, but especially in the\ninspired interpretation of Joseph of the dream of Pharaoh, and those of\nthe still _more_ inspired oneirocritic, Daniel, cannot be compared with\naught profane.\n\nThe prophet not only _expounded_, but _reminded_ Nebuchadnezzar of his\ndream, when he himself had forgotten it. This was the result of special\nprayer to the Deity; and, remember, without this, the Chaldeans failed\nin their efforts. Even Josephus informs us, that Daniel \u201cforetold good\nthings and pleased, so that he was deemed divine.\u201d And you have read,\nthat Saul also prayed for a dream, but HE _dreamt not_, because he was\nnot holy. And there are holy precepts regarding dreams, which are\nrecorded to curb our superstitious reliance on _all_. We have assurances\nof true dreamers in the first chapter of Matthew, the second of the\nActs, in Deuteronomy, and the thirty-fourth of Ecclesiasticus; the\nlanguage of the son of Sirach was, that \u201c_common_ dreams only serve to\nlift up fools.\u201d With these reservations, I do believe that the real\ninspiration of a spirit is the gift only of the holy and the good; so\nthat the presumption of divination and prophecy by _profane_ dreamers is\nan illusion; yet, I acknowledge with John Wesley, that many have been\nconverted by a dreaming conscience; as we read of impressive dreams,\nwhich have effected the conversion of others by the mere recital.\nWilmot, Earl of Rochester, was a sceptic; but, as we are informed by\nBurnet in his \u201cLife and Death,\u201d his mind was first led to the conviction\nof an immaterial spirit, by the prophetic dream of his mother, the Lady\nde la Warre, foreboding truly his own death.\n\nAnd I must ever admire the moral wisdom of Zeno, which (according to\nPlutarch) induced him to regard a dream as the test of virtue; for, if\nin his dream his heart did not _recoil_ from vicious suggestions, there\nwas an immediate necessity of self-examination and repentance. I cannot\nforbear adding, that there is much wisdom in the estimation of his\nvision, by one of the shepherd kings of Egypt, Sabaco. He dreamed that\nthe tutelary deity of Thebes enjoined him to kill the priests of Egypt,\nand, for this unmerciful injunction from the gods, that _they deemed him\nunfit for the throne_, he went into self-exile, to \u00c6thiopia.\n\nEV. The conclusions of these moralists from dreaming impressions were\nsomewhat straightlaced: yet _your_ reflections, Ida, point to the safest\nmode by which we may reconcile the conflict of the divine and the\nphysiologist, and, above all, evince our devotion to the Creator;\nnamely, to argue on creation as we _see it_, and on revelation as we\n_see it recorded_.\n\nYet, with a mock solemnity, dreams and apparitions have been first\nadduced as proofs of the soul\u2019s immortality; and then, in the same\nargument, are themselves proved _by_ this immortality; the points of the\nsyllogism are reversed, and we have _petitio principii_, a begging of\nthe question.\n\nThis hypothesis of dreaming has formed the basis of certain religious\nimpostures. Among others, of Dubricius and Comedius; and, above all, the\nfanatical visions of Emanuel Swedenborg, who founded his especial sect,\nby the declaration of having visited Paradise.\n\nIn our analysis of revelation, the conflict of two powerful minds might,\non doctrinal points, attack, and in the end annihilate, the faith of\neach, in their struggle for the victory; which may remind you of the\nmurders both of Protestants and Papists, especially in Ireland,\nresulting from the wild excitement of fanaticism and bigotry; and the\npersecutions which have, as history records, sprung from debates on holy\nsubjects. Remember the martyrdom of the amiable and beautiful Anne\nAscue, who was burnt at the stake for dissenting from the theological\ntenets of Henry VIII., regarding the real presence. On the rack, her\nsilence was a model of heroism, for she might have impeached the queen\nand her ladies; and Wriothesly, the chancellor, it is said, in his rage\nto extort the secret, _himself_ stretched the wheel, so as almost to\ntear her body asunder.\n\nAnd then the blasphemy of that convocation, summoned in the reign of\nMary Tudor, to renew the discussion on that sacred point of\ntransubstantiation, between the Protestants and the Romanists;\u2014but I\nleave this topic to the mild theologian, who will confess it would have\nwithheld a stain from the page of history, had these mock religionists\nacknowledged, with the pious Pascal, that \u201cthe sublime truths of our\nreligion and the essence of the immortal spirit are inexplicable by the\ndeepest research of wisdom, and are unfolded only by the inspired light\nof revelation.\u201d\n\nNow it was clear that the dreams of the classic poets were not _all_\ntruly prophetic; and in accordance with this are their delineations of\nthe house of sleep. Indeed we may almost fancy, for a moment, that there\nmight be some reality in these poetical surveyors, until we reflect that\nthe Roman notions were plagiaries from the Greeks.\n\nIt is true, the locality of this Palace of Somnus, like the site of\nTroy, is not a little diversified by Homer and the rest; but, whether it\nbe Lemnos, or \u00c6thiopia, or Cimmeria, these are its descriptions:\n\nFirst, of Homer,\u2014\n\n \u201cImmur\u2019d within the silent bower of sleep,\n Two portals firm the various phantoms keep:\n Of iv\u2019ry one, whence flit, to mock the brain,\n Of winged lies a light fantastic train.\n The gate oppos\u2019d, pellucid valves adorn,\n And columns fair incased with polish\u2019d horn;\n Where images of truth for passage wait,\n With visions manifest of future fate.\u201d\n\nAnd Virgil\u2019s is a close copy.\n\nIn the \u201cCity of Dreams,\u201d of Lucian, the blasphemer (whose beauties are\nstained by their impieties), these eternal gates are again alluded to.\nBut the dreams in this city are all deceivers; for when a mortal enters\nthe gates, a circle of domestic dreams in a moment unfold to him a\nbudget of intelligence, which proves to be a tissue of lies.\n\nTertullian, and many others, have argued the notion of a _special\npurpose_ of the Deity in _every dream_. And the \u201cNew Moral World\u201d of the\nvisionary Owen, asserts, that \u201cone chief source of our knowledge is\ndreams and omens.\u201d\n\nIn the eras of inspiration, few will be sceptical enough to doubt the\noccurrence of divine mediations; or not to believe, with Socrates, and\nother sages, in the divine origin of dreams and omens.\n\nThe evidence of Holy Scripture again proves the _occasion_, indeed the\n_necessity_, for such communication; but, in our own time, I deem it\nlittle less than profaneness, to imagine that the Deity should indicate\nthe future occurrence of common-place and trivial incidents through the\nmedium of an organ, confessedly in a state of _imperfection_, at the\nmoment when the faculties of mind are returning from a state of\ntemporary suspension,\u2014a death-like sleep.\n\nEven John Wesley believed dreams to be \u201c_doubtful_ and _disputable_;\u201d\nand adds, with a half-profanation,\u2014\u201cthey _might_ be from God, or might\nnot.\u201d\n\nThe Emperor Constantine, you know, denounced death to all who dared to\nlook seriously into the secrets of futurity.\n\nWhen we reflect that the proportion of events, seemingly the fulfilment\nof a dream, is to the myriads of forebodings which never come to pass\n(as the dreams recorded with some solemnity by Herodotus, of Alcibiades;\nof Cr\u0153sus, regarding his son Atys; of Astyages and the vine; of\nCambyses, respecting Smerdis; and of Hamilcar, at the siege of\nSyracusa;) as a drop in the ocean, the fallacy of the doctrine must be\nevident. I marvel much that credulity, in this reflecting age, can gain\na single proselyte.\n\nThe magi of Persia and the soothsayers of Greece and Rome were\n_constantly in error_; and Artemidorus Miraldus, who in the reign of\nAntoninus wrote his voluminous book \u201cOneirocriticus,\u201d has given us the\nmost ridiculous interpretations.\n\nWhen the pagan priesthood of old lay down on the reeking skins of their\nvictims to rouse the inspiration of their dreams, it was to cheat their\nproselytes. Such were the mummeries in the Temple of \u00c6sculapius. The\ndevotees were first purified by the \u201clustral water;\u201d and then divine\nvisions came over them, and priestesses in snowy robes, and a venerable\npriest in the habit of \u00c6sculapius, paraded round the altar, and the\ncharm was complete.\n\nYou may learn from Martin something about the modern influence of such a\ncharm.\n\n\u201cMr. Alexander Cooper, present minister of North-uist, told me that one\nJohn Erach, in the Isle of Lewis, assured him that it was his fate to\nhave been led by his curiosity to some who consulted this oracle, and\nthat he was a night within the hide as above mentioned, during which\ntime he felt and heard such terrible things that he could not express\nthem; the impression it made on him was such as could never go off, and\nhe said for a thousand worlds he would never again be concerned in the\nlike performance, for this had disordered him to a high degree. He\nconfessed it ingenuously and with an air of great remorse, and seemed to\nbe very penitent under a just sense of so great a crime: he declared\nthis about five years since, and is still living in the Lewis for any\nthing I know.\u201d\n\nIn imitation of this spell for the divine inspiration of a dream, the\nmodern Franciscans, after the ceremony of mass, throw themselves on mats\nalready consecrated by the slumber of some holy visionary, and with all\nthis foolery, they vaunt the divine inspiration of _their_ dream.\n\nCicero, and Theophrastus, and many other sages, were sceptical of these\nspecial visitations, and explained _rationally_ dreams and divinations,\nas Cicero his dream at \u00c6tina, on his flight from Rome.\n\nThen there is this anathema of Ennius:\u2014\n\n\u201cAugurs, and soothsayers, astrologers, diviners, and interpreters of\ndreams I never consult, and despise their vain pretence to more than\nhuman skill.\u201d And also this caution bequeathed to you by Epictetus:\n\u201cNever tell thy dream; for though thou thyself mayest take a pleasure in\ntelling thy dream, another will take no pleasure in hearing it.\u201d\n\nASTR. Epictetus was himself a dreamer in this; for the story of a dream\nis ever listened to with interest. And what would Epictetus think, were\nI to tell him that broad lands and mitres have been gained before now by\nthe shrewd _putting of a dream_?\n\nEV. I confess, as in the illusion of phantoms, there are records of very\nstrange coincidences in dreaming, which may be startling to many\nsuperficial minds.\n\nPereskius, the friend of Gassiendi, after a severe fever, in 1609, was\nengaged in the study of ancient coins, weights, and measures. One night,\nhe dreamed he met a goldsmith at Nismes, who offered him a coin of\nJulius C\u00e6sar for four _cardecues_. The next day this incident was\nrepeated to him _in reality_. But _he_ was a philosopher, and deemed it,\nas it was, but a rare coincidence.\n\nThere were two sisters, who (as a learned physician has recorded) were\nsleeping together during the illness of their brother. One of these\nladies dreamed that her watch, an old family relic, had stopped, and, on\nwaking her sister to tell of this, she was answered by her thus: \u201cAlas!\nI have worse to tell you: _our brother\u2019s breath is also stopped_.\u201d On\nthe following night, the same dream was repeated to the young lady. On\nthe morning after this second dream, the lady, on taking out the watch,\nwhich had been perfect in its movement, observed that it had indeed\nstopped, and at the same moment she heard her sister screaming; the\nbrother, who had been till then apparently recovering, had just\n_breathed his last_.\n\nThese are sequences, and not _con_sequences: and I might adduce a mass\nof these mere coincidences, which have been stretched and warped, to\nmake up a prophecy. Such as the following legend of Sergius Galba, told\nby Fulgosius: \u201cGalba had coquetted with two marble ladies,\u2014the Fortune,\nat Tusculum, and the Capitoline Venus; and, to adorn the neck of the\nfirst, he had purchased a brilliant diamond necklace. But the charms of\nthe Venus of the Capitol prevailed over her rival, and the necklace was\nat length presented to the goddess of beauty. At night, the form of\nFortune appeared to him in his sleep, upbraiding him with his falsehood,\nand telling him that he should be deprived of all the gifts she had\nlavished on him, and Galba, as the story goes, soon after died.\u201d\n\nBut, if dreams are essentially prophetic, why are they not _all_\nfulfilled? and if _one_ is not fulfilled, how know we if _all_ will not\nbe equally fallacious? The argument for the prophetic nature is merely\n_\u00e0 posteriori_, the shallow \u201cpost _hoc_, _ergo_ propter _hoc_,\u201d of the\nsophist. On the occurrence of any important event, all the auguries and\ndreams which bear the slightest semblance to a prophecy are immediately\nadduced, and stretched and warped _to suit_ the superstition; as the\nwhimsical mother will account for the marks on her child by frights and\nlongings. When we know that myriads of enthusiasts and hypochondriacs\nhave, by the failure of their predictions, deserved the stigma of false\nprophets, we may surely class these phantasies among the popular\n_errors_ of the time.\n\nYet the fulfilment of a prophecy _may be_ consequence; and that without\nthe imputation of falsehood or imposition, or of any special\ninterference. (I am not recanting my opinions, Astrophel.)\n\n1st. Through the effect of an _imparted impetus_.\n\n2nd. _Foresight_, from the study of events and character.\n\n3rd. Constant _thinking_ on one subject.\n\n4th. _Impressions_ of terror or alarm, from spectres, sybils, &c.\n\nAs there are dreams from impressions on the body during sleep, so are\nthere diseased tissues in the brain, which light up phantoms of terror\nand death perfectly prophetic. But wherefore so? Merely because they are\n_induced_ by that disease which usually terminates _in_ death. Such were\nthe dreams during the nightmare which preceded, and, I believe, still\nprecede, the epidemic fevers in Rome, and in those of Leyden, in 1669,\nwhen the patient fell asleep, and was attacked by _incubus_ before each\nexacerbation. The _impersonation of death_ was the prevailing phantom of\ntheir dream, and in reality death soon followed.\n\nAmong those heathen tribes, where superstition and ignorance form part\nof a national creed, there is a degree of blindness and inconsistency\nthat may truly be termed _mania_. It is the doctrine, not of prophecy,\nbut of debased and absolute fatalism. The North American Indians not\nonly regard the dream as prophetic, but often receive it as a solemn\ninjunction, and are themselves the active agents in its fulfilment. \u201cIn\nwhatever manner,\u201d says Charlevoix, \u201cthe dream is conceived, it is always\nlooked upon as a thing sacred, and as the most ordinary way in which the\ngods make known their will to men. Filled with this idea, they cannot\nconceive how we should pay no regard to them. For the most part they\nlook upon them either as a desire of the soul, inspired by some genius,\nor an order from him, and, in consequence of this principle, they hold\nit a religious duty to obey them. An Indian, having dreamt of the\namputation of his finger, had it really cut off as soon as he awoke,\nfirst preparing himself for this important action by a feast!\u201d\n\nAmong more enlightened people there may be an inducement to action from\nthe impression of a dream; here, also, the consequence is the fulfilment\nof the prophecy. Such, Astrophel, were the dreams of Arlotte and Cadiga;\nof Judas Maccab\u00e6us; of Sylla; of Germanicus; and of Masulenius; and the\ndream of the priestess of Proserpine, on the eve of Timoleon\u2019s\nexpedition from Corinth to Syracuse, that Ceres volunteered to be his\ntravelling companion into Sicily. The dream of Olympia, that she was\nwith child of a dragon, might both have suggested the mode of education,\nand incited the warlike spirit of Alexander.\n\nWe know that the city of Carthage was rebuilt by Augustus C\u00e6sar, in\nconsequence of the dream of his uncle Julius.\n\nAnd we read in the travels of Herbert, that Cangius, the blacksmith of\nMount Taurus, aspired to, and gained dominion over the Tartars from a\nsimilar influence, and from his name has the title of \u201cChan\u201d been since\nconferred on some of the most warlike monarchs of the East.\n\nThere was a dream of Ertercules that was warped, by Edebales, into the\ninterpretation, that Oman should be born to him, and become a great\nconqueror.\n\nI have known the dreams of young ladies often prove the inducement to\ntheir marriage.\n\nI may remind you, too, that even a simple waking incident will impart\nthis power of action. It is a record of history, that Robert Bruce\nslept, during his wandering, in the barn of a cottage. As he was lying,\nhe saw a spider attempt to climb to the roof; twelve times the insect\nfailed ere it gained its point. This potent lesson of perseverance\ninstantly flashed across his mind, and in a few days was won the field\nof Bannockburn. Be sure the _seers_ termed this an _omen_.\n\nThe seduction of Helen was the result of a dream of high promise, made\nto Paris by the phantom of Venus.\n\nScott (who was executed at Jedburgh, in 1823, for murder) confessed that\nhe had dreamed of such a crime for many years ere its committal.\n\nOf the result of _constant dwelling on an interesting subject_, I may\nadd these illustrations.\n\nAntigonusa, King of Macedonia, anticipated (according to Plutarch) the\nflight of his prisoner Mithridates to the Euxine.\n\nOf such a nature were the dreams of the Emperor Julian and of\nCalphurnia, if indeed these were more than fable; and such was the dream\nof Cromwell,\u2014that he should be the greatest man in England. In all\nthese, and a thousand more, the mere constant thinking excited the\ndream. The ambitious thought of Cromwell was constantly haunting his\nwaking moments, pointing to personal aggrandisement, and, of\nconsequence, imparted a like character to the dream of his slumbers.\nCould we have penetrated the privacy of Ireton, and Lambert, and other\nPresbyterian leaders, we should discover that such ambitious\nprepossessions were not confined to the bosom of the Protector.\n\nThe grandfather of the poet Go\u00ebthe, on the death of an old counsellor at\nFrankfort, assured his wife of his confident belief, that the golden\nball, which elected the vacant counsellor, would be _drawn for him_. And\nthis belief arose from a dream; in which he went in full costume to\ncourt, when the deceased counsellor rose from his seat and begged him to\noccupy the chair, and then went out of the door. Go\u00ebthe _was_ elected.\n\nAnd yet divines especially are determined to look beyond nature for\ncauses, and refer all this to _divine foreknowledge_, imparted to the\nmind of man. There is a solemn letter, written in 1512, by Cardinal\nBembo, to one of the Medici, recounting how he was opposed in a suit\nagainst one Simon Goro, by Giusto, and how his mother dreamed that\nGiusto wounded him in the right hand, and besought him not to have\naltercation with him. It chanced that Giusto, who, it seems, was\nsomewhat deranged, snatched Bembo\u2019s papers from his hand, and\nafterwards, by the Rialto, wounded him in the second finger of the right\nhand. Now is not this a very shallow incident? and yet the sapient\ncardinal deems it essential to _confirm his tale_ by a solemn\nattestation, thus: \u201cThe dream of my mother I look upon as a revelation;\nand I declare to you, magnificent lord, by that veneration which we owe\nto God himself, that this recital is the pure and single truth.\u201d\n\nThe proofs of an apparent prophecy from foresight may be seen in those,\nwho by reflection have attained either a worldly or a _weather_ wisdom.\nThe sea captain, who has looked out upon the sky at night, and has\nlearned the foreboding signs of a storm, will often dream of shipwreck;\nand the politician will dream of events, as well as predicate\nconsequences, from an _enlightened reflection_ on the motives of the\nhuman mind, and the general laws which indeed influence its actions. So\nthat, with a little latitude, it were easy enough for us all to\nconstruct an almanac column, especially if there be granted to us a\nliberal allowance of \u201cmore or less about this time.\u201d\n\nAbove all, it is our duty to _avert the impressions of evil_ from the\nsuperstitious mind. The _apprehension_ of a misfortune or fatality may\nprove its _cause_. Ay, and if the intellect were really gifted with\nprescience, how oft would the happiness of life be blighted?\n\nThe allegory of the tree of knowledge is a practic precept for our\nlives.\n\nASTR. And yet Virgil has thus alluded to the delight of peeping into\nfuturity:\n\n \u201cFelix qui potuit rerum cognoscere causas.\u201d\n\nEV. _I_ would rather echo the benevolent precept of Horace, to ensure\nthe bliss of ignorance on this point:\n\n \u201cTu ne qu\u00e6sieris, scire (nefas) quem mihi, quem tibi,\n Finem Dii dederint.\u201d\n\nin other words: \u201cSeek not to know the destiny that awaits us.\u201d\n\nAnd Milton\u2019s wisdom, too:\n\n \u201cLet no man seek\n Henceforth, to be foretold what shall befall\n Him or his children: evil, he may be sure,\n Which, neither his foreknowing can prevent;\n And he the future evil shall, as less\n In apprehension than as substance, feel\n Grievous to bear.\u201d\n\nListen to the melancholy influence of the dream and death of Glaphyra,\nas told by Josephus:\n\n\u201cShe was married when she was a virgin to Alexander, the son of Herod,\nand brother of Archelaus, but since it fell out so that Alexander was\nslain by his father, she was married to Juba, the King of Lydia; and\nwhen he was dead, and she lived in widowhood in Cappadocia with her\nfather, Archelaus divorced his former wife Mariamne, and married her, so\ngreat was his affection for this Glaphyra, who during her marriage to\nhim saw the following dream:\u2014she thought she saw Alexander standing by\nher, at which she rejoiced and embraced him with great affection, but\nthat he complained of her, and said to Glaphyra: \u2018Thou provest that\nsaying to be true, which assures us that women are not to be trusted.\nDidst not thou pledge thy faith to me? and wast thou not married to me\nwhen thou wast a virgin? and had we not children between us? Yet hast\nthou forgotten the affection I bare to thee out of a desire for a second\nhusband. Nor hast thou been satisfied with that injury thou didst me,\nbut thou hast been so bold as to procure thee a third husband, and hast\nbeen married to Archelaus\u2014thy husband and my brother. However, I will\nnot forget my former affection for thee, but will set thee free from\nevery such reproachful action, and cause thee to be mine again as thou\nonce wast.\u2019 When she had related this to her female companions, in a few\ndays\u2019 time she departed this life.\u201d\n\nThe fatality which coincided with the prophetic warning of Lord\nLyttelton, might well be adduced as another illustration, were it not\nfor some imputation of suicidal disposition in that nobleman, which\nwould more forcibly invalidate the prophetic dignity of his dream.\n\nI may relate another story, not remotely illustrative of this influence,\nfrom Brand\u2019s \u201cPopular Antiquities.\u201d\u2014\u201cMy friend, the late Captain Mott,\nR. N., used frequently to repeat an anecdote of a seaman under his\ncommand. This individual, who was a good sailor and a brave man,\nsuffered much trouble and anxiety from his superstitious fears. When on\nthe night watch, he would see sights and hear noises, in the rigging and\nthe deep, which kept him in a perpetual fever of alarm. One day the poor\nfellow reported upon deck, that the devil, whom he knew by his horns and\ncloven feet, stood by the side of his hammock on the preceding night,\nand told him that he had only three days to live. His messmates\nendeavoured to remove his despondency by ridicule, but without effect.\nAnd the next morning he told the tale to Captain Mott, with this\naddition, that the fiend had paid him a second nocturnal visit,\nannouncing a repetition of the melancholy tidings. The captain in vain\nexpostulated with him on the folly of indulging such groundless\napprehensions. And the morning of the fatal day being exceedingly\nstormy, the man, with many others, was ordered to the topmast to perform\nsome duty among the rigging. Before he ascended, he bade his messmates\nfarewell, telling them that he had received a third warning from the\ndevil, and that he was confident he should be dead before night. He went\naloft with the foreboding of evil on his mind, and in less than five\nminutes he lost his hold, fell upon the deck, and was killed upon the\nspot.\u201d\n\nWere an aversion to these gloomy fancies inculcated, it might avert many\na fatal foreboding, which, even in our own enlightened era, has closely\nresembled the fate of the African victims of Obi; that magic\nfascination, which its Syriac namesake, Obh, works by spell, until the\ndoomed one pines to death, with the deep conviction that he is under the\nban of an enchanter.\n\n\n\n\n MATERIAL CAUSES OF DREAMS.\n\n\n \u201c_Iago._ Nay, this was but his dream.\n _Othello._ But this denoted a _foregone conclusion_;\n \u2019Tis a shrewd doubt, tho\u2019 it be but a dream.\u201d\n OTHELLO.\n\nASTR. We looked for more from you, Evelyn, than these _proofs of a\nnegative_.\n\nI presume still to think your philosophy is very weak in controversion\nof the _inspiration_ of a dream, and its supernatural causes. _I_ cannot\nbut believe, with Baxter, that dreams may be \u201cspirits in communion with\nus.\u201d\n\nEV. And you will define these shadowless ministers in the fashion of\nMaster Richard Burthogge, Medicin\u00e6 Doctor, (in his book, printed by\nRaven, in the Poultry, in 1694.) I have a smack, you see, of medical\nbibliomania, Astrophel. Burthogge, although one of the most rational\ninterpreters of dreams and spectres, thinks their internal causes\n_purely metaphysical_; and then refutes his own opinion point blank by\nthis sophistry,\u2014that \u201cthere are things _incorporated_, but _invisible_,\nwhich we call spirits;\u201d as who should say, with Shakspere\u2019s fairies, \u201cWe\nhave the gift of fern seed; we are invisible.\u201d\n\nNo; we will account for the causes of dreams, Astrophel, without the\nministry of spirits.\n\nAnalyzing, then, the notions of all, it is clear that the essence of the\ndream is _recurrence of ideas_. In the words of Walpole,\u2014\u201cThe memory\nretains the colouring of the day.\u201d\n\nNow memory is the first faculty to fail in age, and you know old people\nseldom dream: the same objects are applied, but there is little or no\nassociation, for the brain is dull and feeble; imbecility, indeed, is\n_mad memory_.\n\nThe two common periods associated with the dream, are the past and the\nfuture, involving memory and prognostication; the latter being but the\n_memory of an intention_,\u2014an image excited in the mind by analogy. Even\nwhen _present_ sensations excite the dream, it is ever associated, as\nyou remember, with something _before seen or felt_.\n\nThe waking thought will thus again modify the dream; and Dr. Abercrombie\nhas a curious illustration of this combining of two minds,\u2014one waking\nsubject, one dream, and one disturbing cause.\n\nThe French invasion was the universal topic in Edinburgh; and the city\nwas, indeed, one company of volunteers. It was decided that the tocsin\nof alarm on the approach of the enemy, was to be the firing of the\ncastle guns, followed by a chain of signals. At two, an officer was\nawoke from a vivid dream of guns and signals, and reviews of troops, by\nhis lady, who herself was affrighted by a similar dream, with a few\nassociations of a _different_ nature. And whence all this alarm?\u2014_the\nfalling of a pair of tongs on the hearth_, the noise of which was quite\nsufficient for the production of their dreaming associations.\n\nASTR. It would seem to me that Evelyn was too anxious to find employment\nfor the brain, in thus imputing so much to _substantial_ causes.\n\nThere is a funny scrap, I remember to have read, and of which I may\nshrewdly suspect my friend to be the scribbler. \u201cWhence we may compare\nthe powers of mind to a court of judicature:\u2014the outward senses being\nas the solicitors that bring the causes; the common sense, as the master\nof requests, who receives all their informations; and phantasy (or\nimagination), like the lawyers and advocates that bandy the business to\nand fro in several forms, with a deal of noise and bustle; reason, as\nthe judge, that having calmly heard each party\u2019s pretensions, pronounces\nan upright sentence; and memory, as the clerk, records the whole\nproceedings.\u201d But say, if the dream is but the memory of an impression,\nare metaphysics to be counted as a _cypher_, in our discussion of the\nnature of intellect?\n\nEV. Nay, the psychologist must ever call metaphysics to his aid,\nespecially when speaking of the health or disorder of mind: there is an\nintimate blending of metaphysics and philosophy. But believe not,\nAstrophel, that I presume to develope that mysterious influence which is\ngoing on between mind and matter, so essential to the manifestation of\nthe former, _during its earthly condition_. The mystery will ever be a\nsealed letter to the intellect. It is enough that we have evidence of\nits existence without yearning for deeper insight of _final causes_. I\nhave assured you that I do not believe thought or reflection, or any act\nof mind to be _material_, and speak even with all due courtesy to the\nabstract metaphysician, and the divine who, doubtless from pure and holy\nmotives, would seek to cut the Gordian knot of this sublime enigma.\n\nEven Dr. Abercrombie is content with observing that the correction of\nillusions by the sane mind is by the comparing power of reason, but he\nleaves the _illusion itself unexplained_. Indeed, the most luminous of\npathologists have ever feared to touch organization; Sir Humphrey Davy\nleaves his beautiful imaginings vague and inconclusive, because he stops\nshort of the brain.\n\nThe mere psychologist will ever persevere in placing even the _palpable_\ncauses of illusion beyond the reach of our inquiries.\n\nThus the rhapsodies of Lucretius were a series of professed fables, and\nthe theories of Macrobius a tissue of capricious distinctions, as you\nmay learn from his classification.\n\n1st. \u03bf\u03bd\u03b5\u03b9\u03c1\u03bf\u03c2, _somnium_, dream. A figurative vision to be interpreted.\n\n2nd. \u03bf\u03c1\u03b1\u03bc\u03b1, _vision_. A vision which has afterwards been exactly\nfulfilled.\n\n3rd. \u03c7\u03c1\u03b7\u03bc\u03b1\u03c4\u03b9\u03c3\u03bc\u03bf\u03c2, _oraculum_. An intimation in sleep of what we ought to\ndo.\n\n(I suppose as the shade of Hector appeared to \u00c6neas, warning him, the\nnight before, to escape from the flames of Troy.)\n\n4th. \u03b5\u03bd\u03c5\u03c0\u03bd\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd, _insomnium_. A sort of night-mare.\n\n5th. \u03c6\u03b1\u03bd\u03c4\u03b1\u03c3\u03bc\u03b1, _visus_ and _incubus_.\n\nHere is a perfect jumble of classification, the first three only being\nvaunted as prophetic, or inspired; the fourth a night-mare; and the\nfifth, if it be any thing, a spectral illusion.\n\nOthers have deemed themselves mighty wise in discovering dreams to be\nthe \u201caction of intellect on itself.\u201d\n\nAbercrombie, the most learned analyst of the mind since Reid and\nStewart, has four varieties of the dream:\n\n1st. From wrong association of new events.\n\n2nd. Trains of thought from bodily association.\n\n3rd. Revival of old associations.\n\n4th. Casual fulfilment of a dream!\n\nYou perceive the first and third are merely memory, with right and wrong\narrangements; the second, excitement of ideas from present sensations;\nthe fourth, if it be not a mere coincidence, is the result, as I have\nexplained, of imparted impetus, or deep thinking on _subjects presented\nto the mind_. The eccentricities of dreaming are not more curious than\nthose of the reminiscent faculty when _awake_; indeed, memory itself may\nseem to be sometimes dreaming, and at others even _fast asleep_. Those\nwho survived the plague in Athens (as we read in Thucydides), lost for a\ntime the recollection of names, their own and those of their friends,\nand did not regain it until their health was re-established.\n\nMori, during his frequent moods of excitement, quite lost his memory of\nmusic, so that, for many minutes, he could neither read a note nor play\nfrom memory.\n\nThere have been persons who have very suddenly forgotten their own\nnames, which they were about to announce on a visit to a friend.\n\n\u201cMr. Von B\u2014\u2014, envoy to Madrid, and afterwards to Petersburg, a man of\na serious turn of mind, yet by no means hypochondriacal, went out one\nmorning to pay a number of visits. Among other houses at which he\ncalled, there was one where he suspected the servants did not know him,\nand where he consequently was under the necessity of giving in his name,\nbut this very name he had at that moment entirely forgotten. Turning\nround immediately to a gentleman who accompanied him, he said, with much\nearnestness, \u2018For God\u2019s sake, tell me who I am.\u2019 The question excited\nlaughter, but as Mr. Von B\u2014\u2014 insisted on being answered, adding that\nhe had entirely forgotten his own name, he was told it; upon which he\nfinished his visit.\u201d\n\nThe eccentric impressions of this faculty will be often _intermittent_,\nor marked by sudden yet regular remissions.\n\nThere is a very curious case on record, of a lady whose \u201cmemory was\ncapacious, and well stored with a copious stock of ideas. Unexpectedly,\nand without any forewarning, she fell into a profound sleep, which\ncontinued several hours beyond the ordinary term. On waking, she was\ndiscovered to have lost every trait of acquired knowledge; her memory\nwas a blank. All vestiges, both of words and things, were obliterated\nand gone; it was found necessary for her to learn every thing again. She\neven acquired by new efforts the art of spelling, reading, writing, and\ncalculating, and gradually became acquainted with the persons and\nobjects around, like a being for the first time brought into the world.\nIn these exercises she made considerable proficiency; but, after a few\nmonths, another fit of somnolency invaded her. On rousing from it, she\nfound herself restored to the state she was in _before the first\nparoxysm_; but she was wholly ignorant of every event and occurrence\nthat had befallen her afterwards. The former condition of her existence\nshe now calls the _old_ state, and the latter the _new_ state; and she\nis as unconscious of her double character as two distinct persons are of\ntheir respective natures. For example, in her old state, she possesses\nall her original knowledge; in her new state, only what she acquired\nsince. If a lady or gentleman be introduced to her in the old state, and\n_vice vers\u00e2_ (so indeed of all other matters), to _know them_\nsatisfactorily she must learn them in both states. In the old state she\npossesses fine powers of penmanship, while in the new she writes a poor\nawkward hand, not having had time or means to become expert! During four\nyears and upwards, she has had periodical transitions from one of these\nstates to the other. The alterations are always consequent upon a long\nand sound sleep. Both the lady and her family are now capable of\nconducting the affair without embarrassment; by simply knowing whether\nshe is in the old or new state, they regulate the intercourse, and\ngovern themselves accordingly!\u201d\n\nOther instances are more protracted; the impressions _previous to a\ncertain moment_ only being capable of renewal.\n\nMrs. S\u2014\u2014, an intelligent lady, belonging to a respectable family in\nthe state of New York, some years ago undertook a piece of fine\nneedle-work. She devoted her time to it almost constantly for a number\nof days; but before she had completed it she became suddenly delirious.\nIn this state, without experiencing any material abatement of her\ndisease, she continued for about seven years, when her reason was\nsuddenly restored. One of the first questions which she asked on this\nconvalescence _related to her needle-work_. It is a remarkable fact\nthat, during the long continuance of her delirium, she said nothing, so\nfar as was recollected, about her needle-work, nor concerning any such\nsubjects as usually occupied her attention when in health.\n\nWe read in Dr. Abercrombie, of a lady reduced by disease, in whose mind\nthe _memory of ten years was lost_. \u201cHer ideas were consistent with each\nother, but they referred to things as they stood before her removal (to\nEdinburgh).\u201d\n\nIn these instances it is probable that the fault may be referred to the\n_original_ impression, some disorder or state of the brain causing it to\nbe only _superficially_ impressed during these ten years of oblivion.\n\nThere is a curious story in the history of the Royal Academy of\nSciences, which Beattie has recorded in these words:\u2014\n\n\u201cA nobleman of Lausanne, as he was giving orders to a servant, suddenly\nlost his speech and all his senses. Different remedies were tried,\nwithout effect, for six months; during all which time he appeared to be\nin a deep sleep or deliquium, with various symptoms at different\nperiods, which are particularly specified in the narration. At last,\nafter some chirurgical operations, at the end of six months his speech\nand senses were suddenly restored. When he recovered, the servant to\nwhom he had been giving orders when he was first seized with the\ndistemper, happening to be in the room, he asked whether he had executed\nhis commission; not being sensible, it seems, that any interval of time,\nexcept, perhaps, a very short one, had elapsed during his illness.\u201d\n\nIDA. I have read two stories of melancholy romance, which are not\n_mal-\u00e0-propos_ to your arguments, Evelyn, in which the memory of one\nintense impression has \u201cgone into a being,\u201d influencing the current of\nevery after-thought, and the mind seeming ever after unconscious of all\npast or present, _but the incident of one moment_.\n\nA gentleman, on the point of marriage, left his intended bride for a\nshort time. He usually travelled in the stage-coach to the place of her\nabode; but the last journey he took from her was the last of his life.\nAnxiously expecting his return, she went to meet the vehicle, when an\nold friend announced to her the death of her lover. She uttered an\ninvoluntary scream, and one piteous exclamation, \u201cHe is dead!\u201d From this\nfatal moment, for _fifty years_, has this unfortunate female daily, in\nall seasons, traversed the distance of a few miles to the spot where she\nexpected her future husband to alight from the coach, uttering, in a\nplaintive tone, \u201cHe is not come yet; I will return to-morrow.\u201d\n\nA young clergyman, on the eve of marriage, received a severe injury.\nDuring his future life of celibacy, which was protracted to the 80th\nyear, this one idea only possessed his mind, that his hour of happiness\nwas approaching, and to the last moment he talked of his marriage with\nall the passion of a devoted lover.\n\nEV. Thanks to your _own_ memory, Ida, for these incidents. That the\npossession of the faculty of this _impression_ of memory can be\ndemonstrated, we might doubt, were _verbal_ description _only_ employed;\nbut when we see the artist trace the features of a person long lost to\nus _from memory_, we know that such ideas existed, and were then\n_re-excited_ in his mind.\n\nThe power of the intellect in retaining these impressions is wonderful.\nCyrus is said to have remembered the names of all his soldiers, and\nThemistocles those of two thousand Athenians.\n\nWe have records from Seneca and others, that some will remember, after\none perusal or hearing, very long poems; and even have repeated, word\nfor word, the unconnected jumble of a newspaper. Pascal, as we are told\nby Locke, _never forgot anything_. Almost equally retentive was the\nmemory of my excellent teacher, Sir Astley Cooper, and hence his nearly\nunexampled accumulation of facts. The memory of Ben Jonson was retentive\nto perfection, until the fortieth year of his age. In his youth, he\ncould repeat an entire volume after its perusal; nay, even the _whole_\nof his own works, or as he quaintly writes, \u201cAll that ever I made.\u201d We\nknow that Bloomfield composed his \u201cFarmer\u2019s Boy\u201d in the bustle of a shoe\nmanufactory, and wrote from his memory.\n\nASTR. I have heard that the particles of the body are constantly\nchanging: if so, how can memory _exist_ in the brain?\n\nEV. The answer is easy. Because particles of exact similarity are\ndeposited as others are removed. The parts thus regenerated, of whatever\n_structure_ they may be, still being identical and unchanged in\nfunction.\n\nIf the dream _be_ an inspiration, Astrophel, it is like \u201ca spirit of the\npast,\u201d and does not \u201cspeak like sybils of the future.\u201d\n\nBut ere I offer some analogies of _waking_ memory, in illustration of\nthe causes of the dream, I must again fatigue you by a glance at the\nphysiology of memory; the origin or mode of impression of a sense, and\nthe mode of recurrence of such impression, _i.e._ the _excitement of the\ndream_.\n\nAristotle has asserted that senses cannot receive material objects, but\nonly their _species_, or \u03b5\u03b9\u03b4\u03c9\u03bb\u03bf\u03bd; and Mr. Locke entertained the same\nidea. For this effect, however, matter must have _touched a sense_, and\nits impression, as Baron Haller thought, must have been mechanical. For\ninstance, the rays emanating from a body, and impinging on the retina,\nor an undulation of sound on the labyrinth of the ear, _stamp an image\non the brain_, by which, (in accordance with a prior observation on\nillusion,) some minute change is inevitably effected; some minute\n_cerebral atoms_ are displaced.\n\nIf you propose to me that curious physiological question,\u2014in what\nconsists the function of a nerve\u2014in oscillation, or in undulation of a\nfluid, in electricity, or in magnetism? or how the nerve carries this\nimpression to the brain? or if you desire me to meet the subtle\nobjection, which Dr. Reid advanced against the opinion of Aristotle and\nof the more modern psychologists,\u2014I might weary you with conjectures\nlike those of Newton and Hartley, that some ethereal fluid was, by the\nimpulse of peculiar stimulus to its nerve, the cause of the senses; or\nthat the mental phenomena are an imparting, or influence of the\nimmaterial soul by corporeal vibration; or that dreams are \u201c_motions of\nfibres_:\u201d and at length, with humility confess this to be a mystery we\ncannot yet fathom. And this I do the more willingly, as it may prove my\ndevotion to the _proper limits of our study_; moreover, the question\nitself is not essential to my argument.\n\nYet it is certain that external impressions of every object or subject,\nreach the brain through the medium of a nerve; and when the _same\nfibrils_ of those nerves, or _that spot_ of brain on which the original\nimage rested, are _again_ irritated by their proper stimulus, or by the\nsame or a similar body, _an association is produced, and memory is the\nresult_.\n\nFor the insurance of this sense of touch, and feeling, and perception,\nit is essential that the impression at the end of a nerve shall be\nperfectly transmitted along its course to the brain, so that the brain\nshall be _conscious_, or sensible of this impression. For if a nerve be\ncut asunder, or a ligature be placed on any portion of it between the\nskin and the brain, _the sensation instantly ceases_. It is not\nessential, however, that the contact should take place at the moment of\nthe perception; and the explanation of this involves one of the most\ncurious phenomena of the body\u2019s feeling; and, indeed, the metaphysical\nmystery of the nature of memory, which is too abstruse a point to be\ntouched by us here. After amputation, the patient may still complain of\npain, and heat, and cold, _in the dissevered limb_; he experiences the\nmemory of a sensation; he feels, as it were, the ghost of his arm or\nleg. On the night succeeding the operation, the groaning patient has\noften cried out to me, with pain in the toe or finger of that limb; and\nwhen he is moved or shifts his position, he will attempt to hold his\nleg, or will beg his nurse to take care that she does not touch or run\nagainst it. Nay, I have frequently, on asking a patient how he felt,\neven after the lapse of many months from the operation, been answered,\nthat he was well, but had not lost the pain in his leg; or that his leg\nor his arm were lying by his side, when perhaps the limb was undergoing\nthe process of maceration in the dissecting-room, or the bones were\nbleached and dangling in the museum.\n\nThe pain, or common feeling of the limb, has stamped an image or\n_eid\u014dlon_ on the brain, which is not easily effaced; there remains an\n_internal sensibility_ on this point of memory. If the subject be\nsubsequently presented to the mind by a touch at the end of the stump,\nor even by a thought, the idea of the limb that had lain dormant, will\nbe re-excited by that wondrous sympathy of brain and nerve, and the\nresult will be a consciousness of having once possessed, or of having\nexperienced a pain in this leg.\n\nAnd, on this principle of the force of memory, we may explain many of\nour excited feelings: those which remain after we have been wafted in a\nboat, or rolled along in a carriage, or whirled aloft in a swing; the\nnervous impression in the brain is re-excited ere it was exhausted.\n\nNow, an image may be stamped on the brain, _in a tumult_, without our\ncognizance or perception, and then revived in slumber;\u2014we wake in\nwonder at having seen what we never saw or thought of before. Such is\nthe dream of Lovel, in the \u201cAntiquary;\u201d and such the _rationale_ of that\ntale of mystery, respecting the \u00a36. in the Glasgow bank, which a dream\nseems certainly to have developed.\n\nAnd it is evident that these impressions may recur the easier in\nslumber, because there is no _fresh_ impression on the senses to produce\nconfusion. But then all these images may be presented at _one_ time; so\nthat we may have either a chaos, or a correct concatenation,\u2014an\nincident, which Hobbes and other early metaphysicians confess to be\ninexplicable to _them_.\n\nIn the words of Spurzheim, \u201cMemory is the reproduction of a perception;\u201d\nand Gall believed that \u201cRemembrance is the faculty of recollecting _that\nwe have perceived_ impressions; and memory, the recollection of the\n_impressions themselves_.\u201d\n\nI read, that Esquirol has drawn a distinction between hallucination and\nillusion,\u2014the first is from within, the second from without. The\nargument I have adduced of memory and impression,\u2014the one at the\nbeginning, the other at the end, of nerves,\u2014will, I think, illustrate\nthis perfectly. Hallucination, being _internal_, is of the _past_;\nillusion, _external_,\u2014of the _present_.\n\nAnother metaphysician, Bayle, it is clear, was not ignorant of the basis\nof phrenology, or of this difference, when he alludes to \u201ccertain places\non the brain, on which the image of an object, which has no real\nexistence _out of_ ourselves, might be excited.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n INTENSE IMPRESSION.\u2014MEMORY.\n\n\n \u201cThe dream\u2019s here still: even when I wake, it is\n Without me as within me; not imagined, felt.\u201d\n CYMBELINE.\n\nEV. I believe, then, that waking and slumbering association is _memory_;\nand I have interposed the glimpse of metaphysics to break the monotony\nof my illustrations, for they are not yet exhausted.\n\nA gentleman, as we read in Dr. Pritchard\u2019s work, was confined, after a\nsevere accident, for several weeks, and the accident was not once during\nthis period remembered by him; but, on his convalescence, he rode again\nover the same ground, and all the circumstances instantly flashed across\nhis mind.\n\nIn their youth, Dr. Rush escorted a lady, on a holiday, to see an\neagle\u2019s nest. _Many years_ afterwards, he was called to attend her in\nthe acute stage of typhus; and, on his entrance into her chamber, she\ninstantly screamed out, \u201cEagle\u2019s nest!\u201d and it is said, from this\nmoment, the fever began to decline.\n\nWe ourselves have witnessed these flashes of memory more than once,\nduring the acuteness of brain fever, where journeys, and stories, and\nstudies, have been renewed after they had been long forgotten.\n\nThere are many romantic incidents in illustration which have been\nbeautifully wrought into a poem, or drama, as that play of Kotzebue,\nwritten to illustrate the happy success of the Abb\u00e9 de l\u2019Ep\u00e9e in France,\nin imparting knowledge and receiving sentiments from the deaf and dumb.\nIn this, the young Count Solar, by gestures, unfolds, step by step, his\nbirth-place, and at length screams with joy, as he stands before the\npalace of his ancestors.\n\nThen there is the story of little Montague, who was decoyed by the\nchimney sweep. Some time after this, the child was engaged to clean the\nchimney of a mansion, and, descending into a chamber, which had been\nindeed his own nursery, lay down, in his sooty clothes, on the quilt,\nand, by this happy memory, discovered his aristocratic birth. This is\nthe incident which still enlivens the pageantry of May-day.\n\nThese reminiscences will occur sometimes in the most sudden and\nunexpected manner. In one of the American journals, we are told of a\nclergyman, who, at the termination of some depressing malady, had\ncompletely lost his memory. His mind was a blank, and he had, in fact,\nto begin the world of literature again. Among other of his studies was\nthe Latin language. During his classical readings with his brother, he\none day suddenly struck his head with his hand, and stated that he had a\nmost _peculiar feeling_, and was convinced that he had _learned all this\nbefore_.\n\nBo\u00ebrhave, in his \u201cPrelectiones Academic. Institut. Med.,\u201d relates the\ncase of a Spanish tragic writer, whose memory, subsequently to an acute\nfebrile disease, was so completely impaired, that not only the\nliterature of various languages he had studied was lost to him, but also\ntheir elements, the alphabets. When even his own poetic compositions\nwere read to him, he denied himself to be the author. But the most\ninteresting feature of the case is this: that, on becoming _again_ a\nvotary of the Muse, his recent compositions so intimately resembled his\noriginal productions in style and sentiment, that he no longer doubted\nthat both were the offspring of his own imagination.\n\nEven Priestley\u2019s master-mind was sometimes sleeping thus, being subject\n(to quote his own words) \u201cto humbling _failures of recollection_;\u201d so\nthat he lost all ideas of things and persons, and had so forgotten his\nown writings, that, on the perusal of a work, he sat himself to make\nexperiments on points which _he had already illustrated_, but on which\nhis mind was then a \u201c_tabula rasa_.\u201d\n\nAbove all, the superlative memory of Sir Walter lay in a deep sleep,\nafter a severe indisposition. It is recorded by Ballantyne, that when\n\u201cthe Bride of Lammermoor, in its printed form, was submitted to his\nperusal, he did not recognize, _as his own_, one single incident,\ncharacter, or conversation it contained; yet the original tradition was\nperfect in his mind. When Mrs. Arkwright, too, sung some verses _of\nhis_, one evening, at Lord Francis Egerton\u2019s, the same oblivion was o\u2019er\nhis mind, and he whispered to Lockhart, \u2018Capital words;\u2014whose are they?\nByron\u2019s, I suppose; but _I don\u2019t remember them_.\u2019\u201d\n\nMy friend, Dr. Copland, informed me (in May, 1839) of a lady of fifteen,\nMiss D\u2014\u2014, who, in consequence of extreme exhaustion from disorder,\nforgot all her accomplishments, and had to begin her education afresh.\n\nThe Countess of Laval had, in her childhood, been taught the Armorican\nof Lower Brittany (which is a dialect of the Welch), but had, as she\nbelieved, forgotten it. On attaining the adult period, this lady had an\nacute fever, and, during her delirium, she ceased to speak in her native\nlanguage, and chattered fluently in the bastard Welch.\n\nA foreign gentleman, as we were told by Mr. Abernethy, after an accident\non the head, spoke French only, and quite forgot the English, which he\nhad before this spoken very fluently.\n\nA Welch patient, in St. Thomas\u2019s Hospital, some years since, having\nreceived an injury, began to speak in Welch, and ever after continued to\ndo so, although before his accident he constantly conversed in English.\n\nOn the contrary, we learn, from Dr. Pritchard, of a lady who, after a\nfit of apoplexy, forgot her _original_ language (the English), and spoke\nonly in French, so that her nurses and servants conversed with her only\nby interpreters.\n\nThere may be a _partial_ derangement of memory, _one set of impressions_\nonly being erased.\n\nA friend of Dr. Beattie, in consequence of a blow on the head, lost only\nhis attainments in _Greek_; and Professor Scarpa (whose _corpus\nstriatum_ was disorganised) lost only the memory of proper names.\n\nYou may now comprehend how instantaneously material impressions derange\nand destroy memory, and its converse, the production of memory _by_\nmaterial impressions, will be far less mysterious to you.\n\nBut creatures to which the gift of intellect is not granted, in which\n_innate ideas_ cannot arise, still evince the faculty of memory. It is,\ntherefore, possible that fish and insects, _possessing memory_, dream.\nOf course the doctrines of Pythagoras, and Simonides, and the story of\nthe interpretation of the language of birds by the vizier of Sultan\nMahmoud, are mere fables, and the cackling of the Roman geese was\n_accidental_; yet the bird does possess the memory of language, and the\npower of imparting ideas.\n\nNightingales\u2019 notes (as Bechstein has beautifully recorded them) seem to\nme like the Mexican language, and to express variety of sentiments of\nadoration and love. The parrot, magpie, jackdaw, jay, starling, and\nbullfinch, are prattlers; and the exquisite little canary, the pupil of\nmy friend, Mrs. H\u2014\u2014, the pet, indeed, not only of its mistress, but of\nstatesmen and learned physiologists, warbled its words in purest melody.\nFrom Sir William Temple we learn the faculty of the wonderful parrot of\nPrince Maurice, of Nassau, at the Hague, that responsed almost\n_rationally_ to promiscuous questions. Granting, then, this faculty of\nmemory, it is clear the bird may _dream_, and I may add one other\nquotation from the \u201cDomestic Habits of Birds,\u201d in proof of this.\n\n\u201cWe have, however, heard some of these night-songs which were manifestly\nuttered while the bird was asleep, in the same way as we sometimes talk\nduring sleep\u2014a circumstance remarked by Dryden, who says,\n\n \u201c\u2018The little birds in dreams their songs repeat.\u2019\n\n\u201cWe have even observed this in a wild bird. On the night of the 6th\nApril, 1811, about ten o\u2019clock, a dunncock (_accentor modularis_) was\nheard in a garden to go through its usual song more than a dozen times\nvery faintly, but distinctly enough for the species to be recognised.\u201d\nThe night was cold and frosty, but might it not be that the little\nmusician was dreaming of summer and sunshine? Aristotle, indeed,\nproposes the question whether animals hatched from eggs ever dream.\nMarcgrave, in reply, expressly says, that his \u201cparrot, Laura, often rose\nin the night, and prattled while half asleep.\u201d\n\nAmong quadrupeds, it is probable that those which, by their\nhalf-reasoning instinct, approach nearest to the power of comparison,\nand those which, in contrast to the _callous-hoofed_, possess an\nacuteness of feeling, and therefore the nearest approximate\nintelligence, are the most prone to dream.\n\nAlthough we know nothing of the dreams of that very learned dog, which\nLeibnitz assures us he saw, and which uttered an _articulate_ language,\nand often enjoyed a chat with his master; yet, of the _slumbering\nvisions_ of the canines I have many illustrations. _Vic_, a fat terrier,\nwas a somniloquist. She would bark, and _laugh_, and run round the room,\nor _against tables_; the surest proof of somnambulism. Indeed dogs are\ncelebrated by many poets for their dreaming propensities. Ennius\nwrites\u2014\n\n \u201cEt canis in somnis leporis vestigia latrat.\u201d\n\nAnd Lucretius has left us a very comprehensive poetical account of the\ndreams of brutes.\n\nEven Chaucer refers to these dreams; and in the Hall of Branksome,\n\n \u201cThe stag-hound, weary with the chace,\n Urged in dreams the forest race.\u201d\n\nIt is probable that the dreams of brutes are very _short_.\n\nFrom simple, unassociated memory, too, springs the dream of the\n_infant_; pure and innocent as the thought of a cherub. For delight is\nthe common feeling of a dreaming child; and when its lips are touched in\nsleep, the memory of its mother\u2019s bosom will excite its lips and tongue\nto the congenial action of suction, though a fright of the previous day\nwill change its slumbers into moments of terror, and it will murmur and\ncry in its dream.\n\nI believe it is Sir H. Wotton who lays much stress on the adoption of\n_plans of education_ for a child, grounded on the discovery of its\nsecret thoughts during its simple somniloquent dream.\n\nCAST. It is wonderful how vividly are revived in our dream those scenes\nof our early life, which our waking efforts could not recollect.\n\nThis did not escape Chaucer, as I remember in Dryden\u2019s version of a\nfable:\n\n \u201cSometimes forgotten things, long cast behind,\n Rush forward in the brain, and come to mind.\n The nurse\u2019s legends are for truths receiv\u2019d,\n And the man dreams but what the boy believ\u2019d.\n Sometimes we but rehearse a former play,\n The night restores our actions done by day.\u201d\n\nEV. Yet do not associate this brilliancy of infantine reminiscence with\n_vigour_ of the thought. The brain in children is, as it were, like wax,\n_easily impressible_. And remember, the _ideas_ of children are more\nresembling the _imperfect_ associations of our dreams; the tutorage of\nour advancing mind fills it with more serious and rational images\ncharacterized by judgment.\n\nThe first impressions of childhood are bright as fancy; so that we think\nin waking more of things present. But, in dreams of things long agone\nthere is, in fact, no complete oblivion, in a healthy mind, for any one\nof our infantile impressions _may_ chance to be brought to us in our\ndream.\n\nBut if impression be intense, it may assimilate that of childhood, and\nbecome as permanent. My friend, Dr. Uwins, told me of a patient who, in\na joke, once amused himself by throwing stones at the gibbeted pirates\non the bank of the Thames. An epileptic tendency succeeded; and ever\nafter this, his dreams were of gibbets and chains, and to that degree,\nthat his judgment and philosophy were powerless in controlling his\nfears.\n\nAnd in the book of the Prussian, Greding, we read of J. C. V., a youth,\nwho, in his eighth year, had been attacked by a dog. His future, and,\nindeed, nightly dreams, were of this creature, and these so intense, as\nto reduce his health to a very low degree.\n\nNow it is easy to believe the period of slumber so limited, that the\nsubject of reflection shall not have disappeared, that the thought had\nscarcely time to cool:\n\n \u201cLateat scintillula forsan.\u201d\n\nThus Moses Mendelssohn had all the sounds, heard during the day,\nreverberating in his slumbering mind.\n\nOr we may suppose, that the idea last imprinted on the mind, or by which\nit had been exclusively occupied, and the thoughts which are so much\nmodified by our temperament, study, and contemplation, would be the\n_first to influence as the mind awakened_, ere the image of fresh\nobjects had been again perceived.\n\nSir Walter, in his diary, thus writes: \u201cWhen I had in former times to\nfill up a passage in a poem, it was always when I first opened my eyes\nthat the desired ideas thronged upon me. I am in the habit of relying\nupon it, and saying to myself when I am at a loss, \u2018Never mind, we shall\nhave it all at seven o\u2019clock to-morrow morning.\u2019\u201d\n\nWarton, the professor of poetry at Oxford, after partaking of a Sunday\ndinner with a friend, repaired to his service at his Church. On his way,\nhe was powerfully saluted with a cry of \u201cLive mackarel.\u201d He slumbered in\nhis pulpit during the singing of the psalm, and, on the organ ceasing,\nhe arose, half awake, and instead of his solemn prayer, cried with a\nloud voice, \u201cAll alive, all alive oh!\u201d\n\nI remember the storytellers in the coffee-houses at Aleppo, as if aware\nof this _last impression_, used to run out when they perceived they had\n_excited a deep interest_.\n\nIDA. It is curious to hear, even by your own quotations, Evelyn, that\npoets have so revelled in the luxury of dreams, from Homer to Pope,\nchiefly employing them, however, as the _materiel_ of their poesy. Have\nthey condescended to glance at their causes?\n\nEV. Lucretius, Claudian, George Stepney, Dryden, and a few others.\n_Apropos_ as to causes.\n\nIn the \u201cAnatomy of Melancholy\u201d we have the following quaint summary: \u201cAs\nTully notes, for the most part our speeches in the daytime cause our\nphantasy to work upon the like in our sleep, so do men dream on such\nsubjects they thought on last:\n\n \u201c\u2018Somnia qu\u00e6 mentes ludunt volitantibus umbris,\n Nec delubra de\u00fbm nec ab \u00e6there numina mittunt,\n Sed sibi quisque facit,\u2019\u201d &c.\n\nFor that cause, when Ptolemy, king of Egypt, had posed the seventy\ninterpreters in order, and asked the nineteenth man what would make one\nsleep quietly in the night, he told him \u201cthe best way was to have divine\nand celestial meditations, and to use honest actions in the daytime.\u201d\nLod. Vives wonders how schoolmen could sleep quietly and were not\nterrified in the night, they had such monstrous questions and thought of\nsuch terrible matters all day long. They had need amongst the rest to\nsacrifice to god Morpheus, whom Philostratus paints in a white and black\ncoat, with a horn, and ivory box full of dreams of the same colours, to\nsignify good and bad.\n\n_Cast._ These are the manufacture, I presume, of two of those sons of\nsleep, born to him by a beautiful but erring grace, \u201cPhantasus,\u201d or\nFancy, and \u201cPhobetor,\u201d or Terror. With the relations and illustrations\nof these good and bad dreams, the pages of both fiction and authentic\nhistory abound: another poetical batch of causes, Ida. Lucia exclaims:\n\n \u201cSweet are the slumbers of the virtuous man,\n Oh Marcia! I have seen thy godlike father\u2014\n A kind refreshing sleep is fallen upon him.\n I saw him stretch\u2019d at ease, his fancy lost\n In pleasing dreams. As I drew near his couch,\n He smil\u2019d, and cried: \u2018C\u00e6sar, thou cans\u2019t not hurt me.\u2019\u201d\n\nAnother poet writes thus:\n\n \u201cBut most we mark the wonders of her reign,\n When sleep has lock\u2019d the senses in her chain:\n When sober judgment has his throne resign\u2019d,\n She smiles away the chaos of the mind;\n And, as warm fancy\u2019s bright elysium glows,\n From her each image springs, each colour flows.\n She is the sacred guest, th\u2019 immortal friend;\n Oft seen o\u2019er sleeping innocence to bend,\n In that dead hour of night, to silence giv\u2019n,\n Whispering seraphic visions of her heav\u2019n.\u201d\n\nThen Richmond exclaims: \u201cMy heart is very jocund in the remembrance of\nso fair a dream.\u201d While the coward conscience of Richard thus speaks:\n\n \u201cBy the apostle Paul, shadows to-night\n Have struck more terror to the soul of Richard,\n Than could the substance of ten thousand soldiers.\u201d\n\nAufidius thus recounts his slumbering memory of the prowess of\nCoriolanus:\n\n \u201cThis happy Roman, this proud Marcius, haunts me.\n Each troubled night, when slaves and captives sleep,\n Forgetful of their chains, I in my dreams\n Anew am vanquish\u2019d; and beneath his sword\n With horror sinking, feel a tenfold death\u2014\n The death of honour.\u201d\n\nAnd yet another:\n\n \u201cTho\u2019 thy slumber may be deep,\n Yet thy spirit shall not sleep.\n There are shades that will not vanish;\n There are thoughts thou canst not banish.\u201d\n\nAnd, lastly, Crabbe, in his \u201cWorld of Dreams:\u201d\n\n \u201cThat female fiend, why is she there?\n Alas! I know her. Oh, begone!\n Why is that tainted bosom bare?\n Why fixed on me that eye of stone?\n Why have they left us thus alone?\n I saw the deed\u2014\u2014\u201d\n\nASTR. You will drown us in a flood of Helicon, fair lady, if you thus\ndole out the thoughts of these maudlin poets. The records of national\nand domestic history, the dreams of the conqueror of thousands, and of\nthe midnight assassin, are replete with incidents, if we will search for\nthem, more impressive, ay, and more romantic, than all this rhyming; and\nfrom the legends of history alone I could select a legion of dreaming\nmysteries, which would dissolve all these fine-spun theories of Evelyn,\nregarding the _essence_, as he terms it, of the dream. He must adopt a\nclearer course, in showing us his _causes_, than by harping on this\nfavourite theme of _memory_; and we must listen through another\nmoonlight, ere we be made wiser, by the unfolding of this grand secret\nof visions.\n\n\n\n\n INFLUENCE OF DARK BLOOD IN THE BRAIN.\n\n\n \u201cI talk of dreams,\n Which are the children of an idle brain.\u201d\n ROMEO AND JULIET.\n\nEV. That I may explain to you the _predisposition_ of a dream,\u2014in other\nwords, the state of _broken slumber_,\u2014it is essential that I recur to\nthe physiology of the brain; and I must humble our pride, by combining\nsome of the debasing conditions of our nature, as influential on the\ndivine mind, through the medium of its _chambers of marrow_; for to the\nintimate condition and function of the brain and its nerves, and its\n_contained blood_, we must chiefly look for elucidation of the _physical\ncauses_ of a dream.\n\nYet I may even grant you, for an argument, Astrophel, the flight of an\nimmortal spirit, and all the amiable vagaries of Sir Thomas Brown;\nreserving to myself to prove at what moment we become conscious of this\nflight.\n\nIn natural actions, there are ever _three requisites_, like the points\nof a syllogism:\n\n 1. A susceptibility of influence;\n 2. The influence itself;\n 3. The effect of this influence:\n\nAnd these I call the _predisposing_, the _exciting_, and the _proximate_\ncauses.\n\n 1. The brain is brought to this susceptibility by excited\n temperament, study, intense and undivided thought; in short, by\n _any_ intense impression.\n\n 2. The influence or excitement is applied; congestion of blood\n producing impression on extremities, or origin of a nerve, at\n the period of departing or returning consciousness. At these\n periods, the blood changes, and I believe, _as it changes_, the\n phenomena of mind, as in the waking state, obey these\n changes:\u2014rational and light dreams being the effect of\n circulation of _scarlet_ blood; dull and reasonless visions and\n \u201cnight-mare,\u201d that of crimson, or _black_ blood.\n\n 3. The effect of this influence is recurrence of idea,\n _memory_,\u2014more or less erroneously associated, as the blood\n approximates to the black or scarlet state, or as the brain\n itself is constituted.\n\nNow it is essential to the perfect function of the brain, not only that\nit shall have a due supply of blood, but that this blood shall be of\nthat quality we term _oxygenated_. If there be a simple _deficiency_ of\nthis scarlet blood, a state of sound undisturbed sleep will ensue\n(slightly analogous to the condition of _syncope_, or fainting). This\nmay be the consequence of any _indirect_ impression, or the natural\nindication of that _direct_ debility, which we witness in early infancy,\nand in the \u201csecond childishness and mere oblivion\u201d of old age. But this\ndeficiency of arterial blood may be depending on a more positive cause,\n_venous congestion_, impeding its flow; for in sleep, the breathing\nbeing slower, the blood becomes essentially darker. Even arterial blood\nitself will become to a certain degree _carbonized_, by _lentor_, or\nstagnation. Venous congestion and diminution of arterial circulation are\nnot incompatible; indeed, Dr. Abercrombie reasons very ably on their\nrelative nature, implying the necessity of some _remora_ of venous\ncirculation to supply that want or vacuum which the brain would\notherwise experience from the deficiency of the current in the arterial\nsystem. Thus will the languid arterial circulation of the brain, which\ncauses sleep in the first instance, produce, secondarily, that\ncongestion of blood in the veins and sinuses, which shall reduce it to\ndisturbed slumber, and excite the dream. May we not account, on this\nprinciple, for the difficulty which many persons experience in falling\ninto a _second_ slumber, when they have been disturbed in the _first_?\n\nIDA. Combe, I believe, observed, through a hole in a fractured skull,\nthat the brain was elevated during an apparent dream.\n\nEV. This is a matter of frequent observation with us. There was, in\n1821, at Montpelier, a woman who had lost part of the skull, and the\nbrain and its membranes lay bare. When she was in deep sleep, the brain\nlay in the skull almost _motionless_; when she was dreaming, it became\nelevated; and when her dreams (proved by her relating them when awake)\nwere on vivid or animating subjects, but especially when she was awake,\nthe brain was _protruded through the cranial aperture_.\n\nBlumenbach states that he, himself, witnessed in one person a sinking of\nthe brain, whenever he was asleep, and a swelling with blood when he\nawoke. David Hartley, therefore, may be half right and half wrong when\nhe imputes dreams to an impediment to the flow of blood, a collapse of\nthe _ventricles_, and a diminished quantity of their contained _serum_.\n\nWe thus have not only a deficiency of _proper_ stimulus, but a\n_deleterious_ condition of the blood, which acts as a poison to the\nbrain. In fatal cases of coma and delirium, we observe deep red points,\nchiefly in the _cineritious_ part of the brain, from this congestion of\nits vessels. Sound sleep is thus prevented, but the congestion of\ncarbonized blood acting as a sort of narcotic, depresses the energy of\nthe brain so far as to prevent waking, inducing that middle state,\ndrowsiness or slumber; so that sleep may thus depend on congestion _from\nexhaustion_; and \u201cspectral illusion\u201d from congestion in that state\n_short of slumber_; and insanity itself from congestion _still more\ncopious and permanent_.\n\nFrom this results a disturbed condition of the brain; it is _irritated_,\nnot excited, by its healthy or proper stimulus; and it follows that such\nderangement of the manifestations of mind ensues as we term a dream.\nWaking, however, soon takes place, and the blood is more scarlet, and\nthe faculties themselves gradually awake. As this is more perfect, we\nremember the dream, and are enabled to explain it, and know _that it was\na dream_. The mind is now _restored_, so that scarlet blood indicates\n_healthy thought_, and black blood its _reverse_. Your pardon for this\nprolixity and dulness. The healthy or unhealthy crisis of the blood is a\nmost important subject in our argument, and too constantly slighted in\nthe question of illusion.\n\nMonsieur Denis records the story of a young man of Paris, in the 17th\ncentury, who was cured of a stubborn and protracted lethargy, by the\ntransfusion of the _arterial blood of a lamb_; and another of a recovery\nfrom madness, by that of the arterial blood of a calf, and these in\npresence of men both of _science_ and _high quality_.\n\nI do not affirm my implicit faith in this statement, of the effect of\n_gentle_ blood, but I am certain of the poisonous influence of that of\n_another quality_; and I will cite a passage from Hoffman, the German\npoet, whom Monsieur Poupon, in his \u201cIllustrations of Phrenology,\u201d\nadduces as a specimen of marvellousness, ere I offer my cases.\n\n\u201cWhy do my thoughts, whether I am awake or asleep, always tend, in spite\nof all my efforts, to the gloomy subject of insanity? It seems to me as\nif I felt my disordered ideas escaping from my mind, like _hot blood\nfrom a wounded vein_.\u201d\n\nThis was figurative, but it was true; for of itself this black blood may\nbe suddenly the cause of furious and fatal mania. When Dionis, in his\n\u201cCours d\u2019Op\u00e9rations de Chirurgie,\u201d is referring to that operation that\nhas lately, by its revival, occupied so much of the attention of the\nmedical world (the process of _transfusion_) he says: \u201cLa fin funeste de\nces malheureuses victimes de la nouveaut\u00e9, detruisit, en un jour, les\nhautes id\u00e9es qu\u2019ils avoient con\u00e7ues; ils devinrent foux, _furieux, et\nmoururent ensuite_.\u201d\n\nThe relief of the brain, by the escape of this blood, is of deeper\ninterest to science than the mere romancer may imagine.\n\nSir Samuel Romilly was for a moment, I believe, in a state of sanity,\nwhen blood had flowed from the divided vessels of his throat; for he\nattempted, it appeared, to stop its flow by thrusting the towel with\nsome force into the wound.\n\nSo diseases of the heart, by keeping the black blood in the brain,\npredispose to dreaming. During the age of terror in France, organic\ndiseases of the heart and _cases of mania_ were most prevalent.\n\nI may for a moment indulge in analogies regarding this arrest of the\nblood. Cases of inflammation of the ear are often seen in confirmed\nmaniacs (the _helix_ being usually the part most inflamed), and _black_\nblood often oozes from the part.\n\nM. Calmeil considers _chronic phlegmasia_ of the brain as the cause of\ninsanity, the derangement itself being, as it were, _the moral result_\nor disease, and the organic changes or proximate cause the _physical_\ndisease; both being but the _sequel\u00e6_, or consequence of inflammation.\n\nA boy, the servant of a medical friend (Mr. A\u2014\u2014), was, some years ago,\nplaced under my care for fever, with delirium. About the acme of his\ndisorder the impetuosity of the blood in the vessels of the head was\nsuch as to project his ears prominently forwards, like those of a satyr,\nor, as the gossips thought, rather of a demon. Yet all this subsided _as\nthe fever waned_.\n\nYet, believe me, I draw a decided distinction between mania and\ndreaming; though the phenomena may sometimes bear resemblance. In one\nessential point they differ; that the _transient_ illusion is not\nmanifested, except _during slumber_, or a state closely analogous to it,\nwhen the senses are languid, or asleep. It is true, however, the maniac\nwill, on his recovery, often _dream of the subject of his insanity_, yet\ninsanity is more exemplified by _action_, the dream being usually\n_passive_.\n\nThe predisposition to insanity is often, too, _hereditary_, so that the\nslightest moral influence, imperceptible perhaps to the physician, may\nincite such a mind to madness; for where there is _no_ predisposition,\nthat is, a perfect integrity of brain, a right judgment is evinced even\nunder the potent influence of the passions.\n\nAs the condition of insanity, so the illusive vision, does not always\nprimarily depend on _medullary_ disease; there are primary moral as well\nas physical causes. But even the exertion of thought, which the ultra\nspiritualist may term an immaterial faculty, is attended by increased\naction on the matter of the brain. The organ of mind will, if diseased,\n(though not always,) produce deranged actions. Yet it is equally true,\nif even a sound brain be _badly instructed_, and its passion\nuncontrolled, insanity may ensue; not however without quickly, I believe\n_immediately_, inducing structural change.\n\nOn one point, the dream and insanity are often _alike_; they are _mental\nfulfilments of a wish_: and the dreamer, during his slumber, and the\nmadman throughout his derangement, are presented with the spectra of\ntheir desires, and their hopes and fears become, _for these periods,\nreality_.\n\nIt was with a reference to the wanderings of the understanding in\ndreams, that Sir James Mackintosh thus writes in a letter to Robert\nHall:\n\n\u201cThese will familiarise your mind to consider its other aberrations as\nonly more rare than sleep and dreams, and, in process of time, they will\ncease to appear to you much more horrible.\u201d\n\nASTR. And pray, Evelyn, how doth all this profound prosing affect the\nsubject of dreams?\n\nEV. By similitude. I may even remind you with devout veneration, of the\ndreams of a prophet, to prove the brain highly sensitive when these\nvisions are before it. Listen to the words of Daniel, to whom \u201cGod gave\nknowledge and skill in all learning and wisdom.\u201d\n\n\u201cI, Daniel, was grieved in my spirit, in the midst of my body, and the\nvisions of my head troubled me.\u201d\n\n\u201cAnd I, Daniel, fainted and was sick certain days.\u201d\n\nEven here, may we not believe, that the Creator did not alter his law?\n\nIt was Dr. Cullen who first drew a parallel between insanity and dreams.\nAs some proof of his insight, we read in Lode of a man who never dreamed\nuntil he fell into a fever in the twenty-fifth year;\u2014in Beattie, of a\nyoung friend who never dreamt unless his health was deranged.\n\nAnd Mr. Locke thus writes: \u201cI once knew a man who was bred a scholar,\nand had no bad memory, who told me that he had never dreamed in his life\nuntil he had fever.\u201d\n\nThis immunity from dreams is also most marked in savages, unless during\ndisorder or at the dying moment. Ulloa, Humboldt, and La Condamine, all\nagree as to the character of indolence and absence of thought and fancy\nin the native Americans, and it is as sure that they seldom dream.\n\nNow whatever influence tends to arrest or derange the _upper\ncirculation_ of the blood in its return to the heart, or to detain it in\nthe vessels of the brain, or which presses on an important nerve, so as\nto disturb the function of the brain or _spinal cord_, by _continuous\nsympathy_, may be the _remote_ cause of the phenomena of dreaming.\n\nSuch are the results of repletion, _dyspepsia_, the supine position, &c.\n&c.\n\nAnd here, Astrophel, I meet your metaphysician.\n\nGalen, and indeed the ancients generally, attributed dreams chiefly to\nindigestion; but referred their immediate excitement to fumes and\nvapours, instead of to nervous influence, or cerebral congestion from\ninterrupted circulation.\n\nCAST. And here, Evelyn, courtesy might have prompted you to meet my\npoets. Let me see, is it not Dryden who writes of\u2014\n\n \u201c\u2014\u2014rising fumes of undigested food,\n And noxious humours that disturb the blood?\u201d\n\nAnd in a poem believed to have been written by Chaucer, there is this\npassage: can I remember his quaintness?\n\n \u201cI supposed yt to have been some noxiall fantasy,\n As fallyth in dremes, in parties of the nyght,\n Which cometh of joy or grievous malady;\n Or of robuste metes which causeth grete myght;\n Overmoche replet obscuryth the syght\n Of natural reasonne, and causyth idyll thowght,\n Makyth the body hevy where hyt was lyght.\u201d\n\nAnd again, in the tale of the \u201cNonnes Preest:\u201d\n\n \u201cSwevenes (dreams) engendren of repletions,\n And oft of fume and of complexions,\n When humours ben to habundant in a wight.\n Of other humours cou\u2019d I telle also,\n That werken many a man in slepe moch wo,\u201d &c.\n\nEV. I sit reproved, fair lady. Herodotus also says, the Atlantes never\ndream; which Montaigne refers to their never eating anything which has\ndied of itself. And Burton thus sums up his precepts of prevention:\n\n\u201cAgainst fearful and troublesome dreams, incubus, and inconveniences\nwherewith melancholy men are molested, the best remedy is to eat a light\nsupper and of such meats as are easie of digestion, no hare, venison,\nbeef, &c.; not to lie on his back,\u201d &c.\n\nDryden, to ensure his brilliant visions of poesy, ate raw flesh; and\nMrs. Radcliffe, I am told, adopted the same plan. We know that green tea\nand coffee, if we _do_ sleep, induce dreaming; and Baptista Porta, for\nprocuring quiet rest and pleasing dreams, swallowed _horse-tongue_ after\nsupper.\n\nIndigestion, and that condition which is termed a weak or irritable\nstomach, constitute a most fruitful source of visions. The immediate or\ndirect influence of repletion, in totally altering the sensations and\nthe disposition in waking moments, is a proof of its power to derange\nthe circulation of the brain and the mental faculties in sleep.\n\n \u201cSomnus ut sit levis, sit tibi c\u0153na brevis.\u201d\n\nThe influence of the great sympathetic nerve in this respect is very\nimportant. With many persons, a meal is usually followed by feelings of\ndepression, impaired memory, unusual timidity, despondency, and other\nillusive characteristics of _hysteria_ and _hypochondriasis_. And events\nwill appear of the greatest moment, which, after the lapse of some\nhours, will be considered mere trifles. So that, after all, there is\nsome truth in the idea of that _arch\u00e6us_, or great spirit, asserted, by\nVan Helmont, to sit at the _cardia_ of the stomach, and regulate almost\nall the other organs.\n\nThe posture of _supination_ will unavoidably induce that increased flow\nof blood to the brain which, under certain states of this fluid, is so\nessential to the production of brilliant waking thoughts; an end,\nindeed, attained so often by another mode\u2014the swallowing of opium.\n\nA gentleman of high attainment was constantly haunted by a spectre when\nhe retired to rest, which seemed to attempt his life. When he raised\nhimself in bed, _the phantom vanished, but reappeared as he resumed the\nrecumbent posture_.\n\nSome persons always retire to bed when they wish to think; and it is\nwell known that Pope was often wont to ring for pens, ink, and paper, in\nthe night, at Lord Bolingbroke\u2019s, that he might record, ere it was lost,\nthat most sublime or fanciful poesy which flashed through his brain as\nhe lay in bed. Such, also, was the propensity of Margaret, Duchess of\nNewcastle, who (according to Cibber, or rather Sheil, the _real_ author\nof the \u201cLives of the Poets\u201d) \u201ckept a great many young ladies about her\nperson, who occasionally wrote what she dictated. Some of them slept in\na room contiguous to that in which her grace lay, and were ready, at the\ncall of her bell, to rise any hour of the night to write down her\nconceptions, lest they should escape her memory.\u201d\n\nHenricus ab Heeres (in his \u201cObs. Med.\u201d) says, that when he was a\nprofessor, he used to rise in the night, open his desk, compose much,\nshut his desk, and again to bed. On his waking he was conscious of\nnothing but the happy result of his compositions.\n\nThe engineer, Brindley, even retired to bed for a _day or two_, when he\nwas reflecting on a grand or scientific project.\n\nI deny not that the darkness or stillness of night may have had some\ninfluence during this inspiration. I may also allow that some few\nindividuals compose best while they are walking; but this _peripatetic_\nexertion is calculated, itself, to produce what we term determination of\nblood to the head. I have heard of a most remarkable instance of the\npower of position in influencing mental energy, in a German student, who\nwas accustomed to study and compose with his head on the ground and his\nfeet elevated, and resting against the wall.\n\nAnd this is the fragment of a passage from Tissot, on the subject of\nmonomania:\n\n\u2014\u2014\u201cNous avons vu \u00e9tudier dans cette acad\u00e9mie il n\u2019y a pas long-temps,\nun jeune homme de m\u00e9rite, qui _s\u2019\u00e9tant mis dans la t\u00eate_, de d\u00e9couvrir\nla quadrature du circle, est mort, fou, \u00e0 l\u2019h\u00f4tel Dieu, \u00e0 Paris.\u201d\n\nYou will smile when I tell you that the tints of the landscape are\nbrighter to our eyes if we _reverse the position of the head_.\n\nAnd now, with your leave, gentle ladies, I will bring phrenology to my\naid.\n\nIf we assume that there may be distinct portions of the brain, organs of\ncomparison, individuality, causality, &c., we naturally regard _them_ as\nthe source of that combined faculty which we denominate _judgment_. We\nmight argue, that if these organs were _permanently_ deficient, fatuity,\nor, at least, extreme folly, would be the result. By parity of reasoning\nwe might infer, that if the function of such organs were _for a time\nsuspended_, imagination, having lost its mentor, would, as it were, run\nwild, and an extravagant dream, granting an excitement, would be the\nresult. If the organ of colour be excited, and form be asleep, we may\nhave an _eccentric drawing_. If language and imagination are both awake,\na poem or romance; so it _may_ chance, that if _all_ the proper organs\nare awake, there may be a rational dream.\n\nI yield not to the too finely-spun hypotheses of Gall, and his first\nwhimsical topography of the cranium; the incipient idea of which, by the\nby, he owes to the Arabian phrenologists who, even in the olden time,\nhad glimpses, although they decided on a different location. Imagination\nwas in the _frontal_ region, reason in the _medial_, and memory in the\n_occipital_.\n\nIn Dr. Spurzheim\u2019s beautiful demonstration of the brain, he exhibits it\nalmost as one large convoluted web. While the ultra-phrenologist is\nunravelling these convolutions, it is strange that he sees not the\ninconsistency of his cranial divisions. Some of the boundary lines of\nhis organs _must be drawn across_ these convolutions. It will ever be\nimpossible to decide the exact course of these, but the lines should be\ndrawn in the direction of their fibres; for if the faculty be seated in\none convolution, that faculty would proceed _in the course_ of its\nfibres, and not across the fissure from one lobule to another. Now the\nmost frequent coincidence of the possession of great mental power, with\nfull development of the frontal region of the skull, will naturally lead\nus to believe that it may depend on _causation_. Indeed a skull, as well\nas expression, may be phrenologically _changed_ by culture or thought.\nThe skull of William Godwin, in early life, indicated an _intellectual_\ndevelopment; then it became _sensual_, the _occipital_ organs being in\nexcess; and again, as his mind was subject to more moral culture, the\nintellectual or _frontal_ again prevailed. I am informed, also, by Miss\nA\u2014\u2014, that there was observed a progressive development of the\nintellectual region in the head of her father, an acute and deep\nthinker.\n\nWe have analogies to this in physiognomy. Caspar Hauser lost some of the\nnegro fulness about his mouth after he had been introduced to society.\nPerhaps the contrasted beauty and deformity in the forehead and eye, and\nin the mouth of Sheridan, was a faithful indication of that paradox of\nmind which was never more perfectly displayed than in the intellectual\ndignity and moral deficiency of this man. As no function, then, either\nof brain or gland, can be carried on without a due supply of blood, it\nwill follow that _position_ may materially influence the integrity of\nthese functions. The seat of the organs I have alluded to, if cranial\ndevelopment supports me, may be determined on the fore part of the head,\nbehind the _os frontis_, portions of the cerebral mass which, in the\n_supine_ position, are usually most elevated above the centre of\ncirculation. \u201cThe more noble the faculties, the higher are the organs\nsituated.\u201d These, consequently, may endure a deficiency of stimulus, in\ncomparison with other organs more favourably situated. The phrenologist,\nthen, will endeavour to prove, that the supine position generally\nproduces _vascular pressure_ on particular parts or organs of the\n_encephalon_; and he will argue that dreams arise from individual organs\nabstractedly or unconnectedly acting. There is one spot on the cranium,\nindeed, identified by Dr. Spurzheim as a most important item in the\ncomposition of a good dreamer. He tells us, that \u201cpersons who have the\npart above and a little behind the organ of _ideality_ developed, are\nmuch prone to mysticism, to see visions and ghosts, and to dream.\u201d\n\nIt may not be difficult to believe in this _partial_ function of the\nbrain, when we recollect how often the loss of one faculty will be\nconnected with _paralytic_ disorders. The faculty of _perception_ may be\nlost, unless the impression on the mind is made through a _particular_\nsense. Thus patients may be unable to comprehend that name or subject\nwhen it was _pronounced_, or related, which they will immediately do, if\n_written_ down and presented to the sight,\u2014_the optic nerve may\ntransmit while the auditory has lost its power_.\n\n \u201cSegnius irritant animos _demissa per aures_,\n Quam qu\u00e6 sunt _oculis subjecta_ fidelibus.\u201d\n\nOf this axiom there is an illustrative story, by Darwin, in his\n\u201cZoonomia.\u201d\u2014A paralytic man could see and hear, but the _mind_ was\n_conscious of vision only_. If the hour of breakfast were _named_ to\nhim, he repeated it and was passive; but if the hour were _pointed out_\non the watch, he comprehended at once, and called for breakfast.\n\nOn the contrary, there may be the same imperfection of _outward\ntransmission_; the _lingual nerves_, influencing the tongue to sound a\nname _inapplicable to the idea_, the person often reversing the names of\narticles which he is continually using.\n\nThese phenomena regarding nerves of sense, then, are strictly analogous\nto those which we recognize in those parts of the brain which are\nintimately connected with, or influenced by, these nerves of sense: thus\nin analogy to waking illusions, we have the _imperfect_ associations of\na dream when the organs are irregularly acted on.\n\n\n\n\n INCUBUS, OR NIGHT-MARE.\n\n\n \u201cO\u2019er ladies\u2019 lips, who straight on kisses dream.\u201d\n ROMEO AND JULIET.\n\n \u201cLet us be lead within thy bosom, Richard,\n And weigh thee down.\u201d\n KING RICHARD III.\n\nASTR. I will no longer hesitate to grant that the dream occurs in the\nmoment of departing or returning consciousness. Still, are you not\n_reversing_ the order of these phenomena? may not the excitement of\nvague ideas in the mind be, itself, the cause of waking, and not the\nconsequence of slumber, or half-sleep?\n\nEV. I believe not, except the sensibility of the body be influenced by\ntouch, or sound, or by oppressive congestions of blood in the brain,\ncausing that state of disturbance which reduces sound sleep to slumber;\nas in the instance of \u201cNight-mare,\u201d which is to the mind what sensation\nis to the body, restoring it to a state of _half-consciousness_,\nessential to that sort of dreaming, in which we make a painful effort to\nrelieve, and at last awake.\n\nCAST. Mara, by my fay! the night-spectre of Scandinavia; that evil\nspirit of the Runic theology, who weighed upon the bosom, and bereaved\nher victims of speech and motion: that oppressive dream, therefore,\ntermed _Hag-ridden_, or, in the Anglo-Saxon, _Elf-siderme_. Is it not\nshe, of whom it is written,\u2014\n\n \u201cWe seem to run, and destitute of force,\n Our sinking limbs forsake us in the course.\n In vain we heave for breath, in vain we cry;\n The nerves unbraced, their usual strength deny,\n And on the tongue the faltering accents die.\u201d\n\nEV. A very faithful picture.\n\nSound sleep will often be broken by pain or uneasiness occurring in a\nparticular part of the body; the dream will then often bear an\ninstructive reference to the seat and nature of such pain. If cramp has\nattacked any of the limbs, or the head has been long confined back, the\ndream may be enlivened by some analogous tortures in the dungeon of the\nInquisition; and it is curious, that a waking wish for some relief from\nunpleasant sensations will be _re_-excited in the dream,\u2014a _dreamy\nfulfilment_. Captain Back, during one of the Arctic expeditions, when\nnearly in a state of starvation, often dreamed of indulging in _a\ndelicious repast_. And Professor Stewart thus writes,\u2014\u201cI have been told\nby a friend, that, having occasion to apply a bottle of hot water to his\nfeet, he dreamed that he was making a journey to the top of Mount \u00c6tna,\nand that he found the heat of the ground insupportable. Another, having\na blister applied to the head, dreamed that he was _scalped_ by a party\nof Indians.\u201d\n\nIf on these occasions we are warm in bed, our dreams will be often\npleasing, and the scenes in the tropics; if _cold_, or chilly, the\nreverse, and we shall believe ourselves in Zembla.\n\nHolcroft had been musing on the probabilities of life and death, and one\nnight went in pain to bed. He dreamed his body was severed above his\nhips, and again joined in a surprising manner. He was astonished to\nthink he was alive, and afraid of being struck, lest the parts should be\ndissevered.\n\nTempests heard in a slumber will be often associated with a dream of\nshipwreck; and some persons will dream of their having given pain to, or\ninjured, others: they wake, and find some close analogy to _their own_\nsensations.\n\nIt is recorded that Cornelius Rufus dreamed that he was blind, and _so_\nindeed _he awoke_.\n\nIn other cases, we have the _double touch_, as it is termed; dreams of\nforcible detention occur, and the sleeper has found that he had with one\nhand tightly grasped the other. If this hand had been _moved in sleep_\nunconsciously, the dream, no doubt, would have been essentially changed.\nAnd thus we have all the phenomena realised, which Shakspere has\nreferred to in the visitations of his incorrigible Mab.\n\nElliston was always awaked by nightmare when sleeping in a strange bed.\n\nAs in some persons, by submitting the body to certain impressions during\nsleep, associated dreams may be produced at pleasure; so if the body or\nlegs hang over the side of a bed, we may instantly dream of falling from\na precipice: and it is curious that, under these illusions, we awake\nwhen we are past hope and our despair is at its height: in falling, at\nthe moment we are about to be dashed to atoms; and, in drowning, when\nthe last bubbles are gurgling in the throat.\n\nWhen we read in the Bodleian, Astrophel, I will point you to other\ncurious experiments of this sort, by M. de Buzareingries.\n\nSounds also may be partly associated with the dream at waking, and with\nreality, when awake. Under this illusive impression, even murder has\nbeen _innocently_ committed, on one, who waked, and stabbed his brother\nat the moment he was _dreaming_ of assassins.\n\nCAST. And so may be explained, I suppose, this funny anecdote. A young\nlover was drooping into a day-dream, while sitting with his brothers and\nsisters, and his thought had turned on the cruelty of his mistress. He\nwas for a moment dreaming of her, when pussy, stretching her paws,\nscratched his leg with a claw: there was an instant association, I\npresume, of the wound with the lady\u2019s cruelty, for he started and\nexclaimed, \u201cOh Arabella, don\u2019t!\u201d\n\nEV. Hippocrates quaintly alludes to the dreaming about seas and lakes as\nan indication of _hydrothorax_; and to others, as symptomatic of\n_effusion on the brain_: and it has been asserted, that gloomy dreams in\nfevers indicate danger. But all this is hypothesis; indeed, the\ndelirious dreams of fever are often bright and cheerful.\n\nThe \u201cOpium-Eater\u201d has a strange fancy regarding his dreams of \u201csilvery\nexpanses of water;\u201d \u201cthese haunted me so much, that I feared that some\ndropsical state or tendency of the brain, might thus be making itself\n_objective_, and the sentient organ project itself as its own object.\u201d I\nhope you understand this, Astrophel\u2014I do not.\n\nIn the morbid condition of _hypochondriasis_, which is a sort of\npermanent _daymare_, similar fancies are excited. Esquirol\u2019s patient at\nNotre Dame thought the pope held council in her belly;\u2014her intestines\nwere found _closely adherent_ together. Another monomaniac thought the\ndevil had stretched a cord across her stomach;\u2014her heart was _adherent\nto its bag_. Another believed that her body was stolen by the\ndevil;\u2014she was in reality paralytic, and _insensible_ to blows or\npricking.\n\nTo explain some of these illusions, Jason Pratensis very gravely\nasserts, that \u201cthe devil being a slender incomprehensible spirit, can\neasily insinuate and wind himself into human bodies, and, cunningly\ncouched in our bowels, terrify our souls with fearful dreams.\u201d\n\nI may add that we see, in some, a delirious _transmigration of\nsensation_. Parkinson relates these cases. One referred his own\nsensation to others, telling his nurse that his visitors were hungry,\nwhile his own voracity plainly indicated that the _hunger was in\nhimself_. Another, in a fit of intoxication, insisted on undressing all\nhis family, as they were drunk, and could not do it themselves.\n\nNow we certainly move ourselves unconsciously in our sleep as a relief\nfrom painful positions. If, however, these uneasy sensations are\nincreased from stagnant blood about the heart and lungs, the oppression\nis extreme, and _loads_ the moving powers; producing a transient agony\nand an intense effort. If this were unsuccessful on the limbs and\nspeech, the result would be often destructive.\n\nThe night-mare dreamers are usually lethargic, and their ideas are often\nwild and visionary.\n\nPolidori, the author of the \u201cVampire,\u201d was a prey to night-mare; he died\nwith a laudanum bottle in his bed. And Coleridge might have thus left a\nsad and pointed moral; blazoning his wretched suicide to that world,\nwhich unconsciously has pored with a thrill of admiration over those\nfruits of his delinquency, the romantic and unearthly stories of\nChristabel and the Ancient Mariner.\n\nThe grand feature of night-mare, then, is _impediment_: but how can I\nrecord all its varieties of miserable struggles; of attacks and\nmanglings from wild monsters: of the rolling of mountains on the heart:\nor the unhallowed embraces of a witch?\n\nThe young lady who reads mythology, will fancy herself a syrinx, and\nstruggle to escape from the amorous clutches of Pan. If we have been\nthinking of Chamouni and her giant peaks of snow, we may be overwhelmed\nin our sleep by the fall of an avalanche; or we may be dashed off a\nprecipice, and feel ourselves falling into interminable space without a\nhope of resting.\n\nA lady whom I know, and who is a frequent subject of night-mare, is very\nuniform in this dreamy occupation. She is shaken to and fro in her bed\nby fiends, and the process seems to her to occupy considerable time. And\nthere are many who are tortured by the feeling that they are buried\nalive, and attempt to cry out, and beat against their coffin-lid in\nvain. Aurelian writes, that the epidemics in Rome were premonished by\n_incubus_.\n\nThese, and thousands of a similar kind, might be cited; but a vivid\nimagination, with a hint or two, will readily create them at its\npleasure.\n\n\u201cA battalion of French soldiers, during the toils and dangers of a\ncampaign, were marching on a certain point on a most oppressive day, and\nat double the usual speed; their strength was eight hundred men, all\nhardy, seasoned, and courageous; careless of danger, despising the\ndevil, and little occupied with the thoughts of ghosts and\nphantasmagoria. On the night of the occurrence in question, the\nbattalion was forced to occupy a narrow and low building at Trop\u0153a,\nbarely calculated to accommodate three hundred persons. Nevertheless,\nthey slept; but, at midnight, one and all were roused by frightful\nscreams issuing from all quarters of the house; and to the eyes of the\nastonished and affrighted soldiers appeared the vision of a huge dog,\nwhich bounded in through the window, and rushed with extraordinary\nheaviness and speed over the breasts of the spectators. The soldiers\nquitted the building in terror. Next night, by the solicitations of the\nsurgeon and _chef-de-bataillon_, who accompanied them, they again\nresumed their previous quarters. \u2018We saw,\u2019 says the narrator, \u2018that they\n_slept_. We watched the arrival of the hour of the preceding panic, and\nmidnight had scarcely struck when the veteran soldiers, for the second\ntime, started to their feet. Again they had heard the supernatural\nvoices, again the visionary hound had bestrode them to suffocation. The\n_chef-de-bataillon_ and myself heard or saw nothing of these events.\u2019\u201d\n\nThe superstitious thought this spectre to be the devil; but the heat and\n_carbonic acid gas_ were, I believe, enough for the excitement of the\nphantasm and the feeling.\n\nThere can scarcely be imagined a more terrific feeling than this sense\nof extreme danger, or difficulty, this intense impediment, without a\npower to avert it. The constant labour of Sisyphus, with his\nrolling-down stone, and the punishment of Tantalus, would yield in\nseverity to the agony of night-mare, but for its _transient_ existence.\n\nIt seems to me, that this want of balance between will and power\ninfluences human nature so much, that life itself may be termed one long\nand painful _incubus_. The actions we perform seldom reach the\nperfection which the will desires. Hence arises that constant\ndissatisfaction, which even the close approach to perfection of some of\nthe most accomplished professors of art and science cannot avert.\n\nWe must confess, with Socrates, that the extent of our knowledge is\nindeed but a conviction of our ignorance. The metaphor of Sir Isaac\nNewton, on the insignificance of his own scientific attainments, is well\nknown. Sir Joshua Reynolds so highly appreciated perfection in his art,\nthat he was ever discontented with his own paintings; and frequently, as\nI have heard, by repeated touches, destroyed the effect of a picture,\nwhich had been in its early stages beautiful. And Dr. Johnson, after\nastonishing the world with his perfect specimen of lexicographical\ncomposition, confessed that he \u201chad not satisfied his own expectations.\u201d\nMay I add to these the frequent _discontent_ of the unrivalled Paganini?\n\nIDA. The desire of the mind is, indeed, unlimited; and when this is\nintense, it wishes to appropriate to itself all which it can\n_comprehend_. But disappointment _must_ ensue; for all wish to be the\nwhole, when they form but a part. Thus will ever be proved the futility\nof _worldly_ ambition,\u2014it is never satisfied. But the desires of\nreligion are not a phantom, or an incubus. True devotion, which aspires\nto heaven, as the hart panteth for the water-brooks, will never fail.\nIts fervent hopes and devout prayers, we believe, will be blessed by\ntheir accomplishment.\n\nCAST. Then the visitations of the incomparable Mab are nought but the\ninfliction of the night-mare? Gentle Master Evelyn, how should I be\naweary of your philosophy, but that I am half won over to believe it\ntrue? In good faith,\n\n \u201cThe Gordian knot of it you do unloose\n Familiar as your garter.\u201d\n\nEV. Then, I pray you, let me counsel you not to court such visits, dear\nCastaly. There is some peril in the touch both of Mab and Mara; for\nalthough rare and transient cases of night-mare excite no alarm, yet its\nrepetition, in a severe form, is not to be slighted. It sometimes has\nbeen the forerunner of _epilepsy_; its immediate cause being obstruction\nto the course of the blood by which the brain especially is surcharged,\nand the action of the lungs and heart impeded, as we prove by the\nextreme labour of breathing at the time we awake.\n\nI believe that there is usually a fulness of blood, also, in the vessels\nof the spinal marrow; as, although nightmare may occur in the _sitting_,\nit is far more frequent in the _recumbent_ position. Thus the marrow is\noppressed, and there is then no force transmitted by the nerves to put\nthe muscles into action.\n\nDistention of the stomach should be prevented, as the _diaphragm_ is\nthus pushed up against the lungs, and the gas is accumulated in the\ncavity. All these conditions often occur in our waking moods, but _then_\nour judgment tells us how to relieve them speedily; whereas, _in sleep_,\nthe load accumulates. All indigestible substances, therefore, should be\navoided, as nuts, cucumbers, shell-fish, &c.\n\nEarly and light suppers we advise to those whom Madame Mara so\nunmercifully overlies. A mattress should be our couch, and we should\nendeavour to compose ourselves _on one side_, having, previous to our\nrest, taken _gentle exercise_.\n\n\n\n\n SOMNILOQUENCE.\u2014SOMNAMBULISM.\n\n\n \u201cIt is a sleepy language; and thou _speak\u2019st_\n Out of thy sleep.\u201d\n TEMPEST.\n\n\u201c_Doct._ You see, her eyes are open.\n _Gent._ Ay, but their _sense_ is shut.\u201d\n\n\u201c_Doct._ A great perturbation in nature. To receive at once the benefit of\n sleep, and do the effect of watching.\u201d\nMACBETH.\n\nEV. In the common dream, ideas float through the _mind_, but the body is\npassive. When the power of _expressing_ these ideas by _speech_ is\nadded, it is _somniloquence_. When there is the _conscious_, yet\n_powerless_, will to move, it is _incubus_. When the _unconscious_ power\nof _moving_ in accordance with the ideas or wishes of the dream exists,\nit is _somnambulism_.\n\nThe common dreams of sleep are not unfolded to us until the waking\nrecollections of the dreamer relate them; but the matter of a dream may\nbe half developed during its existence, by the curious propensity to\nunconscious talking and walking in the sleep.\n\nSleep-talking is the slightest of these phenomena, and, indeed, closely\nresembles the speaking _reveries_ of some absent people, and the raving\nof a maniac. The sleep is, at this time, little deeper than a reverie.\n\nThe voice of the somniloquist is usually _natural_, but as again, in the\ncases of mania and of delirious excitement, a common voice may become\nsweetly melodious, and there will be an imparted fluency allied to the\ninspiration of the improvisatore.\n\nIndeed, in some young ladies, subject to _hysteria_, I have known, at\ncertain periods as it were, a new accomplishment\u2014a style of singing\nwhich was far beyond their power in waking moments. Dr. Dewar relates a\ncase of a girl who, when awake, discovered no knowledge of astronomy or\nthe sciences in any way; but when she was _asleep_ she would define the\nrotations of the seasons, using expressions the most apt to the subject,\nsuch as \u201cthe globe is now set agee.\u201d It is probable that this was the\nmemory in slumber of some geographical lesson which she had heard, but\ndid not remember while her _senses_ were active, that is, in her waking\nmoments. And an American lady, during a fever, commenced a course of\nnocturnal prating, composing most eloquent sermons, chiefly made up,\nhowever, of _remembered_ texts of Scripture.\n\nI am informed, too, that a lady of Edinburgh, during her somnolent\nattacks, recited somewhat lengthy poems; and it was curious to notice\nthat each line commenced with the final letter of the preceding.\n\nThese sleep-talkings are sometimes the mere lispings of an idiot;\nalthough Astrophel, perchance, may contend that the following, written\ndown from the lips of a servant-maid, is a proof of special inspiration,\nconverting a rustic girl into an improvisatrice.\n\n \u201cYou may go home and wash your hose,\n And wipe the dew-drops from your nose,\n And mock no maiden here.\n For you tread down grass, and need not;\n Wear your shoes, and speed not,\n And clout leather\u2019s very dear;\n But I need not care, for my sweetheart\n Is a cobbler.\u201d\n\nI have heard this trash cited as a proof of facility of composition in\nslumber. You do not believe it such; like other specimens, it was a ruse\nof a wanton girl to excite admiration. In the magnetic somnambulism of\nElizabeth Okey, that cunning little wench, who was the _prima buffa_ of\nthe magnetic farces enacted at the North London Hospital, would often\nskip about and sing snatches of equal elegance:\n\n \u201cI went into a tailor\u2019s shop\n To buy a suit of clothes;\n But where the money came from,\n G\u2014\u2014 Almighty knows.\u201d\n\nThese are indeed the very burlesque of somniloquence. And yet Okey _was_\nan invalid, and presumed on the credulity of those who ministered to\nher.\n\nTrue somniloquence is often preceded by a cataleptic state; and in girls\nlike this, the senses are often so dull, that the firing of a pistol\nclose to the ear does not rouse them, until the poetic fit is over.\n\nCAST. Were sleep-talking more common, it would indeed be a very\ndangerous propensity. If the confessor were to prate in his sleep of the\npeccadilloes of the fair penitents that kneel at his confessional; if\nthe minister on his couch were to divulge his state secrets or his fine\npolitical schemes; where would be the tranquillity of domestic or\nnational society? Yet the lips of the love-sick maiden have not seldom\nwhispered in sleep her bosom\u2019s secret; and sometimes the unconscious\ntongue has awfully betrayed even the blood-stain on the hand.\n\nThus did the ill-mated Parisina of Byron:\n\n \u201cFever\u2019d in her sleep she seems,\n And red her cheek with troubled dreams;\n And mutters she, in her unrest,\n A name she dare not breathe by day.\u201d\n\nThe fate of Eugene Aram, I believe, may be imputed to such an\nunfortunate propensity; and in Lady Macbeth\u2019s \u201cOut, damned spot!\u201d was\nconfessed her participation in the murder of Duncan and the grooms.\n\nSomewhat like this, too, was the half-sleeping exclamation of Jarvis\nMatcham, after he had committed the murder of the drummer boy. Starting\nfrom his bed, when roused by the waiter, his first words were: \u201cMy God!\nI did not kill him.\u201d\n\nEV. A dream will sometimes half wake even a child to a state of terror,\nalthough children are with difficulty completely roused. I have known\ninstances in which children would sit up in bed, with their eyes open,\nsobbing, and talking, and staring, in a sort of trance; nay, they will\nsometimes start from bed, but still asleep, and, after a time becoming\ncalm, they have again composed themselves to slumber.\n\nI have known sleep-talkers, who have not remembered one iota of their\nwanderings when awake; and even the ecstatic somnambulist, who pretends\nto prophecy wisdom, recollects nothing when the ecstacy is over. It is\nclear also, that the mind _varies_ in sleep and waking, in regard to its\nmemory; for it has been proved that persons who often talk in their\nsleep, have renewed the exact points of a subject which terminated their\nlast sleep-talking, although, in the waking interval, it was to them\noblivion.\n\nSomnambulism is the most perfect paradox among the phenomena of sleep,\nas it exhibits actions without a consciousness of them; indeed, so\ncomplete a suspension of sensibility, that contact, nay, intense\ninflictions, do not produce that mental consciousness which is\ncalculated to excite alarm, or even attention.\n\nThere is a somewhat remote analogy to this, in the want of balance\nbetween the judgment and volition of ambitious minds. In the campaign of\nRussia, Napoleon\u2019s march was a sort of somnambulism, for he must have\nbeen madly excited to action against his better judgment. In this he\nforms a curious contrast with his royal predecessor; for in Louis XVI.\nwe observe a mind that might _conceive_ great things, but which volition\nhesitated to accomplish.\n\nThe points of the _mystery_ of somnambulism were never more forcibly\nillustrated, to my own mind, than in the following cases:\n\nIn 1833, a man was brought before Alderman Thorp, who had a parcel _cut\nfrom his arm_, although he had strapped it tightly on to prevent this,\nas he was often falling asleep, even during his walk. Yet, even then, he\nusually took the parcels to their proper directions.\n\nThe crew of a revenue boat on the coast of Ireland, about two o\u2019clock in\nthe morning, picked up a man swimming in the water. He had, it appeared,\nleft his house about twelve; and walked two miles over a most dangerous\npath, and had swum about one mile. After he was taken into the boat, he\ncould not be persuaded that he was not still in his warm bed at home.\n\nIn 1834, Marie Pau was admitted into the hospital at Bordeaux, her left\nhand and arm covered with deep and bleeding gashes, its tendons\nprojecting and the bones broken. She had, in her sleep, gone into a loft\nto cut wood with a hedging bill. Thinking she was cutting the wood, she\nhad hacked her fore-arm and hand, until she fainted away, and fell\nbathed in her blood. _She had felt no pain_, but merely had a sensation\nas if the parts were pricked with pins.\n\nSome time ago, (I believe in the year 1832,) a journal thus records a\ncase analogous in its nature, although less unhappy in its effects:\n\n\u201cSome fishermen at Le Conquest, near Brest, were surprised at finding,\nat two o\u2019clock in the morning, a boy about twelve years old, up to his\nwaist in the sea, fishing for flounders, of which he drew up five or\nsix. Their surprise however was increased to wonder, when, on\napproaching him, they found that he was _fast asleep_. He was taken home\nand put to bed, but was immediately afterwards attacked with a raging\nfever.\u201d\n\nIDA. These walkers were of _low degree_; I presume philosophy is not\naltogether exempt from the fault.\n\nEV. Oh no: Galen was a somnambulist; and Franklin assures us, that in a\nwarm bath at Southampton, he floated on his back nearly an hour _in his\nsleep_.\n\nNow that there is an apathy of the senses during somnambulism is clear,\nfor the eyelids are unclosed, and if a candle be held to the eye of the\nsomnambulist, the _actions_ of the _iris_ are seen, but there is seldom\naversion of the head to avoid the glare. Was Mrs. Siddons aware of this,\nwhen she _smelt_ to her bloody hand, but _did not look upon it_? In\nsleep-walking, indeed, there is always _one_ at least of the five senses\nasleep. The actions of somnambulists often appear almost automatic\nwithout a reason for them; somewhat resembling instinct, as the beaver\nwill still build his dome for shelter, even under a roof; or as\nmonomaniacs will do a work in _three or four different places_,\nforgetful of their previous labour. It is evident, too, that there is a\ndulness of reflection when the progress is impeded. The somnambulist\nwill try to _move on in a straight line_, overturning things in his\ncourse: thus Mathews, in _Somno_, overturned the tables, but had not the\njudgment to _go round_ them. Under very great obstruction to their\nprogress, the somnambulists will sometimes burst into tears.\n\nGall relates the case of a miller, who every night got up and worked in\nhis mill, _asleep_; and Martinet, of a saddler, who also worked nightly\nin his sleep; and Dr. Pritchard, of one who had been subject to\nepileptic fits, thus: \u201cThey ceased entirely until the nineteenth year of\nhis age, when he became a somnambulist, working during the night at his\ntrade as a saddler, getting out on the roof of the house, going out to\nwalk, and occupying himself in a thousand various ways. Soon after this\nthe fits of epilepsy reappeared, occurring every five or six days,\nincreasing in duration, and commencing from that time only with a\nsensation of heat, which from the _epigastrium_ rapidly extended to the\nhead, and produced complete insensibility. He was, at various times,\nrelieved by bleeding; and, in the twenty-fourth year of his age, being\nthen a soldier, he escaped three months without a return of his\nepilepsy. In the following year, he was astonished to find himself one\nnight on the roof of the house, wet with rain; the impression which he\nthence conceived, produced, some time afterwards, an attack of epilepsy,\nfollowed by contraction of his fingers and toes.\u201d\n\nIn many cases, however, there is some predeterminate motive for the\nwalk, which excites the memory in the sleep. The somnambulist has been\n_thinking deeply, ere he retires to rest_, and the walk occurs early in\nthe night; so that we might believe a mood of musing had really\n_prevented sleep_, and itself been the cause of the phenomena.\n\nThus may be explained the miracle recorded by Fulgosius. Marcus, the\nfreedman of Pliny, dreamed that a barber, sitting on his bed, had shaved\nhim, and awoke well trimmed;\u2014Marcus had _unconsciously shaved himself_.\n\nAnd also other cases related by Dr. Pritchard, of which I will offer you\na fragment.\n\n\u201c\u2014\u2014He is just recovering from a singular state of reverie, in which he\nhas passed twenty-four hours. It began in the evening, with a _rigor_,\nwhich continued more or less the whole night. From that time he remained\nconstantly in motion, walking up and down the room or about the house.\nHe kept his eyes open, but was unconscious of external impressions;\nsometimes he muttered to himself, and by his gestures and the motions of\nhis hands it appeared that he fancied himself to be working in his usual\noccupation. In this state he remained all the ensuing night and a part\nof the following day. During that time, he never ate or drank any thing\nin a natural manner; he sometimes caught hold of a piece of bread, and,\nhaving bitten it hastily, threw it down, and drank in the same way,\nimmediately continuing his work. If he was spoken to, he was some time\nwithout taking any notice, and then would reply hastily, as a person\ndoes who is disturbed by a question when in a reverie.\u201d\n\nOur study of these curiosities of mind teaches us how intimately\ncombined in their essence are all the species of illusion.\n\nSomnambulism is a very common feature in epileptic idiots. In confirmed\ninsanity also, we observe in an intense degree that fearless daring and\nalmost preternatural power which characterise somnambulism. A Highland\nwoman, in a state of _puerperal mania_, which was increased by a\nterrific dream, escaped to the gorges of the mountain, and herded with\nthe deer. She became so fleet of foot that it was impossible to overtake\nher. One day, an awful tempest drove her and her \u201cvelvet companions\u201d to\nthe valleys, when she was secured. Providence, which \u201ctempers the wind\nto the shorn lamb,\u201d had covered her body with hair.\n\nThe dreamer walks and talks with imaginary people,\u2014spectral illusion.\nThe following is a perfect illustration of this night-fantasy. It is a\nstory told to Sir Walter Scott by a Lisbon trader:\u2014\n\n\u201cSomnambulism and other nocturnal deceptions lend their aid to the\nformation of such phantasmata as are formed in the middle state betwixt\nsleeping and waking. A most respectable person, whose active life had\nbeen spent as master and part-owner of a large merchant vessel in the\nLisbon trade, gave an account of such an instance, which came under his\nobservation. He was lying in the Tagus, when he was put to great anxiety\nand alarm by the following incident and its consequences:\u2014One of his\ncrew was murdered by a Portuguese assassin, and a report arose that the\nghost of the slain man haunted the vessel. Sailors are generally\nsuperstitious, and those of my friend\u2019s vessel became unwilling to\nremain on board the ship; and it was probable they might desert, rather\nthan return to England with the ghost for a passenger. To prevent so\ngreat a calamity, the captain determined to examine the story to the\nbottom. He soon found that, though all pretended to have seen lights and\nheard noises, and so forth, the weight of the evidence lay upon the\nstatement of one of his own mates, an Irishman and a catholic, which\nmight increase his tendency to superstition; but in other respects a\nveracious, honest, and sensible person, whom Captain S. had no reason to\nsuspect would wilfully deceive him. He affirmed to Captain S., with the\ndeepest obtestations, that the spectre of the murdered man appeared to\nhim almost nightly, took him from his place in the vessel, and,\naccording to his own expression, worried his life out. He made these\ncommunications with a degree of horror, which intimated the reality of\nhis distress and apprehensions. The captain, without any argument at the\ntime, privately resolved to watch the motions of the ghost-seer in the\nnight, whether alone, or with a witness, I have forgotten. As the\nship-bell struck twelve, the sleeper started up with a ghastly and\ndisturbed countenance, and lighting a candle proceeded to the galley, or\ncock-room, of the vessel. He sat down with his eyes open, staring before\nhim, as on some terrible object which he beheld with horror, yet from\nwhich he could not withhold his eyes. After a short space he arose, took\nup a tin can or decanter, filled it with water, muttering to himself all\nthe while, mixed salt in the water, and sprinkled it about the galley.\nFinally, he sighed deeply, like one relieved from a heavy burden, and,\nreturning to his hammock, slept soundly. In the next morning, the\nhaunted man told the usual precise story of his apparition, with the\nadditional circumstances that the ghost had led him to the galley; but\nthat he had fortunately, he knew not how, obtained possession of some\nholy water, and succeeded in getting rid of his unwelcome visitor. The\nvisionary was then informed of the real transactions of the night, with\nso many particulars as to satisfy him he had been the dupe of his\nimagination. He acquiesced in his commander\u2019s reasoning, and the dream,\nas often happens in these cases, returned no more after its imposture\nhad been detected.\u201d\n\nThe case I am about to relate occurred within my own experience.\n\nA butcher\u2019s boy, about sixteen years old, apparently in perfect health,\nafter dosing a few minutes in his chair, suddenly started up, and began\nto employ himself about his usual avocations. He had saddled and mounted\nhis horse, and it was with the greatest difficulty that those around him\ncould remove him from the saddle and carry him within doors. While he\nwas held in the chair by force, he continued violently the actions of\nkicking, whipping, and spurring. His observations regarding orders from\nhis master\u2019s customers, the payment at the turnpike-gate, &c. were\nseemingly rational. The eyes when opened were perfectly sensible to\nlight. It appears that flagellation even had no effect in restoring the\npatient to a proper sense of his condition. The pulse in this case was\n130, full and hard; on the abstraction of thirty ounces of blood it sunk\nto 80, and _diaphoresis_ ensued. After labouring under this phrenzy for\nthe space of an hour, he became sensible; was astonished at what he was\ntold had happened, and stated that he recollected nothing subsequent to\nhis having fetched some water and moved from one chair to another, which\nindeed he _had_ done immediately before his delirium came on.\n\nCAST. In the monastery of \u2014\u2014, this story was told to a party of Alpine\ntravellers, to beguile our winter\u2019s evening.\n\nA melancholic nobleman of Italy, Signor Augustin, walked usually at the\nwaning of the moon. The walk was always preceded by his lying on his\nback, with eyes fixed and open. At this time the beatings of his heart\nwere scarcely perceptible. During this state, he noticed none of his\ncompanions around him; but if any noise was made by them, his steps were\nhurried and agitated, and if the noise was increased, a sort of maniacal\nstate was induced. In his sleep he would saddle and mount his horse, he\nwould listen at a key-hole if he heard noises in another room, and, if\nhe entered his billiard-room, he would seem to be playing with the cue.\nOn returning to his bed, he usually slept for ten hours after his walk.\nTickling would always rouse him.\n\nIn a Gazette of Augsburg, I have read this sad story: \u201cDresden was the\ntheatre of a melancholy spectacle on the 20th ult. As early as seven in\nthe morning a female was seen walking on the roof of one of the loftiest\nhouses in the city, apparently occupied in preparing some ornaments as a\nChristmas present. The house stood as it were alone, being much higher\nthan those adjoining it, and to draw her from her perilous situation was\nimpossible. Thousands of spectators had assembled in the streets. It was\ndiscovered to be a handsome girl, nineteen years of age, the daughter of\na master baker, possessing a small independence bequeathed to her by her\nmother. She continued her terrific promenade for hours, at times sitting\non the parapet and dressing her hair. The police came to the spot, and\nvarious means of preservation were resorted to. In a few minutes the\nstreet was thickly strewn with straw, and beds were called for from the\nhouse, but the heartless father, influenced by the girl\u2019s stepmother,\nrefused them. Nets were suspended from the balcony of the first floor,\nand the neighbours fastened sheets to their windows. All this time the\npoor girl was walking in perfect unconsciousness, sometimes gazing\ntoward the moon, and at others singing or talking to herself. Some\npersons succeeded in getting on the roof, but dared not approach her for\nfear of the consequences if they awoke her. Towards eleven o\u2019clock she\napproached the very verge of the parapet, leaned forwards, and gazed\nupon the multitude beneath. Every one felt that the moment of the\ncatastrophe had arrived. She rose up, however, and returned calmly to\nthe window by which she had got out. When she saw there were lights in\nthe room she uttered a piercing shriek, which was reechoed by thousands\nbelow, and fell dead into the street.\u201d\n\nSuch would have been the result, according to poetical justice, in the\nbeautiful romance of \u201cLa Sonnambula.\u201d Had Amina been awakened while she\nwas descending, she would probably have toppled down headlong!\n\nEV. Custom would render these wakings less formidable perhaps. There was\na family alluded to by Dr. Willis, in which the father and many sons\njostled each other nightly in their sleep-walk. This was probably but a\ncheerful recognition and to sleep again.\n\nIn Fraser\u2019s Magazine is recorded a very curious story of this sort. If I\nremember right, an individual had the mortification of discovering every\nmorning when he awoke, that the shirt in which he had slept was gone.\nSome trick was supposed to have been played upon him by an inmate of the\nhouse; and, thinking that the practical joke would soon be abandoned, he\nwent on day after day, till his stock of linen was completely exhausted.\nThe individuals of the family were now anxiously examined, but no\ntidings of the stray linen could be obtained. It was at last suspected\nthat some depredator had entered the house and unswathed his sleeping\nvictim, and a strict watch was made on the following night. At a\nsuitable hour the somnambulist was seen to quit his bed, to pass through\na skylight window to the roof of the house, to enter by another window a\ngarret that was always locked, and to return _shirtless to his lair_.\nThe garret was examined, and the thousand and one shirts were found\ncarefully wrapped up and deposited in a pyramid.\n\nSomething like this is the story of the spectre of Tappington, in the\nIngoldsby legends.\n\nThe actions, therefore, unlike the ideas of a dream, are often neither\nheterogeneous nor inconsistent, and it is astonishing to observe the\nexactness with which the work is executed.\n\nDr. Pritchard tells the case of a farmer who arose, saddled his horse,\nand rode to market in his sleep: the Archbishop of Bordeaux the case of\na student, who composed both theological essays and music thus\nunconsciously.\n\nNow if the dreamer be awakened, he will relate the circumstances of his\ndream clearly; but the somnambulist, if roused, will generally express\nhimself unconscious of what he intended, or of what he had done. It is,\nby the bye, often dangerous, on another account, to wake the\nsleep-walker; indeed, we have recorded the case of a young lady who was\nwalking in a garden in her sleep; she was awoke, and almost instantly\ndied.\n\nBut in some future somnambulism the same actions will be again performed\nunheeded. And if there be memory of the sleep-walk, the somnambulist, I\nbelieve, always relates his actions as the mere _ideas of a dream_, and\nis long a sceptic of the _fact_, even if there are visible signs of his\nexertions.\n\nCAST. _I_ can illustrate this question from the recollection and\nknowledge of an ancestor of my own. Early on a morning, an immense\nnumber of foot-prints were observed by the men about a gate (on a farm\nin Sussex), which were not there _overnight_. On their return the\nservant girl was relating her _dream_; that she was told the cows had\ngot into a wrong field, and that she had gone out, opened the gate, and\ndriven them back. And I remember reading that a young gentleman of\nBrenstein was seen to rise, get out of his window on the roof, and take\na brood of young magpies from their nest, and wrap them in his cloak. He\nthen returned quietly to his bed, and in the morning _related his\ndream_, to his two brothers. They had slept with him, and had witnessed\nthis feat, of which he would not be persuaded until they showed him the\nbirds in his cloak.\n\nI interrupt you, Evelyn.\n\nEV. It is evident, as in dreams, and in rare cases of disease, that the\nmind of the somnambulist is often a contrast to its waking faculty. The\nmemory will leap over intervals. Dr. Dyce records an illustration of\nthis. A girl, _in a state of somnambulism_, was taken to church, and\nwept at the subject of the sermon. She never adverted to this impression\nwhen she awoke; nor could she be brought to recollect it until, in her\n_next sleeping paroxysm_, she spoke of it distinctly.\n\nIn delirium, also, we see these intervals of thought. The patient will\ncommence a subject in the delirious state; when this has subsided, the\nsubject is dropped. In the _next attack_ of delirium it will again be\nstarted, ay, and at the very point, even _the word itself_, at which it\nwas broken off.\n\nWe read, in an American journal, that a man, previous to an attack of\nmania which lasted _several years_, had placed his work tools in the\nhollow of a tree. To them no allusion was made during the period of his\ndisorder. When, however, this passed off, he directed his son to fetch\nthem, believing that he left them _only yesterday_.\n\nIn the same book, too, we learn of that lady who became maniacal as she\nwas engaged in needle-work. For seven years she thought not of this; but\ndirectly she recovered, she asked for her needle-work and canvass. The\nsame may occur in intoxication also, which _is_ but another form of\ndelirium. In Mr. Combe\u2019s work we are told of a drunken man who left a\nparcel at a wrong house. When _sober_, he recollected nothing of the\ncircumstance; but when _again intoxicated_, he soon remembered his\nerror, and reclaimed the parcel.\n\nASTR. These cases form high contrasts with Hamlet\u2019s proof of insanity:\n\n \u2014\u2014\u201cBring me to the test,\n And I the matter will reword, which madness\n Wou\u2019d gambol from.\u201d\n\nEV. Yet if you analyze their nature you will find them even _proofs_ of\nderangement; for you thus see that the faculty of memory is changed\naccording to the state of mind. In the following case, by Dr.\nAbercrombie, we shall find the same variation in impression and taste. A\ngirl, in her early youth, expressed her abhorrence of tunes played on\nthe violin, which she termed a _discordant fiddle_. She was after this\nintroduced into more refined society, and became a somnambulist. During\nher paroxysm she imitated the _beautiful airs_ which she said she had\nformerly heard on this same violin.\n\nLieutenant C\u2014\u2014 was once my patient, and died a maniac. The insanity\narose from thwarted ambition, and was confirmed by his notion that he\nhad seen his death-fetch. For some time he walked and talked in his\nsleep; subsequently he would walk for an hour round the table\nunconsciously. In him, too, was this change of feeling. He once talked\nlittle, and cared less for his child; but now he would caress it fondly,\nand expressed the deepest anxiety for it. It was difficult to decide, at\ntimes, whether this gentleman was awake or not; indeed, these states of\nmania, which have been termed \u201cmelancholia errabunda\u201d by Bellini and\nMontalti, are closely allied to somnambulism, for the walker is absorbed\nin deep thought, and totally unconscious of his actions. And the analogy\nappears to have been recognised by the law. It is well known that the\nbrother of Lord Colepeper, who was a great dreamer and somnambulist,\nshot a guardsman and his horse. He was found guilty; but he was pardoned\non the ground of his complete _unconsciousness_ in his somnambulism.\n\nWe do not wonder more to see the perfection with which these unconscious\nlabours of the somnambulist are performed, than at the ease and power\nwhich is evinced, and the very slight fatigue which ensues; although the\noccupation might have been most laborious.\n\nAs in _chorea_ the most delicate girls will dance incessantly for\ntwenty-four hours, resting merely for one sole hour; and yet they will\nsit down perfectly cool and free from fatigue.\n\nIDA. Is it not wonderful that the somnambulist will incur great dangers\nwith complete _sang-froid_? They will walk over\n\n \u2014\u2014\u201cTorrents roaring loud,\n On the unsteadfast footing of a spear;\u201d\n\nor scale the gigantic precipice, the mere contemplation of which would\nfright their mind from its propriety, when awake. I remember to have\nread of a French Jew, who walked by chance across a dangerous pass over\na brook, _in the dark_, without the slightest fear or harm. The next\nday, perceiving what danger he had incurred, he fell down dead.\n\nEV. It is equally curious that a concentration of nervous energy, which\nis here the result of unconsciousness, should also be produced _by_ fear\nin some cases, which, in others, _paralyses_; but this is indeed a\nslight degree of heroism, or energy of despair. Thus we leap far higher,\nand run much faster, when danger threatens, than we could believe.\n\nThese are all very apt illustrations of somnambulism. I will check\nmyself in quotations of more, as the phenomena may closely resemble each\nother.\n\nBut what is its philosophy, and how can I venture on its explanation,\nwhich involves the most intricate pathology of the nervous system?\nunless, with the self-complacency of quaint old Burton, I cut the\nGordian knot by this affirmation,\u2014\u201cThere is nothing offends but a\nconcourse of bad humours, which trouble the phantasy. These vapours move\nthe phantasy, the phantasy the appetite, which, moving the animal\nspirits, causeth the body to walk up and down, as if it were awake.\u201d\n\nThus much I may expound to you, if I am again allowed to run up our\nscientific scale. The philosophy of the dream and of incubus refers to\nthe activity of the brain with a _passive_ body; for somnambulism, we\nrequire an _active_ body, with an _unconscious_ brain.\n\nNow there are _four_ sources of nervous influence:\u2014the brain and\n_cerebellum_, within the skull; the marrow in the spinal canal; and the\nnervous bundles in the large cavities, termed _ganglia_.\n\nIt is on the independent or unconscious function of the marrow, chiefly,\nthat those mysterious actions, which do not seem to be willed by a\nconscious mind, depend.\n\nIn the day-dream, a thought or form shall present itself, even at a time\nwhen the mind is employed on subjects of a contrasted nature. These\nthoughts, or forms, are usually fraught with a high degree of pleasure\nor of pain, or refer to events of vital importance, to the\ndreamer;\u2014such are the objects of the lover\u2019s idolatry, the anticipation\nof misfortune, or subjects of prospective felicity. Under this\nexcitement, the influence of external objects is often for a time lost;\nthe _retina_ may be struck by a ray, or the _membrana tympani_ by a\nvibration, but the mind shall fail in its perception,\u2014no _internal_\nimpression being made. This cannot arise from a point of the _retina_,\nor the expansion of the auditory nerve being pre-occupied, as some have\nsupposed. The idea of material impression must fail in explanation; for,\non the instant that the mind is awakened, the external impression is\nagain perceived. The external sense, in this case, is not in fault; nor\nis its direct influence on the _sensorium_ suspended; for we find that a\nperson will continue to read in this state, as it were _mechanically_;\nbut the attention is _diverted_ by deep thought, so that the reader, at\nthe end of his task, may have no remembrance of what he has been\nreading.\n\nLet me tell of a curious little episode of Dr. Darwin\u2019s, which will aid\nme in my illustration. A young lady was playing on the piano a very\nelaborate piece of music. It was correctly and scientifically performed,\nalthough she was agitated during her task; and when it was over, the\nlady burst into tears. She had been watching all the time a favourite\ncanary in the fluttering of death; and with this catastrophe her _mind_\nwas almost wholly occupied, but her _fingers_ did not err in their\ncomplicated and delicate motions, which they undoubtedly would have\ndone, if the will or mind alone had directed them.\n\nIn sanity of mind, and in mania, the most philosophical distinction is\nbased on the _health_ or _disease_ of memory. The ecstacy of madness may\nnot seem perhaps more irrational than an ecstatic vision, but the maniac\nwill not re-word the matter; whereas the mere visionary will repeat the\naction of the trance as a dream.\n\nASTR. But there is a sort of somnambulism the reverse of this. In the\nretreat to Corunna, many of the soldiers, although exhausted by a long\nmarch, and having actually fallen asleep, continued to move forwards,\nleaving their companions behind, who halted and laid down to repose.\n\nEV. This is the _continued association_ of that excitement which has\nproduced muscular motion. The mind was exhausted and sleepy, the brain\nwas inert; but we believe that the spinal marrow does, of itself, effect\nmotion, while the will and consciousness sleep; and we may also _stand_\nand sleep. These soldiers did not walk in their sleep, but slept in\ntheir walk.\n\nASTR. I am informed, too, that Richard Turpin, in allusion to his famous\nflight to York, asserted that Black Bess appeared to gallop\nunconsciously.\n\nEV. It is true; and when we reflect on this gigantic feat, we may\nsuppose that the mare gallopped the farther, because her _consciousness\nof fatigue was not awake_, and her muscular energy was thus\nconcentrated.\n\nParalyzed muscles will often quiver when the sound limb is quiet; the\nbrain\u2019s influence being, in this case too, inert, sensation is\ndiminished; but _involuntary_ motion continues from a habit in the\nmuscle, or the excitement of unexhausted irritability, as in _chorea_,\nspasm, &c. And in some cases of _post mortem_ galvanism, Dr. Dunbar, of\nVirginia, passed the _galvanic aura_ along the _ulnar_ nerve of an\nexecuted negro, and the fingers instantly quivered, and assumed the\nattitude and action of one playing on a flute or the strings of a\nviolin.\n\nASTR. It is possible, then, to move without our _willing_ to do so, or\nbeing conscious of our act.\n\nEV. There are believed to be, indeed it is almost a\ndemonstration,\u2014_four sets of nerves_, traced along the spinal marrow.\nTwo to the brain, of _sensation_ and _volition_, by which the mind feels\nwhat the body touches, and transmits its will to the muscles; two others\nto the marrow, by which _it_ also is stimulated by outward touch, and by\nwhich _it_ excites the muscles to motion.\n\nNow when the brain\u2019s influence is kept from muscle, that muscle will\nstill possess _irritability_, derived from the spinal marrow; nay, that\nirritability will be greater, _because it has not been expended_ by the\nacts of that volition, which resides solely in the brain, and which is\nnow cut off. Thus the _excito-motory_ function, and the influence of\nvolition, are in these cases _antagonists_. And this principle of the\n_incident_ and _reflex spinal_ nerve is an explanation of the curious\ndilemma, regarding the suspension of the will in sleep and dream, to\nwhich Dr. Stewart alludes.\u2014\u201cNot a suspension of volition, but only of\n_its influence_ over those organs, which it moves when we are awake.\u201d\nDecide for yourselves between the physical and metaphysical theories.\n\nYet, do you not see that all this does not essentially require the\ndirection of mind? If you tickle the palm of a sleeping child, it will\nclose its hand upon your finger; if you awake it, and _engage its\nattention, it will often leave its hold_. This is a fact proved by the\n_anencephalous_ or brainless children. Even the puppy, deprived of its\nbrain, and also the _mammary f\u0153tuses_ of the kangaroo and opossum, fix\neagerly on the nipple when it touches their lips. There is a beautiful\nmechanism in the foot of the roosting birds, adapted to this\nphysiological law. The tendon of the claws is tightened immediately they\nare touched, by which action they contrive to grasp the bough or perch\neven when asleep. In cases of _paralysis_ even, the foot will sometimes\nbe instantly drawn up, although it does not possess the least sensation;\nwe may assert, then, that irritability is in an _inverse ratio_ to\nsensibility.\n\nThe _polype_, in which we trace no brain or nerve, exists and moves by\nits irritability, and without sensation or consciousness. We know also\nthat the _vis insita_, or _vis nervosa_ of a muscle, that is, its\nirritability, exists even after the animal life has ceased. The turtle\nwill live and move long after its brain has been removed. The heart\nitself, an involuntary muscle, is stimulated also to action without\nsensation. The heart of the assassin, Bellingham, beat long after he was\ncut from the gallows.\n\nIf I have made these things clear, I am now prepared to explain, with\nsome anticipation, those two curious contrasts, somnambulism and\nincubus. If the spinal or motive nerves be asleep, and the cerebral or\nintellectual, or volition nerves, awake, we shall have night-mare; if,\non the contrary, the motive nerves are in excess, beyond the sensiferous\nor volition nerves, we have sleep-walking.\n\nASTR. I believe the philosophy of Leibnitz affirms _two_ perceptions;\none with, and another without, consciousness. I do not recollect if he\ndistinguishes the _seat_ of these _perceptions_; but, if the brain be\nthat which perceives, I presume consciousness will follow that\nperception sometimes in so slight a degree as not to excite judgment or\nreflection. Am I correct?\n\nEV. You have adopted the common error of metaphysicians. If, in the\nabstraction of waking moments, some persons talk to themselves, as it\nwere unconsciously, so, from the _reflex_ influence, may volition and\nmotion occur, with as little self-feeling. That the _immediate_\nimpression, however, and a necessity of action, may combine, is\nillustrated by Dr. Beattie\u2019s case of the officer who could be thus\nexcited in his sleep. By a whisper in his ear, he was induced to go\nthrough the whole ceremony of a duel, and did not completely wake until\nthe report of his pistol roused him. This gentleman was also told that\nhe had fallen overboard, and he began to imitate the motions of\nswimming; then that a shark was following him, when he would dive off\nhis couch upon the floor; and when he was told that the battle was\nraging around him, he proved himself an arrant coward by running away.\n\nSomnambulism may be induced by congestion or irritation of _that point_\nwhere the _incident_ nerve blends with the _grey matter_ of the spinal\nmarrow, producing internal irritation, as the tickling of the foot does\nthrough the _cutaneous_ nerves of a senseless limb.\n\nCAST. We are thankless creatures, dear Evelyn, but all this reiteration\nbewilders me, does it not you, Ida? Yet, in my simplicity, I can but\nthink it unphilosophical entirely to disregard the _will_ as the spring\nof our actions.\n\nEV. If I must EXPLAIN, fair lady, I cannot avoid prolixity. But to your\nquestion I will answer, no; for somnambulism _may be excited_ by the\n_memory of an intention_. In the experiment made by the committee of the\nphysical society of Lausanne, on the Sieur Devaud, of Vevay, it was\nproved that on the evening before the fit of somnambulism, his head was\nheavy, and he had a sense of oppression on his eye-lids. If, at this\ntime, the mind was impressed by some legend, or story, or incident, the\nactions of the sleep-walk were perfectly _coincident with such a\nsubject_. If a romantic tale of banditti were related, his alarm would\nbe apparent in his subsequent sleep. In this somnambulist was\nbeautifully illustrated the effect of permanent impression on the brain,\nrendering, for a time, the sense of vision useless; for having once\nperused his paper, it was so imprinted on his mind, that the _exact_\nspot for each letter was _exactly_ fixed on _by the finger_. And we have\nheard of one more interesting case, in which the somnambule, remembering\nthat he had made errors in his writing, traced, on a blank paper\nsubstituted for that written on, the corrections, _in the very places\ncorresponding to the erroneous writing_. And that here was memory was\nproved in this, that during the time his eyes were shut, the pen was\ndropped on the _very spot_ where the inkstand stood; but this being\nremoved, no ink was obtained, and the writing was blank.\n\nNow we believe that there are certain vessels which contribute to\nnervous energy, perhaps by secreting a nervous fluid in the brain, or by\nconcentrating electricity, which Dr. Faraday believes may constitute the\n_animal_ portion of the nervous system. This influence may be profusely\naccumulated in a waking state; the resolution to act has been formed;\nor, there may be a rapid production in sleep of this energy. Then, when\nsleep occurs, _this impression becomes uncontrolled_. The third form of\ninsanity of Spurzheim, irresistibility, exists, and the night-walk takes\nplace. And indeed it may form an interesting analogy to that satiety of\nthe voluptuary, \u201cChilde Harold,\u201d\n\n \u201cWho e\u2019en for change of scene wou\u2019d seek the shades below,\u201d\n\nand to one unhallowed story related in \u201cSalmonia.\u201d\n\nFrom this excess there is the stimulus of _pain to move_; one of the\nmost powerful motives of human action. Cardan, if we may believe in his\n\u201cOpera et Vita,\u201d was at least a monomaniac; and he \u201cwas wont\ninstinctively, as it were, to relieve this tendency of his mind by the\nexcitement of bodily pain.\u201d I may assure you that I have, during my\nprofessional studies, often witnessed (and indeed have sometimes\nsuggested) a remedy on this knowledge: you may be aware, that a severe\nand painful disorder will mitigate, if not entirely dissipate, that\napathetic misery which springs from a vacant or unoccupied mind.\n\nIn contrasting childhood and age, we witness these curiosities in the\nrestless activity of youth and early manhood, for at these periods we\nare very constant somnambulists; not so in the passive state of old age,\nin which sleep-walking is very rare. Something of this we see also in\nthe _growing pains_ and _fidgets_ of girls and those whose duties are\nsedentary. Exercise is the relief for all this.\n\nNow when the sleep-walk has exhausted this excess of irritability or\nelectricity (if it be so), the dreamer returns to bed and sleep. A hint\nis here thrown out to us, that if powerful exertion be employed previous\nto sleep, the night-walk might not ensue. Lethargy often terminates in\nsomnambulism.\n\nIf I may for another moment still prose over the intricate, but deeply\ninteresting question of the pathology of somnambulism, I will observe,\nthat we often find it one symptom of madness or idiocy, and we know that\nsomnambulism not seldom terminates in epilepsy.\n\nIn the brains of epileptic idiots, who are very determined\nsomnambulists, we discover changes the most various; _effusion_,\n_congestion_, _ossification of membranes_, _ramollissement_,\n_indurcissement_, bony _spicul\u00e6_, or points pressing the brain,\n_tubercles_, _cysts_. In some, the skull assumes the density of ivory.\nYet in those persons who have been known to be sleep-walkers, the\ninspection is seldom satisfactory. _Plethora_ of the head has often,\nhowever, preceded the sleep-walk. Signor Pozzi, physician to Benedict\nXIV., if he submitted not to depletion each second month, became a\nsomnambulist; and we have known that in _chorea, previous to the dance_,\nand in some cases of somnambulism also, pain has been felt from the\n_occiput_ along the course of the _spinal marrow_. This is from\nimmediate excitement; but _dyspepsia_ and other _abdominal derangements_\nmay so influence the _ganglia_ and _nerves of organic life_, and through\nthem the brain and cord, as to excite sleep-walking by _remote_\nsympathy.\n\nThat injuries of the nervous matter about the nape of the neck are of\nthe highest importance in our studies of these eccentric actions, is\ncertain. The experiments of Flourens show that the _progressive_ or\n_forward_ motion of animals, is influenced by varied states of the\n_cerebellum_. When Majendie cut through the _corpora striata_, the\nanimal darted forward; when the _pons Varolii_ was cut, the animal\nrolled over sixty times in a minute.\n\nWhen a soldier is struck by a ball about the _cervical vertebr\u00e6_, he\noften springs from the ground and drops dead.\n\nIt is our duty, then, not to slight the condition of the somnambulist.\nIf _simple irritation_ be its exciting cause, much benefit may be\nderived from _counter-action_ on the surface, and other remedial means.\nEven if there be _diseased structure_, some palliation may be afforded.\nAs preventives of the fit, we may inculcate an abstinence from late\nmeals, exercise in the evening previous to retirement to rest, a high\npillow, &c.\n\nIf the propensity continue in spite of our efforts, it will be right to\nhave the windows fastened or locked, and the door of the chamber bolted\n_without_; or to confine the ankle or wrist to the bed-post by a long\nfillet, which may by its detention awake the sleeper on starting from\nthe bed.\n\n\n\n\n IMITATIVE MONOMANIA.\n\n\n \u201cMen, wives, and children, stare, cry out, and run,\n As it were doomsday.\u201d\n JULIUS C\u00c6SAR.\n\nThere are other very curious analogies of somnambulism, which are marked\nby a power of action that appears preternatural. And here again we\nwitness the irresistibility of motion, which seems to subvert the laws\nof gravitation and the principles of mechanics. The involuntary\ntwitchings and contortions of _St. Vitus\u2019s dance_ present the slighter\nform of these eccentric actions, which, in the intense degree, become\nlike the fury of a raving maniac.\n\nIn young girls there often is a proneness to be excited by slight\ncauses,\u2014to be startled by mere trifles.\n\nSavarry tells us of a man who, at two o\u2019clock each day, was irresistibly\nimpelled to rap at doors and make very odd noises, and felt intense\npleasure in doing this. If this had occurred in the night, it would have\nbeen termed somnambulism.\n\nGall also relates of a young man at Berlin, who, after rolling about in\nhis bed for some time, and jumping out and in repeatedly in his sleep,\nat last started up awake, astonished at the crowd around his bed. And\nDr. Darwin writes of a boy, nine years old, who went through a course of\ngymnastics, with an occasional song between the acts. At length he\nseemed bursting, and soon sank down in a stupor.\n\nASTR. I have read, (I think in Mezeray,) of an epidemic mania of this\nsort, in which the creatures tore off their clothes, and ran naked\nthrough the streets and churches, until they fell breathless on the\nground. Some of them swelled even to _bursting_, unless they were bound\ndown by cords. The disease was referred to the agency of demons, and\ntreated by exorcisms; they even tore their flesh to free themselves from\ntheir possessing devils. I have seen also a confident story of some\nnuns, who jumped so high during an hysteric ecstacy, that they were at\nlength seen to fly; in imitation, perhaps, of the Corybantes, the\npriests of Cybele, who, in the celebration of their mysteries, leaped\nand raved, like madmen in the midst of their shrieks and howlings.\n\nEV. All these eccentricities amount to complete monomania for the time\nthey last, and they are marked often by a very violent _imitative_\npropensity; like the delirium which came upon the Abderites, on\nwitnessing the performance of the \u201cAndromeda\u201d of Euripides, by\nArchela\u00fcs. Of such nature was the \u201c_dancing mania_\u201d of the middle ages;\nthe _tarantula_ of Apulia, in which melancholy was succeeded by madness;\nthe feats of the _Jumpers_ of Cornwall, and the _Convulsionnaires_ of\nthe Parisian miracles.\n\nYet with all this apparent violence, there might be a power of control\nby management. On some sudden and extreme mental influence, there was in\nthe Maison de la Charit\u00e9, at Haerlem, an infectious convulsion of this\nnature, so that the troop of little scholars, girls and boys, were a\nmere legion of dancing maniacs; and nothing appeared to relieve them,\nuntil a ruse of the physician Bo\u00ebrhave put to flight the illusion. With\na solemn voice he pronounced, in the hearing of the little creatures,\nhis decision that each of them should be burned to the bone of the arm\nwith a red hot iron. From that moment the mania subsided.\n\nDr. Hecker, in his account of the _Dance_ of the middle ages, notices\ntwo forms of this national monomania:\u2014\u201c_Tarantulism_,\u201d and the \u201c_Danse\nde Saint Guy_.\u201d\n\nThe first was marked by all sorts of illusions, demonomania, obscene\ndancing, groaning, and falling down senseless.\n\nThe persons who believed themselves bitten by the tarantula became sad\nand stupid. The flute or guitar alone could give them succour. At the\nsound of its music they awoke, as if by enchantment; their eyes opened,\ntheir movements, which at first slowly followed the music, gradually\nbecame animated, until they merged into an impassioned dance. To\ninterrupt the music was disastrous:\u2014the patients relapsed into their\nstupidity, until they became exhausted by fatigue. During the attacks,\nseveral singular idiosyncracies were manifested, contrary to what\noccurred in Germany. Scarlet was a favourite colour, though some\npreferred green or yellow. A no less remarkable phenomenon was their\nardent longing for the sea; they implored to be carried to its shores,\nor to be surrounded by marine pictures; some even threw themselves into\nthe waves. But the dominant passion was for music, though they varied in\ntheir particular tastes. Some sought the braying sound of the trumpet,\nothers the softer harmony of stringed instruments.\n\nThere was once a woman of Piedmont who was charmed by the \u201ccapriccio,\u201d\nplayed by the leader of an orchestra, into an ecstatic dance. In her,\nthe sensations, as she expressed them, were so \u201cstrangely mingled,\u201d as\npowerfully to illustrate the fine line of distinction between pleasure\nand pain. She gradually became weaker, and the memory of the music was\nso intense, that, while she was irresistibly impelled to this maniacal\ndance, her expressions were those of acute pain, and her cries were\nconstantly of those \u201chorrid sounds.\u201d In six months, this unhappy\ncreature died exhausted.\n\nThe _Tigretier_, of Abyssinia, is believed in Africa to be the effect of\ndemoniac influence. Indeed there is in this strange state a complete\nmetamorphosis of features, and voice, and manner. In the hearts, even of\nthe women, the affections of nature and of attachment seem to be\nannihilated, and they seem overwhelmed by some oppressive weight, which\nis dissipated only by almost preternatural exertion, excited by the\ncharm of music; in which wild dance the female is dressed in ornaments\nof silver, like the chiefs of battle. This maniac movement is often, I\nbelieve, kept up from early morning until sunset, ere the accumulation\nof energy is exhausted; and even then the woman will start off suddenly\nand outrun the fleetest hunter, until she drops as if dead. But it seems\nthe climax of the cure is not complete, until she drops all her\nornaments, and a matchlock is fired over her, when she owns her name and\nfamily, both having been previously denied. She is taken to the church\nand sprinkled with holy water, and then the spell is broken.\n\nThere is another strange monomania, an incitement to suicide, evinced in\nthat loathsome disease of the Lombard and Venetian plains, _Pellagra_.\nThe prevailing fashion is _drowning_; so that Strambi has termed this\nmonomania, _water-madness_.\n\nOthers are driven on by still more horrible fancies. Thus _Grenier_\nwrapped himself in a wolf-skin, and murdered young maids that he might\ndevour them. And, among ourselves, the desire to _change the infant into\na_ _cherub_, has led the wild fanatic to the murder of the innocents!\n\nASTR. This, I suppose, is _Lycanthropy_, or wolf-madness, on which old\nBurton so funnily expatiates; and to which the author of the old play of\n\u201cLingua\u201d also points, alluding to the\n\n \u201cThousand vain imaginations,\n Making some think their heads as big as horses,\n Some that they\u2019re dead, some that they\u2019re turned to wolves.\u201d\n\nIn the woods of Limousin, in France, the belief in the power of changing\nfrom men to wolves is still prevalent. The _Loup-garoux_, or\n_Wehr-wolf_, was thought to have been in league with Satan.\n\nIn my wanderings through Poictou, these monsters seemed to me to confine\ntheir unholy powers to midnight prowling, and the wolf-howl. Yet Marie,\nin the \u201c_Lai du Bisclavaret_,\u201d endows them with the cannibalism of the\ngoul and the vampire:\n\n \u201cSo Garwal roams in savage pride,\n And hunts for blood, and feeds on men;\n Spreads dire destruction, far and wide,\n And makes the forests broad his den.\u201d\n\nEV. The extraordinary effects of the instinct of imitation in spreading\nthese epidemics, is but an example on the grand scale of what we see\ndaily instances of in yawning, hiccoughing, coughing, and other similar\nacts, and in the propagation of _hysteria_ and _epilepsy_. Some persons,\nagain, possess an irresistible tendency to imitate others in mere\ntrifling things. Tissot relates a case of a female, who never could\navoid doing _every thing she saw any one else do_. She was obliged to\nwalk blindfolded in the streets; and, if you tied her hands, she\nexperienced intolerable anguish until they were loosened. There was\nanother girl, that was seen by Dr. Horn, at Salzburg, who sat\n_cross-legged_, like a hog. She had been brought up in a sty.\n\nEven during the Commonwealth, the religious fanaticism of the Quakers\ncarried the proselytes to such a pitch, that the preachers were thrown\ninto excessive convulsions, and _seemed_ possessed of demons. The\nchurches were broken into, and the ministers insulted and attacked in\nthe pulpits. Chains, and locks, and the pillory, which were inflicted on\nthese mad people, failed, as it might be expected, in restoring their\nsenses, although they bore them with the most astonishing fortitude. In\ntheir worshipping, the same eccentricities were seen: after a deep and\nlong silence, a number of the devotees rose at once, and declaimed. The\npresumptuous imitation of the Saviour was a favourite illusion; and the\nforty-days\u2019 fast sometimes terminated in death. Naylor, convinced of his\ndivine identity, rode in procession on a mule, while his deluded\nproselytes spread their garments, and sang Hosannas to him. Nay, the\npurity of the female mind was so grossly perverted, that a Quakeress\nwalked naked into a church, before Cromwell, _as a sign to the people_!\n\nThere was a letter in an \u201cAberdeen Herald,\u201d dated Invergordon, Sept. 9,\n1840, from which I quote this story:\n\n\u201cI had the curiosity to go to the church of Roskeen, last night, to\nobserve the _workings of a revival_. I was prepared for something\nextraordinary, but certainly not for what I saw. The sobs, groans, loud\nweeping, fainting, shrieking, mingled in the most wild and unearthly\ndiscordance with the harsh cracked voice of the clergyman, who could\nonly at intervals be heard above the general weeping and wailing. I was\nstruck by the cries being all from _young_ voices; and on examining a\nlittle more closely, I found that the performers were almost wholly\nchildren\u2014girls, varying from five to fourteen years of age; a few young\nwomen, perhaps a dozen, but not a single man or lad. I stood for nearly\nhalf an hour by three girls, the eldest about twelve years of age, who\nwere in the most utter distress, each vying with the other in despairing\ncries. Their mother came to them, but made no exertion to check their\nbursts of\u2014I don\u2019t know what to call it. In the church-yard there were\nlots of children in various stages of fainting. One poor girl seemed\nquite dead, and I insisted on one of the old crones, who was piously\nlooking on, to go for some water, or to attempt something to give her\nrelief, but was told, \u2018It was no\u2019 a case for water; it was the Lord, and\nhe would do as he liked with her. She was seeing something we didna see,\nand hearing something we didna hear.\u2019 She was lying on the ground,\nsupported by her father. Indeed the poor ignorant parents have been\nworked upon until they believe they are highly honoured by the Lord, by\nhaving such signs of the Spirit manifested in their families. The\nservice, if it may be called so, was in Gaelic.\u201d\n\nIn the reign of the second George, Count Zinzendorf came from Germany\nand established the principles of the Hernhutters, or Moravians. These\nwere debased by ceremonies, which they misnamed worship, of the most\nlicentious character.\n\nLike Mahomet, Zinzendorf proclaimed himself a prophet and a king, and in\nhis presumption of an immediate appeal to, and answer from, the Saviour,\nin all matters of doubt, made a host of proselytes.\n\nIDA. In our own day, another delirious profanation of the holy name of\nthe Saviour has been exhibited, in the imitative monomania of _Sir\nWilliam Courtenay_ (as he was called), in Kent. In May, 1838, this wild\nenthusiast (whose beauty of feature and expression closely resembled the\npaintings of Christ by Guido and Carlo Dolce, and who, to heighten this\nresemblance, wore his hair and beard in a peculiar form, and clothed\nhimself in a robe) gained by his art numerous disciples in Kent, who\nimplicitly believed his divine nature and mission. His career was,\nhowever, soon closed in a very awful and bloody tragedy\u2014the death of\nhimself, of many of his _followers_, and of the military who were called\nout to secure him. His _disciples_, to the last, not only believed in\nhis divine nature, but even after his interment were watching _in\nimplicit belief of his approaching resurrection_!\n\nThe mania of the \u201cunknown tongues\u201d has almost equalled this delusion. If\nwe presume to analyse, on the principles of philosophy or reason, those\nreligious eccentricities, which seem, even in the mind of the fanatic,\nto spring from sincerity or conviction, they must yet, I suppose, be\ntermed _maniacal_, and this without the slightest profanation of the\nDivine will. Evil, doubtless, is permitted for a wise purpose, and while\nwe deplore its _immediate_ effects, we must not hope to reveal its\norigin or its end.\n\nAt Brighton, some time ago, while at one of the Millennium chapels, the\nwife of Caird, who was then preaching, uttered a dismal howling of this\n_unknown_ language, which paralysed some, and threw into convulsions\nmany others of the congregation. A young French lady among them\ninstantly was struck with maniacal despondency, and, after some\ninfliction of self-torture, became delirious and died in a hospital.\n\nWe learn from Plutarch, that in Milesium there was once a prevalent\nfashion among the young girls to hang themselves; while the same mania\nonce spread among the demoiselles of Lyons, to drown themselves in the\nRhone. The Convulsionists of Paris, in 1724, not only inflicted\nself-torture, but in their wild delight solicited the bystanders to\nstone them.\n\nThe commission of a great or extraordinary crime to this day produces,\nnot unfrequently, a kind of mania of imitation in the district in which\nit happened. I have known incidents, falsely called religious, to\noccasion similar events; and what is remarkable, the scene or place of\nthe _first_ event seemed to favour its repetition, by other persons\napproaching it. Thus a supposed miracle having been performed before the\ngate of the convent of St. Genevieve, such a number of similar\noccurrences happened on the same spot in a few days, that the police was\ncompelled to post a peremptory notice on the gate, prohibiting any\nindividual from working miracles on the place in question. When the\nlocality was thus shut up, the _thaumaturgia_ ceased. It is not long\nsince we witnessed in Paris two events of a similar character. About\nfour years ago, at the Hotel des Invalides, a veteran hung himself on\nthe threshold of one of the doors of a corridor. No suicide had occurred\nin the establishment for two years previously, but in the succeeding\nfortnight five invalids hung themselves on the same cross-bar, and the\ngovernor was obliged to shut up the passage. During the last days of the\nempire, again, an individual ascended the column in the Place Vendome,\nand threw himself down and was dashed to pieces. The event excited a\ngreat sensation; and in the course of the ensuing week, _four persons_\nimitated the example, and the police were obliged to proscribe the\nentrance to the column. The same mania was almost induced by the suicide\nof a foolish girl, who leaped from the balcony of our own city column on\nFish-street Hill. Indeed Monseigneur Mare, of Paris, alludes to a\nsociety enrolled for the mere purpose of suicide; and there was an\nannual ballot to decide which of these miserable creatures should be\nimmolated _as the suicide of the year_!!\n\nDr. Burrows, I remember also, relates cases analogous to these. They\noccurred in the ranks of some army on the continent, in which there was\nan epidemic propensity to suicide, until the general began to hang the\nsoldiers on trees as scarecrows. The mania, as you may believe, very\nsoon subsided.\n\nEV. Your curiosities eclipse mine, Ida. But the natural _leaning to the\nmarvellous_, will, without mania or fanaticism, by the mere sympathy of\nintercommunicating minds, spread wide these illusions, even in the most\nsimple instances. Some time since, a very large assemblage were watching\nwith intense interest the stone lion of the Percies, at Northumberland\nHouse. They were unanimous in the conviction that he was swinging his\ntail to and fro; a false impression, of course, which had gradually\naccumulated from this solitary exclamation of a passenger: \u201cBy heaven,\nhe wags his tail!\u201d Of this sort of illusion I was myself a witness.\nBeneath the western portico of St. Paul\u2019s, a crowd of gazers were\nbending their eyes on the image of the saint, who was nodding at them\nwith a very gracious affability. Curiosity had risen to the pitch of\nwonder at a miracle, when suddenly a sparrow-hawk flew from the ringlets\nof the saint, and the illusion vanished.\n\nThese eccentricities, you will perceive, occurred _spontaneously_; and\nit is a most interesting study to note the analogies between _these_\ndiseased actions, and _those_ resulting from the influence of certain\ngases and vegetable juices.\n\nI have known the seeds of _stramonium_, when swallowed by children,\nproduce a temporary delirium, and a state of _chorea_, singing, dancing,\nlaughing, and other mad frolics, which could not be controlled. And in\nthe \u201cHistory of Virginia,\u201d by Beverly, it is recorded, that during the\nrebellion of Bacon, at James Town, some soldiers, after eating the young\nleaves of _stramonium_ for spinach, enacted \u201ca very pleasant comedy, for\nthey turned natural fools upon it for several days. One would blow up a\nfeather into the air, another would dart straws at it with much fury,\nanother, stark naked, was seen sitting up in a corner, like a monkey,\ngrinning and making mouths.\u201d In this frantic condition they were\nconfined for safety. In eleven days they recovered, but had no memory of\nthe delirium. Such also is the effect of large quantities of black\nhenbane. Dr. Patouillet, of Toucy, in France, in 1737 witnessed a mania\nof this sort in nine persons, who had eaten of that root. It was marked\nby the strangest actions and expressions. In these also there was no\nrecollection of the illusion.\n\nBut the closest analogy, in point of concentrated energy, to eccentric\nsomnambulism, is the effect of the inhalation of the \u201cgaseous oxide of\nazote,\u201d or \u201cprotoxide of nitrogen,\u201d the _laughing-gas_. So intense is\nits impression on the nerves and blood of the brain, that it effects a\nperfect _metempsychosis_. This gas contains a greater relative\nproportion of oxygen than common air, and it is inhaled through a tube\nfrom a bladder or silk bag. After a little giddiness and headache, the\nbreather soon begins to feel a very delicious thrilling; the eyes are\ndazzled by even common objects, so much are the senses excited. Pride\nand _pugnacity_ are quickly developed: we think ourselves grand\nseignors, and elevated far beyond the common class of mortals. We expect\nfrom all a _salaam_, and, with all the proud dignity of papacy, wonder\nthat the people do not fall down and kiss our toe. We turn a deaf ear to\nall which is addressed to us; in short, we are dissociated from all\naround us. Sir Humphrey Davy, as the effect was wearing off, seemed to\nhave been charmed into the combined philosophy of Berkley and Hume. He\nwrites, \u201cwith the most intense belief and prophetic manner, I exclaimed:\n\u2018Nothing exists but thoughts; the universe is composed of impressions,\nideas, pleasures, and pains.\u2019\u201d\n\nThis brilliancy is probably the effect of scarlet or highly _oxygenized_\nblood, acting on the brain and nerves of the senses.\n\nThe duration of this gaseous influence is usually from five minutes to a\nquarter of an hour. It is not, however, always so transient.\n\nFrom the record of Professor Silliman, it seems to have converted an \u201cIl\nPenseroso\u201d into a \u201cL\u2019Allegro.\u201d A man of melancholy became a man of\nmirth: and, although before his inhalation he had no sweet tooth in his\nhead, he began to eat little except _sugar and sweet cakes_, and to\nswallow _molasses_ with his meat and potatoes.\n\nAlthough _sparring_ is the grand amusement of the gas-breather, yet we\ncan often decide on the shades of character, however studiously they may\nhave been concealed from us in sane moments.\n\nA gentleman among my fellow-students threw himself forcibly on his back,\nby his attempts to spout Shakspere with dignity and effect.\n\nAnother threw himself prostrate in the snow, and rolling himself over\nand back across the quadrangle at Guy\u2019s, turned himself into an immense\ncylindrical snowball.\n\nAnother snapped his fingers in defiance, and walked with a most pompous\nstrut, and without his hat, to the middle of London Bridge, ere he was\nbrought to his senses.\n\nIndeed these experiments seem so replete with the ludicrous, that I\nwonder Cruikshank and Hood have not often caught a fact, as a theme for\ntheir brilliant fancy.\n\n\n\n\n REVERIE.\n\n\n \u201cThat fools should be so deep-contemplative.\u201d\n\n \u201cIn his brain\n He hath strange places cramm\u2019d\n With observation, the which he vents\n In mangled forms.\u201d\n AS YOU LIKE IT.\n\nASTR. I was dreaming last night, Evelyn, of your eccentric puppets; and\nI cannot but wonder at the _contrasted_ influences of nitrous oxide on\nthe brain and marrow, as you say. In one, we see the wondrous phenomena\nof somnambulism; in the other, a state of apathy, like the almost\nsenseless reverie of the idiot.\n\nEV. You are shrewd, Astrophel, and have hit on these objective analogies\nwith the acuteness of a pathologist. Contrasts they truly are; and yet\nthere is a natural transition from one to the other.\n\nSomnambulism is the most eccentric condition of sleep; and _Reverie_ is\nthat state which constitutes the nearest approximation to slumber. But\nthe French verb, _r\u00eaver_, is a comprehensive word, signifying all the\neccentricities of mind, from idiocy to divine philosophy; so that its\nderivative, \u201cReverie,\u201d may be construed into Dream, Delirium, Raving,\nThought, Fancy, Meditation, Abstraction.\n\nYou may wonder at this combination, but, however you may smile, the\nexistence of every one is marked by a certain degree of moral or\ninstinctive mania, modified by the peculiarity of habit, taste, or\nsentiment; and, I may add, of intellectual _monomania_ (\u201cmonomanie\nraisonnante\u201d), in reference to some particular subject. There may indeed\nbe an _incubation_ of madness; and, if circumstances occur to _sit_ and\n_hatch_, the germs will be developed. When these two, moral and\nintellectual error (which may _separately_ pass current in the world for\neccentricity), unite, then the man is mad, and becomes an irresponsible\nagent.\n\nThe term \u201cReverie,\u201d then, will imply the varied conditions of that\nfaculty, which phrenology terms _concentrativeness_; the extremes of\nwhich mark the idiot and the sage.\n\nIdiocy is the most abject and imperfect condition of the waking mind,\nresembling closely the first disposition to slumber, the sensation of\n_doziness_. The creature will commit the most absurd acts, and utter the\nmost ridiculous or profane expressions, without the redeeming apology of\nbeing engaged in abstract thought or abstruse calculation.\n\nIt is consolatory, however, to know that this weakness is usually\n_connate_, or manifested at the very dawn of intellect; so that we have\nnot the painful study of contrasting, in one being, the light of mind\nwith its shadowy darkness.\n\nThe idiot, indeed, often appears so little more than a laughing or a\ndancing vegetable, that pity yields to curiosity and mirth; and, instead\nof mourning, we work into the plot and incidents of a novel or a stage\nfarce, either that strange mixture of weakness and cunning which is\ndelineated in Davie Gellatly, or the absolute imbecility of Audrey,\nSlender, and Sir Andrew Aguecheek.\n\nBut this melancholy being is not always a _solitary_ curiosity. In many\ndistricts, especially in the stream-fed valleys of Europe and Asia,\nnature fails, by wholesale, in the development of that \u201cparagon of\nanimals,\u201d man.\n\nSuch are the _Capots_, or _Cretins_, of Chinese Tartary, as we learn\nfrom Sir George Staunton; those of the Rhone and Tyrolese valleys; the\n_Coliberts_ of Rochelle; the _Cagneux_ of Brittany; the _Gaffos_ of\nNavarre; the _Gavachos_ of Spain; and the _Gezitani_ of the Pyrenees.\n\nThe condition of the lowest class of these wretched beings is indeed\nthat of idiocy; their intellectual power being little more than the\nmental blank which would mark the _acephalous_, or brainless monsters,\ncould such abortions attain the age of maturity. It is mere _animal\nlife_, with the very faintest stamp of intelligence.\n\nThe _Cretin_ is from four to five feet high, cadaverous, flabby, the\nhead immensely out of proportion, the skin studded with livid eruptions,\nthe eyes blear and squinting, the lips slavering, the limbs weak and\ncrooked; and (like the _Stulbings_ of Swift) the senses are imperfect,\nthe hearing and speech often absolutely lost,\u2014the expression being that\nof a fool or a satyr. And dissection demonstrates the frequent causes of\nall this; for, in the skull of these beings, we often find a _bluish\njelly_, instead of healthy brain. This diseased _pulp_ is thus the\nsource of both animal and intellectual apathy. The idiot will often seem\ninsensible to pain, while his flesh is burning; and objects or subjects\ndo not cause sufficient impression on this pulpy brain to produce their\n_image_, so that the being may almost live without a sense.\n\nCAST. This is a dreary, but, I suppose, a faithful picture, and shows us\none of those impressive contrasts which nature is fraught with. The\nCretin dwarf amidst the gigantic sublimity of the Alps; the lava stream\nrolling over the chestnut groves of Valombrosa; the malaria that steams\nup from the Pontine even to Albano; the murky sulphur cloud that floats\nover Avernus, and the Solfaterra; and the poison-snake creeping among\nthe honied flowers and purple festoons which gild the prairies and\ninterlace the forests of Columbia, show us how intimately are blended\nthe lights and shadows of creation. Yet Evelyn will let me ask him if\nthere are not many beautiful stories, which we may have deemed the\ncreation of poesy, proving that idiotism is not always _definite_ and\n_permanent_. I ought to blush while I recite them. The romance of Cymon\nand Iphigenia is not a mere fable. I have heard a story of a youth who\nwas an idiot to his 17th year. At this time he saw a beautiful girl, and\ninstantly felt deep and devoted love for her; and became, from this\nalmost divine influence, as acute in intellect as his playmates.\n\nASTR. And what writeth the quaint Anatomist of Melancholy?\u2014\u201cWe read in\nthe lives of the Fathers a story of a child that was brought up in the\nwilderness from his infancy by an old hermite. Now come to man\u2019s estate,\nhe saw by chance two comely women wandering in the woods. He asked the\nold man what creatures they were. He told him fayries. After a while\ntalking _obiter_, the hermite demanded of him which was the pleasantest\nsight that he ever saw in his life? He readily replied, the two fayries\nhe espied in the wilderness. So that without doubt there is some secret\nloadstone in a beautiful woman, a magnetique power.\u201d\n\nIDA. We do not hold your gallantry lightly, Astrophel; there is some\nhope of your conversion.\n\nEV. That mind is termed _weak_, where there is a want of the power of\nfixing the attention to one object, a _wandering of the imaginative\nfaculty_. A train of ideas arises, between the links of which there is\nsome remote relation; but its beginning and end may appear _so\ndissonant_, that the absent person will fail to recognize the connexion,\nuntil, by an effort to retrace the steps of thought, the mystery is\ndeveloped.\n\nIDA. The subjects of this form of reverie are, I presume, the\n_wool-gatherers_ of society, being \u201cevery thing by turns, and nothing\nlong;\u201d and often, like the dog in the fable, losing the substance while\nthey grasp at the shadow; others employ their time by sitting\n\n \u201cMusing all alone,\n Building castles in the air,\u201d\n\nforming plans and projecting schemes which shall fill men\u2019s minds with\nwonder, and their own pockets with gold.\n\nBut these castle-builders are, alas! but the dupes of their own mad\nfancy. The card-house is nearly finished, and one imprudent touch of the\nchild topples it down headlong. One of the most salutary lessons on this\nfoible is the fable of the Persian visionary, the glassman Alnaschar,\nwho, by rehearsing one kick of the foot, that was to indicate his\ndespotic will, broke into ten thousand pieces the basket of merchandize,\nwhich, by its accumulating profits, was to raise him to the highest\ndignities. Such are the results of self-glamourie or castle-building.\n\nEV. It is a moral lesson of great worth, dear Ida. But these wanderings\nare often assimilating the true delirium of fever, of which the dreams\nof Piranesi are examples. In his sketches of these illusions he figures\nhimself as ascending by steps so high that he at length vanishes into\nthe clouds.\n\nNow there are many curious instances of forgetfulness, as there may be a\nconfusion of ideas from this deficiency of concentration, memory being,\nas it were, deranged. From study, or intense thought, a jumble of\nstrange ideas will sometimes force themselves involuntarily on the mind,\ndisplacing or confusing the subject of meditation.\n\nThus a German, of the name of Spalding, of high attainments, informs us,\nthat after great mental labour, he was intending to write this receipt:\n\u201cfifty dollars, being one half-year\u2019s rate,\u201d but quite unconsciously\nconcluded it thus: \u201cfifty dollars through the salvation of Bra.\u201d And the\nauthor of the \u201cSpiritual Treasury,\u201d Mason, during his devotion to its\ncomposition, had, as he believed, taken the address of a visitor on whom\nhe was to wait; but on referring to his note, he read, not the address,\nbut\u2014\u201cActs ii. verse 8.\u201d\n\nChildren have _naturally_ a want of power of concentration. I have told\nyou that if a new or more attractive object strikes their sight, they\nwill drop that which they were holding; and Foote would often, while\ntaking a pinch, let his snuff-box fall from his hand, if for a moment\nhis attention was diverted.\n\nASTR. The reverse of wandering, then, you term _concentrativeness_. You\nwould not stigmatize the passive or involuntary form of abstraction, as\nthe reverie of a _monomaniac_.\n\nEV. No. As attention is concentration of a sense, abstraction is the\nconcentration or attention of the mind; therefore the power of fixing\nthe senses and forgetting the mind, is attention, that of fixing the\nmind and forgetting the senses, is abstraction\u2014philosophy, if you will.\n\nThe active form, the power of fixing the attention on one subject, or of\nseparating ideas and bringing them into association on one point, is the\ngreat characteristic of the philosopher and the mathematician. That\ninattention to _minuti\u00e6_ during this abstraction, has, I grant, caused\nthe shafts of satire to be profusely flung at many a \u201clearned pundit;\u201d\nfor the jokes of Rabelais are eclipsed by the eccentricities of our\nsages: Dominie Sampson is no caricature.\n\nAs I trace these forms of reverie from monomania to its curious\ncontrast, the _folie raisonnante_ of men of one idea, (in which there is\nan aberration of intellect, or want of consciousness on _all subjects\nbut one_,) and so on to philosophical abstraction, we shall learn, not\nwithout some humility, how close an alliance does really exist between\ngreat wits and madness.\n\nThe records of history and fiction teem with the illusions of the\nmonomaniacs from intense impression. The madness of Ophelia and of Lear,\nare true and faithful illustrations of the effects of _brooding over\nsorrow_. In the monarch, indeed, that one momentary glimpse of reason\nwhen the word \u201c_king_\u201d like an electric shock falls on his ear, and, for\nan instant, lights up his intellect, which as suddenly darkness again\novershadows, beautifully shows forth by contrast this madness of one\nidea.\n\nDr. Gooch relates the case of a lady, who in consequence of an alarm of\nfire, believed that she was the Virgin Mary, and that her head was\nconstantly encircled by a brilliant halo or glory.\n\nA gentleman, on narrowly escaping from the earthquake at Lisbon, fell\ninto a state of delirium whenever the word \u201cearthquake\u201d was pronounced\nin his hearing.\n\nIn \u201cPechlin\u201d we read of a lady, who gazed with painless interest on the\ncomet of 1681 until she observed it _through a telescope_ of high power;\nthe terror was so intense, that she was frightened to death even in a\nfew days.\n\nDr. Morrison relates the case of an insane gentleman who had consulted a\ngypsy, and was instantly in a state of high excitement, whenever a\nsubject associated with her prophecies was alluded to.\n\nMy friend, Dr. Uwins, informed me of an intellectual young gentleman,\nwho from some morbid association with the idea of an elephant, was\nstruck by an horrific spasm whenever the word was named, _or even\nwritten_ before him; and to such a pitch was this infatuation carried,\nthat elephant _paper_, if he were sensible it were such, produced the\nsame effect.\n\nThe Reverend John Mason, of Water Stratford, evinced in every thing\nsound judgment, except that he believed that he was Elias, and foretold\nthe advent of Christ, who was to commence the millennium at Stratford.\n\nDr. Abercrombie writes of a young botanist who had gained a prize: he\nthought he was in a boat sailing to Greenwich on a botanical excursion,\nand conversed rationally on all points but that of the prize, which he\nasserted another student had gained.\n\nHear, too, another rhapsody of the \u201cOpium-Eater.\u201d After a close and\nintense study of the works of Livy, the words Consul Romanus seemed to\nhaunt his mind. \u201cAt a clapping of hands would be heard the heart-rending\nsounds of \u2018Consul Romanus;\u2019 and immediately came sweeping by in gorgeous\npaludaments, Paulus Marius girt round by a company of centurions, with\nthe crimson tunic hoisted on a spear, and followed by the alalagmos of\nthe Roman legions.\u201d\n\nThere is a story (written in the seventeenth century) of a youth, who in\na playful frolic put a ring on the marriage finger of a marble Venus;\nand a strange illusion came upon him that she had thus become his wife,\nand, in obedience to the injunctions of the ceremony, came to his bed\nwhen the sable canopy of night was spread around them. So intense was\nthis illusion, and so cold and loveless was his heart withal, that, as\nthe story goes, an _exorcist was employed_ to dissolve the spell which\nhad so firmly bound him.\n\nIDA. I believe it was Mrs. Barry, who (as we read in the \u201cLast Essays of\nElia,\u201d) averred that when playing the child of Isabella, she felt the\nburning tears of Mrs. Porter fall on her neck, as she was breathing o\u2019er\nher some pathetic sentence. Even the study of Lady Macbeth, in midnight\nsolitude, so intensely excited the imagination of Mrs. Siddons, that\nCampbell says, as she was disrobing herself in her chamber, she trembled\nwith affright, even at the rustling of her own silk attire.\n\nEV. I could add many stories to yours, Ida. This sensibility, if\nprotracted or in excess, becomes the _Panophobia_ of Esquirol. He\nattended once a lady whom the slightest noise alarmed, and who was wont\nto scream with affright at the simple moving of herself in bed.\n\nFrom the journal of Esquirol I will quote other fragments, in which we\nsee that every object was associated with _one_ image.\n\n\u201cDuring our promenade he (a gallant general) interrupted me several\ntimes, in the midst of a very connected conversation, saying, \u201cDo you\nhear how they repeat the words \u2018_coward_, _jealous_?\u2019 &c.\u201d This illusion\nwas produced by the noise of the leaves and the whistling of the wind\namong the branches of the trees, which _appeared to him well-articulated\nsounds_; and, although I had each time combated it with success, the\nillusion returned whenever the wind agitated the trees anew.\n\n\u201cA young married man was in a state of fury whenever he saw a woman\nleaning on a man\u2019s arm, being convinced that it was _his own wife_. I\ntook him to the theatre at the commencement of his convalescence, but as\nsoon as a lady entered the saloon accompanied by a gentleman, he became\nagitated, and called out eagerly several times, \u2018That is she, that is\nshe.\u2019 I could hardly help laughing, and we were obliged to retire.\n\n\u201cA lady, twenty-three years of age, afflicted with hysterical madness,\nused to remain constantly at the windows of her apartment during the\nsummer. When she saw a beautiful cloud in the sky, she screamed out\n\u2018Garnerin, Garnerin, come and take me!\u2019 and repeated the same invitation\nuntil the cloud disappeared. She mistook the clouds for balloons sent up\nby Garnerin.\u201d\n\nCAST. There is here as much romance, as when Ajax mistook a drove of\noxen for the armed Greeks, or Don Quixote the windmills for a band of\nSpanish giants.\n\nEV. Again, Dr. Beddoes relates the case of a scholar, who locked himself\nup to study the Revelation. The confinement brought on _dyspeptic_ pains\nand spasms, and he was persuaded that \u201cthe monster blasphemy, with ten\nheads, was preying on his vitals.\u201d\n\nThe Reverend Simon Brown died with the conviction that his _rational\nsoul_ was annihilated by a special fiat of the Divine will; and a\npatient in the Friends\u2019 \u201cRetreat,\u201d at York, thought he had no soul,\nheart, or lungs.\n\nFrom \u201cTulpius\u201d we learn, that the wife of Salomon Galmus sank into a\nstate of extreme melancholy, from the deep conviction that she was a\nvisitant from the tomb, but sent back to the world _without her heart_,\nfor God had detained that in heaven.\n\nSuch illusions are sometimes excited by wounds of the brain. A soldier\nof the field of Austerlitz was struck with a delirious conviction that\nhe was but an ill-made model of his former self. \u201cYou ask how P\u00e8re\nLambert is,\u201d (he would say;) \u201che is dead, killed at Austerlitz; _that_\nyou now see is a mere machine, made in his likeness.\u201d He would then\noften lapse into a state of catalepsy insensible to every stimulus.\n\nDr. Mead tells us of an Oxford student, who ordered the _passing bell_\nto be rung for him, and _went himself_ to the belfry to instruct the\nringers. He returned to his bed only to die.\n\nA Bourbon prince thought himself dead, and refused to eat until his\nfriends invited him to dine with Turenne and other French heroes long\nsince departed.\n\nThere was a tradesman who thought he was a seven-shilling piece, and\nadvertised himself thus: \u201cIf my wife presents me for payment, don\u2019t\nchange me.\u201d Accuse me not of transatlantic plagiarism.\n\nBishop Warburton tells us of a man who thought himself a _goose pie_;\nand Dr. Ferriday, of Manchester, had a patient who thought he had\n_swallowed the devil_.\n\nSo indeed thought Luther. As in Hudibras,\n\n \u201cDid not the devil appear to Martin\n Luther in Germany for certain?\u201d\n\nIn Paris there lived a man who thought he had with others been\nguillotined, and when Napoleon was emperor, their heads were all\nrestored, but in _the scramble he got the wrong one_.\n\nAnd there is the \u201cVisitor of Phantaste\u201d in the old play of \u201cLingua,\u201d who\nexclaims: \u201cNo marvel, for when I beheld my fingers, I saw they were as\ntransparent as glass.\u201d\n\nYou perceive that the illusions of Pope\u2019s \u201cRape of the Lock\u201d are not all\nfictions: the maids who fancied they were turned into bottles, were not\nmore in error than these philosophers with their _maladie imaginaire_.\n\nCAST. Is there not wisdom, Evelyn, in nursing _some_ of these innocent\nillusions? I remember Kotzebue, in his \u201cJourney to Paris,\u201d relates the\nfollowing anecdote of a young girl, romantically in love. Her lover had\noften accompanied her on the harp: he died, and his harp had remained in\nher room. After the first excess of her despair, she sunk into the\ndeepest melancholy, and much time elapsed ere she would sit down to her\ninstrument. At last she did so, gave some touches, and, hark! the harp,\n_tuned alike_, resounded in echo. The good girl was at first seized with\na secret shuddering, but soon felt a kind of soft melancholy: she was\nfirmly persuaded that the spirit of her lover was softly sweeping the\nstrings of the instrument. The harpsichord, from this moment,\nconstituted her only pleasure, as it afforded her the certainty that her\nlover was still hovering near her. One of those unfeeling men, who want\nto know and clear up every thing, once entered her apartment. The girl\ninstantly begged him to be quiet, for at that very moment the dear harp\nspoke most distinctly. Being _informed of the amiable illusion_ which\novercame her reason, he laughed, and, with a great display of learning,\nproved to her by experimental physics, that all this was _very natural_.\nFrom that instant the maiden grew melancholy, drooped, and soon after\ndied.\n\nEV. Truth is not always to be spoken, nor too much energy exerted, in\nour treatment; for many a _mad act_, as it will be called, is resorted\nto, _as a relief_.\n\nTirouane de Mericourt was wont to _saturate her bedclothes with cold\nwater, then lie down on it_. Although an extreme _remedy_, it might\nyield her relief from _burning_ pains. In the darker ages, she would\nhave been chained and scourged.\n\nBut from Marcus Donatus we read the following case of still more\nmelancholy interest; another illustration of your question, dear\nCastaly:\n\n\u201cVicentinus believed himself too large to pass one of his doorways. To\ndispel this illusion, it was resolved by his physician that he should be\n_dragged through this aperture by force_. This erroneous dictate was\nobeyed; but, as he was forced along, Vicentinus screamed out in agony,\nthat his limbs were fractured, and the flesh torn from his bones. In\nthis dreadful delusion, with terrific imprecations against his\nmurderers, he died.\u201d\n\n\n\n\n ABSTRACTION OF INTELLECT.\n\n\n \u201cI love to cope him in these sullen fits,\n For then he\u2019s full of matter.\u201d\n AS YOU LIKE IT.\n\nASTR. So that in these cases it is _one faculty only_ which is\ninterrupted, and not the _combined intellect_. But all the faculties\n_but_ one may be deranged, may they not?\n\nEV. Yes. When the patient is insane on all points but one, we term it,\n\u201cFolie raisonnante.\u201d\n\nThe very idiot, indeed, is often fond of most exact arrangement. The\nsavage of Aveyron instantly put things in order when they were deranged.\n\nWhite, in his \u201cHistory of Selborne,\u201d records the propensities of an\nidiot, who, he says, was a very _Merops-apiaster_, or Bee-bird.\nHoney-bees, humblebees, and wasps, were his prey: he would seize them,\ndisarm them of their weapons, and suck their bodies for the sake of\ntheir honey-bags. Except in this adroitness, he had no understanding.\n\nPinel states the case of a mechanical genius, who became insane,\nbelieving _his head to be changed_. Yet he invented mechanism of the\nmost intricate combinations. We are informed, too, of a clergyman, who\nwas ever insane, but when delivering his discourses from the pulpit.\n\nI believe some parts of a national establishment were constructed from\nthe plans of one of its inmates, who was to all other intents and\npurposes a madman.\n\nDr. Uwins once told me, that some of the lines in his biographical work\nwere written by a maniac in the Hoxton Asylum, who was ever aware of the\napproach of his mania. These lines were thought to be among the best in\nthe work.\n\nNay, idiots will sometimes reason, and work out a syllogism. I think Dr.\nConolly relates a story of two, who quarrelled, because each asserted\nthat he was the Holy Ghost; at length, one decided that the other _was_\nthe Holy Ghost, and that he _could not be, because_ there were not two.\n\nFrom this \u201cfolie raisonnante\u201d there is an easy transition to that\neccentricity which seems to be a set-off against the _strength of mind_\nof the deep thinker. The _permanent_ derangement, however, we term\n_insanity_; the _transient, eccentricity_.\n\nMarullus informs us that Bernard rode all day long by the Lemnian Lake,\nand at last inquired _where he was_. Archimedes rushed into the street\nnaked from the bath, in an ecstacy at having discovered the alloy in the\ncrown of Syracuse. Pinel tells us of a priest, who, in an abstract mood,\nfelt no pain, although part of his body was burning.\n\n\u201cViote,\u201d says Zimmerman, \u201cduring his fits of mathematical abstraction,\nwould often remain sleepless and foodless for three days and nights.\u201d\n\nAnd Plato thus records an instance of the abstraction of Socrates:\u2014\u201cOne\nmorning he fell into one of these raptures of contemplation, and\ncontinued standing in the same posture till about noon. In the evening,\nsome Ionian soldiers went out, and, wrapping themselves up warm, lay\ndown by him in the open field, to observe if he would continue in that\nposture all night; which he did until the morning, and as soon as the\nsun rose he saluted it, and retired.\u201d This is mental abstraction with a\nvengeance!\n\nASTR. I will laugh with you at these oddities, Evelyn; yet not a whit\nless ludicrous are some of the vagaries of the learned Thebans of\n_modern_ times. The abstractions of Newton were proverbial. It may not\nbe true, that he once inserted the little finger of a lady, whose hand\nhe was holding, into his pipe, instead of a tobacco-stopper; or that he\nmade a small hole in his study-door for the exit of a kitten, by the\nside of a large one for the cat: it is certain, however, that he was\nonce musing by his fire, with his knees close to the bars, when, finding\nhis legs in danger of being grilled, he rang his bell, and, in a rage,\ndesired his servant to _take away the grate_.\n\nDr. Hamilton, author of the acute \u201cEssay on the National Debt,\u201d visited\nhis college class in the morning with his own black silk stocking on one\nleg, and his wife\u2019s white cotton on the other; and would sometimes\noccupy the whole class time by repeatedly removing the students\u2019 hats\nfrom his table, which they as often placed there. He would run against a\ncow, and beg madam\u2019s pardon, hoping he had not hurt her; and he would\nbow politely to his wife in the street, without recognition. Yet with\nall this he would, at any time, directly converse on a scientific\nsubject beautifully and eloquently.\n\nBacon, the sculptor, in a rich full dress was finishing Howard\u2019s statue\nin St. Paul\u2019s, and, being cold, put on a ragged green and red shag\nwaistcoat. In this trim he walked out to call on some ladies in Doctors\u2019\nCommons. On his return he told his son that they were sadly disposed to\nlaugh about nothing. On being convinced, however, of his condition, he\nremembered the people he passed _also_ giggled, and cried out, \u201cHe does\nit for a wager.\u201d\n\nHogarth paid a visit, in his new carriage, to the Lord Mayor, and, after\nhis audience, walked home in his state clothes, leaving his carriage at\na private door of the Mansion-House.\n\nDr. Harvest, of Ditton, a very learned man, would unconsciously allow\nhis horse to be loosened from his grasp, and walk home _with the bridle\non his arm_. He would walk into his church on Sunday, _with his\nfowling-piece_. He would write a letter, address it, and send it to\n_three different persons_. He lost a lady, the daughter of a bishop, as\nhis wife, by going out to _catch gudgeons_, forgetting that it was the\nmorning of his marriage ceremony; and he once threw a glass of wine at\nbackgammon, and swallowed the dice!\n\nAfter this we can no longer call caricatures the abstract philosopher\nwho boiled his watch, and held the egg in his hand as the time-keeper;\nor the American, who put his candle to bed, and blew himself out; or the\nlady, who believed herself to be a post-letter, but waited patiently\nuntil the letter-sorter had examined her, to ascertain if she was single\nor double.\n\nEV. There is some hope of you now, dear Astrophel, for you are returning\nto matters of fact.\n\nFrom the deep interest of _dramatic scenes_ may spring the same apathy\nas that which _you_ have illustrated. Dr. Fordyce writes of one who\nforgot he was sitting on a hard bench, when Garrick brought in his dead\nCordelia in his arms. And even the impression of _fatigue_ and _pain_\nwill often, for a time, leave us, when we are gazing on architectural or\npicturesque beauty.\n\nIDA. Are not those minds which are easily influenced by morbid\nsensibility, the minuti\u00e6 of existence, often thus depressed into a\ncondition somewhat resembling the moroseness of these half-idiots?\n\nEV. Ay, even the mighty minds of heroes and of monarchs. Queen Elizabeth\nwas often wont to sit alone, _in the dark_, in sorrow and in tears. We\nknow not if the fate of Essex or of Mary were the cause, but the marble\nmind of Elizabeth was dissolved before she died. In Sully\u2019s \u201cM\u00e9moires,\u201d\nalso, we read that the solitude of Charles IX., of France, was saddened\nby remorse, for his memory was ever pealing in his ear the shrieks and\ngroans of the massacre of St. Bartholomew. During this influence we may\noften find that the features or actions are so deeply expressive as to\nprove an involuntary, though correct, index of the thought. According to\nthe passions or subjects which occupy the mind, will be the play of\nfeature or the movement of the body.\n\n \u201cWe might almost suppose the body thought.\u201d\n\nThis \u201cbrown study\u201d is the slightest form of that state which the French\nterm _ennui_, in which the mind too often is left to prey upon itself,\nhaving, as it were, no sympathy with the world. Its more severe symptoms\nare those of _misanthropy_, _melancholy_, and _hypochondriasis_,\ninducing but too often that extreme _tedium vit\u00e6_, the climax of which\nis suicide. Out of the first, which is but the mere ripple of\nderangement, we may be laughed or coaxed; nay, it may yield to the\npositive _suffering_ of the _body_. The second is like the deep still\nwater, the awful calmness antecedent to a tempest. In the words of Lord\nErskine, \u201cReason is not driven from her seat, but distraction sits down\non it along with her, holds her trembling on it, and frights her from\nher propriety. And then comes often o\u2019er the mind a very coward\nsentiment, echoing the demoniac resolution of Spenser\u2019s \u201cCave of\nDespair\u201d:\n\n \u201cWhat if some little payne the passage have,\n That makes frayle flesh to fear the better wave?\n Is not short payne well borne, that brings long ease,\n And layes the soule to sleep in quiet grave?\u201d\n\nIDA. Despair will often rouse even the most sensitive beings to the most\npatient fortitude. How is this?\n\nEV. Not rouse, but depress\u2014not fortitude, but apathy. I could excite\nyour deepest sympathy and wonder, Ida, by the history of the young and\nbeautiful Ann G\u2014\u2014n, who was hung for child-murder; in whom the\nconvulsive agony which followed her sentence at length ended in a\nresignation which some would term heroism. During the nights in which I\nmyself watched her slumbers, both from deep scientific interest, and the\nrequest of her judges, her actions were automatic; her existence was one\nperfect trance; and she met her fate as if life and its consciousness\nhad long been parted.\n\nEven an intense blow will sometimes, as it were, annihilate sensibility,\ncreating an icy apathy to all subsequent inflictions; which was the\neffect on Mandrin, during the tortures of the wheel; for he smiled at\nthe _third_ blow, to find that it hurt him so little.\n\nIDA. Then we are to contrast the state of the unhappy girl with the\n_voluntary_ endurance of heroism depending on the power of\n_concentrating mind_? The almost superhuman endurance of pain is finely\ndisplayed among the North American Indians, who even chant their own\ndeath-song calmly amidst worse than the tortures of the Inquisition, or\nsustain with a smile those probationary trials for the dignities of a\nchief, or the admission to the class of warriors, that are modelled with\nall the refinement of cruelty. On the banks of the Orinoco, especially,\n(if Robertson be right, or Gumilla, his authority, to be believed,) the\nordeal begins by a rigid fast, reductive of the body\u2019s energy; then\ncommences a flaying of his body by lashes as dreadful as the knout, by\nthe hands of the assembled chiefs, and then, if the slightest\nsensibility be evinced, he is disgraced for ever. His raw and reeking\nflesh is then exposed to the stings and venom of insects and reptiles,\nand again suspended over the scorching and suffocating flames of herbs\nof the most disgusting odour; and, to close this tale of torture, it is\nnot seldom that the victim sinks in mortal agonies beneath the dreadful\nordeal.\n\nEV. The two great springs of voluntary endurance of pain are _religion_\nand _honour_. Thus, among other heroic acts of England\u2019s martyrs,\nCranmer held the apostate hand which signed his recantation in the midst\nof the flames until it was _wasted_. And the unyielding fortitude with\nwhich the victim bore the rack and other excruciating tortures of the\npopish Inquisition is almost beyond belief.\n\nThe fanaticism of the wild enthusiasts of the east it were profanation\nto call religion; but with the hope of rejoining her husband in the\nrealms of bliss, the Hindoo widow clasps his corpse in her arms, and,\nwithout a sigh, sets the torch to his funeral pile. And, to inherit the\nparadise of Brahma, the Fakir or Yoghee keeps his fist clenched for\nyears, until the nails grow through his hand; or forces the hooks\nbetween his ribs, and whirls himself aloft until he expires, or throws\nhimself prostrate beneath the crushing wheels of Juggernaut.\n\nIt is written that Cardan rendered himself by great efforts insensible\nto external irritants.\n\nAnd analogous to this, was the almost superhuman effort of that\ndetermined action of Muley Moloch quoted in the \u201cSpectator,\u201d from\nVertot\u2019s \u201cRevolutions of Portugal:\u201d\u2014\u201cIn a condition of extreme\nprostration he was borne in a litter with his army. On the sounding of a\nretreat, although in a half-dying state, he leaped from the litter, and\nled his quailing troops to a charge, which ended in victory. Ere this\nwas accomplished his life was fast ebbing, and, reclining on his litter,\nand enjoining the secrecy of his staff, with his finger on his lip, he\ndied.\u201d\n\nBut my analysis will be incomplete, if I do not revert to a point that I\nhad almost forgotten. These abstract moods have often been confounded\nwith the visions of slumber, being adduced as proofs of the perfection\nof mind during sleep.\n\nYou reminded me, Astrophel, of the brilliant parody composed by\nMackenzie, of the versification of Voltaire and La Fontaine, of the\nsolution of the difficult problem by Condorcet, of the discussion of\nabstruse points of policy by Cabanis. You might have added Condillac,\nwho asserts that when he was composing the \u201c_Cours d\u2019Etudes_,\u201d he often\nleft a chapter unfinished, but had it all in his mind when he awoke. And\nFranklin assures us, that he often _dreamed_ of the issue of important\nevents in which he was engaged, believing the vision to be the influence\nof inspired prophecy. Dr. Haycock, of Oxford, too, is said to have\ncomposed and preached sermons in his sleep, in despite even of\nbuffetings.\n\nThese are not dreams, but the reveries of philosophers and poets. The\nfaculties of perception are suspended: one only object occupies the\nmind, and the impression on the memory is vivid and permanent. Of this\nreverie I do not recollect a more interesting illustration than the\n\u201c_Dream_ of Tartini,\u201d and its exquisite product, \u201cLa Sonata di Diavolo.\u201d\nThis admirable violinist and once esteemed composer, relates the\nfollowing anecdote as the origin of his _chef-d\u2019\u0153uvre_, the \u201cDevil\u2019s\nSonata.\u201d \u201cOne night, it was in the year 1713, I dreamed that I had made\nover my soul to his satanic majesty. Every thing was done to my wink;\nthe faithful menial anticipated my fondest wishes. Among other freaks,\nit came into my head to put the violin into his hands, for I was anxious\nto see whether he was capable of producing anything worth hearing upon\nit. Conceive my astonishment at his playing a sonata, with such\ndexterity and grace, as to surpass whatever the imagination can\nconceive. I was so much delighted, enraptured, and entranced by his\nperformance, that I was unable to fetch another breath, and, in this\nstate, I awoke. I jumped up and seized upon my instrument, in the hope\nof reproducing a portion, at least, of the unearthly harmonies I had\nheard in my dream. But all in vain: the music which I composed under the\ninspiration, I must admit the best I have ever written, and of right I\nhave called it the \u2018Devil\u2019s Sonata;\u2019 but the falling off between that\npiece and the sonata which had laid such fast hold of my imagination is\nso immense, that I would rather have broken my violin into a thousand\nfragments, and renounced music for good and all, than, had it been\npossible, have been robbed of the enjoyment which the remembrance\nafforded me.\u201d\n\nIn the cases of precocious children, who are said to have \u201clisp\u2019d in\nnumbers,\u201d I do not doubt that the secret may be referred to this\nconcentration of genius. Mozart composed a sonata at the age of four.\nThe precocious little girl, Louisa Vinning, who was called the \u201c_Infant\nSappho_,\u201d has yet eclipsed Mozart in this; that at the age of two years\nand eight months she sang repeatedly a melody perfectly new, and so\nperfect, that it was written down from her lips, and entitled, \u201cThe\nInfant\u2019s Dream.\u201d During all this, the little creature was in such a\nstate of apparent abstraction, that it was believed by all around her\nthat she walked and talked in _her sleep_.\n\nThese mental concentrations can, by some enthusiasts, be produced at\npleasure. The paroxysm of the improvisatore, for instance. But it is an\neffort which, like the dark hour of the Caledonian seer, is not endured\nwith impunity: it points, indeed, emphatically to the limit beyond which\nmind should not be strained.\n\nThe Marquis de Moschati expressed himself to us, as experiencing\nexcitement like intoxication when he _sat himself_ to compose, and threw\nhis whole soul into his subject. It commenced with irregular and\nlaborious breathing, excessive palpitations, _vertigo_, _tinnitus\naurium_,\u2014the perception of objects being lost. Then came romantic\nfancies, like the visions of opium, \u201cthoughts that breathe, and words\nthat burn.\u201d At the conclusion was felt excessive exhaustion, and a state\nof mild catalepsy ensued for five or six days together. This excited\ntalent, therefore, is an evanescent madness.\n\nCAST. Another fling at poesy. Were I an improvisatrice, you would not so\nlibel my inspiration. \u201cListen, lords and lady gay.\u201d In the summer of\n18\u2014, after the _Eisteddfod_ at Cardiff, we wandered over the hills to\nCaerphilly, the gigantic towers of Owain Glyndwr.\n\nAs I lay under the celebrated Hanging Tower, which is projecting eleven\nfeet beyond its base, I reflected on the strange circumstance of the\narrest of so gigantic a mass in its progress to prostration. \u201cWhat,\u201d I\nexclaimed, \u201cis the power by which it is suspended?\u201d My imagination\nheightened my reverie, and placed before me the image of the Destroyer,\nwith his emblematic scythe and glass, and he answered me thus:\u2014\n\n \u201cHalf-dreaming mortal, listen! It is _I_,\n Time, the destroyer, whose gigantic arm\n Lifted this pond\u2019rous ruin from its base.\n Why hangs it thus, arrested in its course,\n In bold defiance of attraction\u2019s law?\n Why, like its once proud lord, renown\u2019d Glyndwr,\n Sinks not its mouldering grandeur to the ground?\n Behold an emblem of vitality!\n A type of mortal man, of thee, of all!\n Like this grey wall, thy tott\u2019ring steps are staid,\n And on a thread thy fragile life is hung;\n Yet leaning, ever leaning, to the grave.\n One moment more, an atom of an age,\n This mould\u2019ring ruin, trembling on its base,\n May, like the marble shafts of lone Palmyra,\n Be hurl\u2019d to earth, and crumble into dust;\n And, like the ruin, thou!\u201d\n\nAnd yet _I_ was not mad.\n\nEV. I talk not of a gentle heart like yours, fair Castaly; but of that\nextreme, when ideas are received by a mind nearly exhausted, and lie for\na while dormant. As sleep and fatigue wear off, and consciousness\nreturns, these images are suddenly and brilliantly lighted up. If\nintense impression shall have been made on the heart or mind, intense\nwill be the abstraction of the enthusiast. Until _one_ thought is\ntouched, the patient is sane; but, when the chord vibrates, then, as in\nthe pathetic episode of Sterne\u2019s Maria, the paroxysm is expended in a\nflood of tears, or in a mad fit, or in a gush of wildest music.\n\nTo the latter cause, we owe many beauties of composition. Demarini, the\nItalian tragedian, acted a prison-scene before Paganini, in which, with\nthe pathos of deep distress, the victim prayed for death. The maestro\nretired to bed, but not to sleep; his excited brain relieved its painful\nsympathies by the composition of the \u201c_Adagio apassionato_.\u201d\n\nCarl Maria Von Weber witnessed the waltzing of his wife with a gallant\ncavalier. He retired in a mood of jealous frenzy, and expressed the\nideas which rankled in his heart by the \u201c_Invitation \u00e0 la Walse_.\u201d\n\nASTR. Well, is there not something special in all this?\n\nEV. Yes, truly,\u2014a power imparted to some, withheld from\nothers,\u2014_genius_.\n\nASTR. Yet, in explanation of this abstract reverie, the phrenologist\nwill, I dare say, satisfy himself by merely deciding that the organ of\nconcentrativeness is strongly developed.\n\nEV. It is clear, at least, that the deep interest of the subject of\nreflection overbalances the influence of the external senses. The\nimpression of objects is either too slight, or rapid, to produce\nperception, or (in other words), however the impression may be imparted\nto the brain by the nerve, the brain is not _sensible_ of it, and there\nis therefore no perception.\n\nSo intense indeed has been this influence, that Pliny contemplated the\nvolcanic philosophy amidst the ashy cloud of Vesuvius by which he was\ndestroyed. And Archimedes was so intent in solving a problem, during the\nsiege of Syracuse, that no sense of danger impelled him to avoid the\nstorm, or fly from the dagger of the assassin.\n\nWhile Parmegiano was painting at Rome the \u201cVision of St. Jerome,\u201d which\nnow adorns the National Gallery of England, the famous siege of that\ncity was concluded by its spoliation. Yet Parmegiano (absorbed with his\npainting) was unconscious of the tumult, until his _studio_ was burst\nopen by some of the soldiers of the enemy. A similar story is told,\nalso, of Protogenes, when Demetrius was laying siege to Rhodes.\n\nCAST. The flappers of Laputa would soon have dispelled this reverie.\n\nEV. But if they had thus flourished their official bladders, perhaps the\n\u201cPrincipia Mathematica\u201d had not been written; for Newton explained the\nextent of his discoveries by his \u201calways thinking unto them.\u201d\n\nSomewhat like the effect of intense study on the mind, the muscles of\nthe limbs will be influenced _by one long-directed habit_. Paganini was\nobserved, on board a steam-boat, constantly to repose on the sofa.\nDuring this state of reverie, his left arm assumed the peculiar attitude\nin which he held his violin, until he saw that he was noticed, when he\naltered its position.\n\nThe right hand of Benjamin West, of which I saw a posthumous model at\nLord de Tabley\u2019s, appeared to have taken that form in which he was wont\nto hold the pencil.\n\nBy this concentration, this full possession of the mind, the wildness of\nfancy in the dark is often the source of terror; but this is ever\nlessened or dispelled by any sound or sight which presents a subject to\nthe _perceptive_ faculty. Such is the sudden glimmer of a light, the\nbarking of a dog, or the almost instinctive effort of the school-boy,\n\n \u201cWhistling aloud to keep his courage up.\u201d\n\nAll these cases, then, indicate concentration of mind. \u201cMental\nconception is uninfluenced by conscious perception.\u201d\n\nI may add, that, in the heat of engagement, soldiers and sailors are\noften unconscious of being even seriously wounded. In the battle of Lake\nThrasymene, the armies of Rome and Carthage were so absorbed in the\ntumult and din of war, that an earthquake, which spread desolation\naround them, was unheeded by these determined soldiers.\n\nIDA. I have gleaned enough from your illustrations, Evelyn, to believe\nthat we may explain by them that solemn and last reverie of the dying,\nwhen all other ideas have ceased to influence, but the _most\nimpressive_\u2014\n\n \u201cThe ruling passion strong in death;\u201d\n\nwhen earthly life is on the wane, and the spirit, in this expiring\nthought, takes its last farewell of the flesh. I remember some beautiful\nevidences of this influence.\n\nIt was observed that Porson, after a paralytic fit, scarcely uttered a\nword of English; but to the last moment spoke _Greek_ fluently.\n\nDr. Adam (a master of Sir Walter Scott), on the subsidence of delirium,\nexclaimed, \u201cIt grows dark\u2014the boys may dismiss;\u201d and instantly expired.\n\nThe last words of Dr. Abercrombie were addressed to an imaginary\npatient, regarding the care of his digestive functions.\n\nSome time after the trial of the Bristol magistrates, Lord Tenterden\nlapsed into a stupor from exhaustion. A short period before death he\nrallied, and, after conversing with his friends for a few minutes, he\nraised himself on his couch, and said, \u201cGentlemen of the jury, you may\nretire;\u201d and then fell back and expired.\n\n\n\n\n SOMNOLENCE.\u2014TRANCE.\u2014CATALEPSY.\n\n\n \u2014\u2014\u201cIn this borrow\u2019d likeness of shrunk death,\n Thou shalt remain full two and forty hours,\n And then awake, as from a pleasant sleep.\u201d\n ROMEO AND JULIET.\n\nCAST. Evelyn, you have again bewildered my thoughts. Sleep, that should\nbe the _anodyne_ of the mind, has awakened afresh my curiosity. I am in\na mood for mystery. Any more wonders?\n\nEV. The prototypes of sleep, dear Castaly, are _all_ \u201cmysteries,\u201d as\n_you_ call them, and marked by ever-varying shades.\n\nThe most impressive conditions of the mind are these:\n\nUnconscious and passive, as in _sound sleep_.\n\nConscious yet passive, as in _dreaming_.\n\nConscious and willing, yet powerless, as in _night-mare_.\n\nUnconscious yet active, as in _somnambulism_.\n\nIf we go deeper in our analysis, we shall discover a state more wondrous\nstill than all we have unravelled, in which mind is unconscious,\nsensationless, unwishing, motionless, powerless, as in _trance_ or\n_catalepsy_; an absolute apathy of body and complete oblivion of mind.\n_And yet life is there!_\n\nIn the dream of night-mare, you remember, there is a will, but no power.\nIn the absolute senselessness of trance, all sympathy between the brain\nor spinal marrow, or the influence of the nerves of motion, or of the\nwill on muscle, _altogether cease_.\n\nI will not fatigue you with _varieties_, such as _carus_, _catalepsy_,\nand the like, or with mere medical definitions, as _syncope_ or\nfainting, epilepsy, apoplexy, and _their_ analogies.\n\nBy the term trance I would define all those conditions in which there is\nprotracted _derangement of volition_ or the will; sensibility and\nvoluntary action being suspended, while the _vital functions_ are\nperformed, yet with diminished energy; the \u201cdeep sleep\u201d of Paracelsus,\nHieronymus Fabricius, Celsus, and other writers of antiquity.\n\nIn some the rosy colour of the lips and cheeks will not fade; in others,\nthey are pale and bloodless; the body becomes cold as marble, the pulse\noften imperceptible, and the vapour of breathing on a polished surface\nalone distinguishes the still living being from the perfect work of the\nsculptor. I have, however, had patients who were rosy when they fell\nasleep, but became pale about the end of the second day.\n\nGirls often smile sweetly in full catalepsy, but the countenance will\nbecome anxious as waking approaches; and this must ever excite\nsuspicion. The body indeed is, to the external world, _dead_; for\nalthough the cataleptic will often swallow food, while all the other\nmuscles are in spasm, this may, I believe _does_, depend on mere\n_irritability_, by which, as I before told you, the brain is first\nexcited, and then directs a movement without the mind\u2019s feeling.\nCatalepsy is so peculiar to young females of extreme sensibility, that\nit may be considered an intense _hysteria_, depending on certain\n_sympathies_, or resulting from sudden or powerful influences on the\npassions. The form of catalepsy marked by _hysteria_ is least dangerous;\nbut it is very stubborn. Probably this is the form so common in Germany.\n\nPrevious to the _cataleptic acme_ girls are often maniacally violent,\nand will then suddenly regain their temper and their reason. They will\nsit and play with their fingers in a sullen mood, and the power of\nmotion and speech and other acts of volition may be alternately impaired\nor lost. In some, the sleep has been preceded by fits of lethargy, by\nlassitude, and inaptitude to exertion, and perhaps a propensity to\nsleep-walking. The decided state of catalepsy has begun in an epileptic\nconvulsion. In all, I think, I have seen combined with this disorder,\nirregular determination of blood; in one case, where the taste and smell\nwere gone for four or five months, the climax was suicide by arsenic.\n\nThe countenance is almost always placid in cataleptic sleep; the eyes\nbeing turned up, the pupils dilated, but the eyelids closed. If the fit\nbe the result of _sudden_ fright, the features will remain as they were\nat that moment\u2014the eyelid fixed, but the pupil usually sensible. The\njoints and muscles are pliable, and may be moulded to any form, but they\nremain in that position as rigidly fixed as the limbs of a clay figure,\nor the _anchylosed_ joints of the self-torturing fakir; insensible to\nall stimuli, beating, tickling, or pricking.\n\nI have seen patients lapse into a state of catalepsy, _in a moment_,\nwithout a struggle. I remember, during one of my visits to the asylum in\nHoxton, a maniac, who often in the midst of his occupation became\ninstantaneously _a statue_; leaning a little forward, one arm lifted up,\nand the _index_ finger pointed as at some interesting object; the eye\nstaring and ghastly, and the whole expression as of one rapt in an\necstacy of thought or vision.\n\nThe waking from a trance, like the recovery from the _asphyxia_ of\ndrowning, is painful. It is attended with a struggle, and the hand is\nalmost invariably placed firmly _over the heart_, as if its actions were\na painful effort to overcome _congestion_.\n\nIn some cases, indeed, a purple hue will suddenly suffuse the cataleptic\nbody; the limbs are then extremely rigid, but become pliant when the\nhealthy tint is restored.\n\nThe sensation in the brain of the cataleptic, as of those recovering\nfrom drowning, resembles the pricking of needles, the circulation soon\nbecoming accelerated. Hunger is usually intense when the patient awakes.\nThe usual duration of catalepsy is from twenty to forty hours. The\nreturn of volition is commonly marked by perspiration; this premonitory\nsign is often followed by a piercing shriek, as in the case of\nnight-mare, and, indeed, in a _slight_ degree, of an infant\u2019s cry as\nsoon as it is born.\n\nIt has appeared to me that the cataleptic is marked by _extremes_ of\nfeeling and disposition. The sensibility either being too dull for the\nfeeling of joy, or so intensely excited by pleasure, as to approach the\nconfine of delirium. One of my patients, in particular, who was an\neighty-hour sleeper, endured a metamorphosis from religious enthusiasm\nto theatrical mania. Her Bible was discarded for romances and\nplay-books, and even the most licentious volumes.\n\nCAST. I have read, (I suppose in some moth-eaten tomes enshrined I know\nnot where,) of a scholar of Lubeck, who slept seven years; in Diogenes\nLaertius, of Epimenides, who slept fifty-one years in a cave; in Ricaut,\nof the seven devoted sleepers of Ephesus (the same, I presume, as the\nseven illustrious sleepers of Mahomet\u2019s tale in the Koran); and of the\n_Leucomorians_, who fall asleep with the swallows early in November, and\nwake at the end of April.\n\nOne moment more among the legends of romance. In the \u201cHierarchie of the\nBlessed Angels\u201d it is written, that in a dark cavern of the Baltic,\nthere were discovered five men in Roman habits, so deeply sleeping, that\nall efforts to awaken them were unavailing.\n\nOgier the Dane is _now_ sleeping in the dungeon of Cronenburg\nCastle\u2014(so recordeth the \u201c_Danske Folk Saga_.\u201d)\n\nPrince Arthur, too, was lying, when a chronicle was writ, in a trance at\nAvelon; and the Britons, with implicit belief, were watching for his\nawaking.\n\nYears have passed since these mysterious legends were penned, and I dare\nnot say that the spells are broken yet.\n\nEV. If they _then_ slept, sweet Castaly, they are surely sleeping _now_.\nTales lose nothing by telling, and nature is often thus magnified into a\nmiracle. You may however _believe_ this, that a _periodical_ catalepsy\nwith intervals may last even for years. The \u201cMemoirs of the Academy of\nBerlin\u201d record the case of a woman, who sunk into catalepsy twice a day\nfor many years; during which period she was married, and became the\nalmost unconscious mother of children.\n\nNay, there is a story of Mynheer Vander Gucht, of Bremen, who, with very\nbrief intermissions, slept and dreamt for thirty years; so that, on the\nreturn of travellers by sea or land, the primal question was, if _Mr.\nVander Gucht was up_!\n\nIDA. Catalepsy, I believe, has been often _feigned_; and, although it is\nastonishing with what apathy pain may be endured, the imposture, I\npresume, may be usually discovered by the proposition of some horrible\nremedy.\n\nEV. Frequently; but many impostors have withstood the test, and\ntriumphed in their deception. Yet it is true that the perfect state of\ncatalepsy has been, in very rare instances, voluntarily produced; thus\nexhibiting the complete influence of will over an _involuntary muscle,\nthe heart_.\n\nThe case of Colonel Townsend I adduce, as one of undoubted authority.\nThis officer was able to suspend the action both of his heart and lungs,\nafter which he became motionless, icy cold, and rigid,\u2014a glassy film\noverspreading his eyes. As there was no breathing, there was no vapour\n_apparent_ on the glass, when held to his mouth. During the many hours\nin which this voluntary trance existed, there was a total absence of\nconsciousness, yet a _faculty of self-reanimation_!\n\nAvicenna speaks of one that could \u201ccast himself into a palsie when he\nlist;\u201d and Celsus, of a priest that could \u201cseparate himself from his\nsenses when he list, and lie like a dead man, void of life and sense.\u201d\nCardan, the Pavian astrologer, brags of himself that _he_ could do as\nmuch, and that \u201cwhen he list.\u201d\n\nDr. Cleghorn, of Glasgow, relates the case of a man who could stop the\npulse at his wrist, and reduce himself to the condition of syncope, _by\nhis will_, of course.\n\nBarton, the holy maid of Kent, was enabled thus to \u201cabsorb her\nfaculties.\u201d\n\nRestitutus, a presbyter, could also throw himself into a trance,\u2014being\ninsensible, except to the very loudest sounds. So says Augustin.\n\nASTR. So that there may not be much imposture in the case, recorded in\nthe \u201cSpectator,\u201d of Nicholas Hart, a professor of somnolency, who _lived\nby sleeping_. The following is his advertisement in the \u201cDaily Courant,\u201d\nof that time:\u2014\n\n\u201cNicholas Hart, who slept last year in Saint Bartholomew\u2019s Hospital,\nintends to sleep this year at the \u2018Cock and Bottle,\u2019 in Little Britain.\u201d\n\nI will freely confess to you, Evelyn, my scepticism as to these _ultra_\nromantic legends; but may my own memory fail me not, while I relate a\nfew strange stories, and demand of yourself confirmation.\n\nEuphemia Lindsay, of Forfarshire, slept eight weeks, having taken\nnothing but (possibly) a little cold water. In the eighth week she died.\n\nAngelica Vlies, of Delft, had fasted in a state of insensibility from\n1822 to 1828. She took nothing but water, tea, and whey, and these in\nthe most minute quantities.\n\nIn a record, A.D. 1545, I read that \u201cWilliam Foxley, a pot-maker to the\nMint in London, slept in the Tower of London (not being by any means to\nbe waked) fourteen days and fifteen nights; and, when he waked, it\nseemed to him that the interval was but as one night.\u201d\n\nSamuel Clinton, of Timbury, near Bath, often slept for a month; and\nonce, from April to August. He would, during this period, suddenly wake,\nbut ere food could be administered to him, he lapsed again into a\ntrance.\n\nMargaret Lyall (of Edinburgh) slept from the morning of June 27th to the\nevening of the 30th, then from July 1st to August 8th. Her breathing was\nscarcely perceptible, and her pulse low; one arm was sensitive, the\nother senseless, to the pricking of pins. She had never any subsequent\ncognizance of this sleep.\n\nA lady, at Nismes, had periodical attacks of trance; and it is curious\nthat the intervals of waking were always of the same duration as the\nprevious time of sleeping, however these might vary.\n\nIn the year 1738, Elizabeth Orvin slept for four days; and, for the\nperiod of ten years afterwards, passed seventeen hours of the\ntwenty-four in sleep. No stimuli were powerful enough to rouse her:\n_acupuncturation_, flagellation, and even the stinging of bees were\nineffectual. Like many other somnolents, she was morose and irritable,\nespecially previous to the sleeping-fit.\n\n\u201cElizabeth Parker, of Morley Saint Peter, in Norfolk, for a considerable\ntime was very irregular in her times of waking, which was once in seven\ndays; after which they became irregular and precarious, and though of\nshorter duration, they were equally profound; and every attempt at\nkeeping her awake, or waking her, was vain. Various experiments were\ntried, and an itinerant empiric, elated with the hope of rousing her\nfrom what he called _counterfeit sleep_, blew into her nostrils the\npowder of white hellebore; but the poor creature remained insensible to\nthe inhumanity of the deed, which, instead of producing the boasted\neffect, excoriated the skin of her nose, lips, and face.\u201d\n\nThe records of medicine, I doubt not, may add a volume to these simple\nstories, and, perchance, may unfold to us something of the exciting\ncauses which have induced these strange conditions; yet they seem to me\nso various, in some the effect being so sudden, in others so gradual,\nthat it were vain for _me_ to conjecture.\n\nEV. The influence of fear, and fright, and extreme joy, will often\nproduce instantaneous _paralysis_; while that of intense study, or\nanxiety, will steal on by degrees; and then, while in some cases the\nsenses will be entirely _apathetic_, in others, they will be acutely\n_excited_.\n\nMendelssohn almost every evening immediately fell into a trance whenever\n\u201cphilosophy\u201d was even _named_ in his presence; and so acutely deranged\nwas then his conception of sound, that a voice of stentorian force\nseemed to ring in his ears, repeating to him any impressive conversation\nhe had heard during the day.\n\nWithout presuming to satisfy Astrophel in explaining the full pathology\nof these curious cases, I may, by analogy, illustrate his question by\nalluding to the acute influence which impressions exert on the mind,\nand, through it, on the body.\n\nCaptain D\u2014\u2014, on service in Ceylon, was ordered to march to the Kandian\nterritory. This district had been the grave of many officers who had\nresided in it. From this circumstance, and the anticipation of a similar\nfatality to himself, he became speechless, and died in fifty hours.\n\nDuring the plague of Egypt, lots were drawn for a decision as to what\nsurgeon should remain with the sick on the departure of the troops. Mr.\nDick, the army inspector, relates that on one occasion the surgeon on\nwhom the lot fell dropped dead.\n\nIn the treaty with Meer Jaffier, Colonel Clive omitted the name of the\nGentoo merchant, Omichund. This man was induced to expect treasures to\nthe amount of one million, for his aid in deposing the Bengal nabob.\nFrom this disappointment he became speechless, and subsequently insane.\n\nGeorge Grokatski, a Polish soldier, deserted. He was discovered a few\ndays after, drinking and merry-making. On his court-martial he became\nspeechless, unconscious, and fixed as a statue. For twenty days and\nnights he lay in this trance, without nourishment; he then sunk and\ndied.\n\nSome girls (as we read in Platerus) playing near a gibbet, one wantonly\nflung stones at the criminal suspended on it. Being violently struck the\nbody _swung_, and the girl, believing that it was alive, and was\ndescending from the gibbet, fell into violent convulsions and died.\n\nThe following case, although not fatal, very powerfully displays the\nparalyzing effects of imagination.\n\nA lady in perfect health, twenty-three years of age, was asked by the\nparents of a friend to be present at a severe surgical operation. On\nconsideration, it was thought wrong to expose her to such a scene, and\nthe operation was postponed for a few hours. She went to bed, however,\nwith the imagination highly excited, and awoke in alarm hearing, or\nthinking she heard, the shrieks of her friend under the agony of an\noperation. Convulsions and hysterics supervened, and, on their\nsubsiding, she went into a profound sleep, which continued sixty-three\nhours. The most eminent of the faculty were then consulted, and she was\ncupped, which awoke her; but the convulsions returned, and she again\nwent to sleep, and slept, with few intermissions, for a fortnight. The\nirregular periods continued for ten or twelve years; the length of the\nsleeping fits from thirty to forty hours. Then came on irritability, and\ntotal want of sleep, for three months; her usual time for sleeping being\nthen forty-eight hours.\n\nBut if the sudden transition be _excess of joy_, its effect may be\nequally melancholy.\n\nWescloff was detained as a hostage by the Kalmucs, and carried along\nwith them in their memorable flight to China. His widowed mother had\nmourned him dead, and, on his sudden return, the excess of joy was\ninstantaneously fatal.\n\nIn the year 1544 the Jewish pirate, Sinamus Taffurus, was lying in a\nport of the Red Sea, called Orsenoe, and was preparing for war, being\nthen engaged in one with the Portuguese. While he was there he received\nthe unexpected intelligence that his son (who in the siege of Tunis had\nbeen made prisoner by Barbarossa, and by him doomed to slavery) was\nsuddenly ransomed, and coming to his aid with seven ships, well armed.\nHe was immediately struck as if with apoplexy, and expired on the spot.\n\nA Swiss student, writes Zimmerman, yielded himself to intense\nmetaphysical study, which gradually produced a complete trance of the\nsenses; the functions of the body being not inactive. After the lapse of\na year of apparent idiocy, each sense was successively excited by its\nproper stimulus; the ear by loud sounds, &c. When these were restored,\nthe mind was again perfect, although in this effort his strength was\nnearly exhausted.\n\nI may add that lunar influence, though it is now somewhat out of\nfashion, was formerly believed even by so sage a physician as Dr. Mead\nand others, and Astrophel will thank me for blending with his own\nexamples the following case of catalepsy in a moon-struck maiden. At the\nfull of the moon this damsel fell in a fit; the recurrence obeying the\nregular periods of the tide. During the flood she lay in a speechless\ntrance, and revived from it on the ebb. Her father was engaged on the\nThames, and so struck was he with the regularity of these attacks, that\non his return from the river he correctly anticipated the condition of\nhis daughter; and even in the night he has arisen to his work, as her\ncries on recovering from the fit were always a correct monitor to him of\nthe turning of the tide.\n\n\n\n\n PREMATURE INTERMENT.\u2014RESUSCITATION.\n\n\n \u201cOh sleep! thou ape of death, lie dull upon her;\n And be her sense but as a monument,\n Thus in a chapel lying.\u201d\n CYMBELINE.\n\n \u201cSleep may usurp on nature many hours.\u201d\n PERICLES.\n\nIDA. These stories are, indeed, painfully interesting; but tell us,\nEvelyn, is it so certain that the shaft of Azrael had irretrievably\nstruck these unhappy creatures of whom you speak? Is it not to be feared\nthat instances of premature sepulture have too often occurred from want\nof scientific discernment? On the exhumation of the Cimeti\u00e8re des\nInnocents at Paris, during the Napoleon dynasty, the skeletons were many\nof them discovered in attitudes indicating a struggling to get free:\nindeed some, we are assured, were partly out of their coffins.\n\nTo avert this awful catastrophe it was the custom, in the provinces of\nGermany, to place a bell-rope in the hand of a corpse for twenty-four\nhours before burial. We may look on this, perhaps, as one natural source\nof _romance_ and mystery; for the ringing of bells by the dead has been\na favourite omen of the ghostly legends.\n\nEV. Alas! even my own professional study and duties have not been free\nfrom these melancholy scenes; and if I make not your gentle heart to\ntremble, fair Castaly, I will recount some of those unhappy instances of\nfatality, to which the errors and neglect of man may doom his\nfellow-mortal.\n\nMiss C\u2014\u2014 (of C\u2014\u2014 Hall, in Warwickshire,) and her brother were the\nsubjects of typhoid fever. She seemed to die, and her bier was placed in\nthe family vault. In a week her brother died also, and when he was taken\nto the tomb, the lady was found _sitting in her grave-clothes_ on the\nsteps of the vault; having, after her waking from the trance, died of\nterror or exhaustion.\n\nA girl, after repeated faintings, was apparently dead, and was taken, as\na subject, into the anatomical theatre of the \u201cSalpetri\u00e8re,\u201d at Paris.\nDuring the night, faint groans were heard in the theatre, but no search\nwas made. In the morning, it was evident that the girl had _attempted to\ndisengage herself from the winding-sheet_, one leg being thrust from off\nthe trestles, and an arm resting on an adjoining table.\n\nA slave girl of Canton, named Leaning, apparently died. She was placed\nin a coffin, the lid of which remained unfastened, that her parents\nmight come and see the corpse. Three days after the apparent death,\nwhile the remains were being conveyed to the grave, a noise or voice was\nheard proceeding from the coffin, and on removing the covering, it was\nfound the woman had come to life again.\n\nIn 1838, at Tonnieus, in the Lower Garonne, as the graveman threw earth\non a coffin he also heard groans. Much terrified, he ran away, and a\ncrowd assembled. On opening the coffin, the face of the buried man was\ndistorted, and he had disengaged his arms from the folds of his winding\nsheet.\n\nThe Emperor Zeno was, as it is written, prematurely buried; and, when\nthe body was soon after casually discovered, it was found that he had,\nto satisfy acute hunger, _eaten some flesh from his arm_.\n\nASTR. One might think that Master Ainsworth, from this record, sketched\nthe episode of the sexton and the old coffin in his \u201cRookwood.\u201d The\ntruth is equal to the fiction.\n\nCAST. When I was at Breslau, in 1835, (and this is not one of\nAstrophel\u2019s fictions,) a nun of the Ursuline Convent was placed in her\ncoffin in the church. At midnight, the sisters assembled to chaunt the\nvigils over the body of their sainted sister. While the holy hymn was\nechoing through the oratory, the nun arose, tottered to the altar, knelt\nbefore the cross, and prayed. The sisters with a cry of horror awoke the\nabbess; and on her arrival, the nun again arose, and lay down in her\ncoffin. The physician of the convent was speedily summoned, but, on his\narrival, _he found her dead_.\n\nThere can scarcely be drawn a scene, combining the sublime and beautiful\nof romance, in higher intensity than this. It was the spectral\nvisitation of a seraph.\n\nIDA. Like many sublimities of nature, these mysteries have been profaned\nby unholy imitation; as for instance, the reanimation of the nuns in the\nopera of \u201cRobert le Diable.\u201d But there is an awful romance mingled with\nthe history of those melancholy creatures, from whose inanimate clay the\nimmortal spirit was thought to have parted, still more impressive. That\ninstinctive, that inexpressible dread, with which we contemplate a\ncorpse, is nothing in comparison with that thrill of astonishment which\noverwhelms us, when a body becomes (as in the miraculous recall of\nLazarus) _reanimated_; when a spirit appears to visit us from the dead.\nYet this is not _fear_, for we know it cannot injure us; it is a feeling\nthat we are with something beyond ourselves spiritual, which had seemed\nto have endured a transfiguration, and been admitted into the order of\nangelic beings. There must be something of the supernatural which\ncreates this fearful wonder; an impression on the heart that is an\nespecial influence of the Deity. Else should we not behold with _dread_,\ninstead of a sacred _pleasure_, the success of our efforts in cases of\nsuspended animation?\n\nThis visitation from another world is one of the surest indications of\nour spirituality; and like the reanimation of soul and mind, and\nconsciousness, from deep and undreaming sleep, lighting up the body into\nbrilliancy and beauty, might drown a sceptic\u2019s reasoning in a flood of\nholy faith, and overwhelm him with the belief of immortality.\n\nCAST. It is this combination of vitality and death\u2014so seemingly a\nparadox\u2014that forms the basis of many of our deepest romances; as the\n\u201cSpectre Life in Death,\u201d in the Ancient Mariner, of the melancholy\nColeridge,\u2014himself a wild visionary of the first order. If I remember,\nhe is writing of a spectre ship.\u2014\n\n \u2014\u2014\u201cBetwixt us and the sun.\n\n And straight the sun was fleck\u2019d with bars\u2014\n (Heaven\u2019s mother send us grace!)\n As if through a dungeon-grate he peer\u2019d\n With broad and burning face.\n Alas! (thought I, and my heart beat loud,)\n How fast she neers and neers.\n Are those _her_ sails that glance in the sun,\n Like restless gossameres?\n\n Are those _her_ ribs, through which the sun\n Doth peer, as through a grate?\n And is that woman all her crew?\n Is that a Death\u2014and are there two?\n Is Death that woman\u2019s mate?\n\n Her lips were red, her looks were free,\n Her locks were yellow as gold,\n Her skin was as white as leprosy,\n The night-mare Life in Death was she,\n Who thicks man\u2019s blood with cold.\u201d\n\nEV. It is melancholy that a noble mind should be so perverted by\npoppy-juice. And yet the Mahometan beats him hollow at this sort of\nburlesque.\n\nThere is a fiction in Sale\u2019s notes to the \u201cKoran.\u201d During the building\nof his magnificent temple, King Solomon sleeps in death. He remains\nsupported by his staff, on which he had been leaning, until a worm eats\naway the prop, and the body falls prostrate to the ground.\n\nBut we need not go to the East for our specimens. Even in the year 1839,\nin our Emerald Isle of superstition, they would have us believe a\nmiracle of this kind.\n\nIn a field near Lurgan, a man, called Farland, had received money from a\nwidow, wherewith to pay her rent;\u2014this he failed to do. On her\nremonstrance and declaration, she was asked to name her witnesses. She\nanswered,\u2014\u201cNo one but God and herself.\u201d \u201cThen,\u201d rejoined the man, \u201cyour\nGod was asleep at the time.\u201d The attestation of three witnesses records,\nthat he was instantly struck in a trance as he was resting on his spade,\nand in that attitude he had ever since continued!\n\nCAST. And is it not a blot on the page of science, that so many\nill-fated creatures are thus, through an error, doomed to dissolution?\nSay, gentle Evelyn, has not your philosophy discovered some mode of\ndiscernment between life and death, which would smile the philanthropist\non to patient watching?\n\nEV. To a degree. But it were vain to offer here precepts for such\ndiscrimination, which, sooth to say, are not yet absolute. The rosy tint\nof complexion may remain for some time, and even perspiration may break\nforth, _after death_; or the body may assume the _most deathlike_\naspect, and yet vitality is only _in abeyance_. Among our recoveries, it\nis true, there are many _spontaneous_ rousings, and this especially if\ndeep impression has been the cause of trance.\n\nListen to the following, from a journal of 1834:\u2014\u201cThe wife of Thomas\nBenson, livery-lace maker, of Great Queen Street, Lincoln\u2019s Inn Fields,\nbeing suddenly taken ill, to all appearance expired; and, when every\nsymptom of life had fled, the body was duly laid out. On the following\nnight, between nine and ten o\u2019clock, whilst the undertaker was in the\nhouse receiving instructions for the funeral, to the astonishment and\nterror of the whole family, Mrs. Benson came down stairs, having been in\na trance nearly thirty hours. Her situation has so terribly shocked her,\nthat but faint hopes are entertained of her recovery.\u201d\n\nIt is melancholy to know how often these cases are abandoned _to\nnature_; but science may do much, and _should do_ more, to relieve them;\nalthough we possess not the wondrous phial of Renatus, nor have\ndeveloped the creative mysteries of Prometheus or Frankenstein.\n\nYet the recovery of Fran\u00e7ois de Civille, was almost as great a wonder.\nHe was thrown, at the siege of Rouen, into insensibility. He was, in\nthis state, carried home by his servant. During a week he became warm,\nbut exhibited no other sign of life. He was, at this period, flung out\nof a window by the besiegers, and cast upon a dunghill, where he lay\nnaked for three or four days. Yet, even after this, he was restored to\nlife.\n\nASTR. You confess the _wonder_, Evelyn, that is some concession; you\nmay, perchance, believe another of equal interest.\n\n\u201cMy mother being sick to death of a fever three months after I was born,\nwhich was the occasion she nursed me no longer, her friends and servants\nthought, to all outward appearance, she was dead, and so almost two days\nand a night. But Dr. Winston coming to comfort my father, went into my\nmother\u2019s room, and looking earnestly in her face, said, \u2018She is so\nhandsome, and looks so lovely, I cannot think she is dead;\u2019 and suddenly\ntook a lancet out of his pocket, and with it cut the sole of her foot,\nwhich bled. Upon this he immediately caused her to be laid upon the bed\nagain, and to be rubbed, and such means, as she came to life, and\nopening her eyes, saw two of her kinswomen stand by her, my Lady\nKnolleys and my Lady Russell, both with great wide sleeves, as the\nfashion then was, and said, \u2018Did not you promise me fifteen years, and\nare you come again?\u2019 which they not understanding, persuaded her to keep\nher spirits quiet in that great weakness wherein she then was; but some\nhours after she desired my father and Dr. Howlsworth might be left alone\nwith her, to whom she said, \u2018I will acquaint you, that during the time\nof my trance I was in great quiet, but in a place I could neither\ndistinguish or describe; but the sense of leaving my girl, who is dearer\nto me than all my children, remained a trouble upon my spirits. Suddenly\nI saw two by me clothed in long white garments, and methought I fell\ndown upon my face upon the dust, and they asked me why I was so troubled\nin so great happiness. I replied, O let me have the same grant given to\nHezekiah, that I may live fifteen years, to see my daughter a woman; to\nwhich they answered, It is done, and then at that instant I awoke out of\nmy trance.\u2019 And Dr. Howlsworth did then affirm that that day she died\nmade just fifteen years from that time.\u201d\n\nI remember a story of the effect of deep impression on a sensitive mind:\nthe sleep of a love-sick Juliet, without the entrancing draught of the\nfriar.\n\nA young French lady in the Rue St. Honor\u00e9, at Paris, was condemned by\nher father to a hated marriage while her heart was devoted to another.\nShe fell into a trance, and was buried. Under some strange influence her\nlover opened her grave, and she was revived, and married. Thus the\nromance of the \u201cBeauty of Verona\u201d was acted without its tragedy.\n\nI have heard, but where I recollect not, a story of another French lady,\nwho was actually the subject of an anatomist. On the evidence of some\nfaint signs of vitality, he not only restored the lady to life, but\nunited himself to her in marriage.\n\nThere is no doubt, also, that Rachael, Lady Russell, would have been\nburied alive, had not the devoted affection of her husband, and his\nconstant visits to her coffin, prevented it.\n\nI read, too, that Shorigny, an hysterical girl in Paris, was watched\ndaily by her physician, after he was assured by the friends that she was\ndead. On the sixth day, the cloth covering was seen to move, the eyes\nsoon after opened, and she gradually recovered.\n\nEV. It is one of the anomalies of our science, that _similar_ causes\nwill often produce _opposite_ effects. We may be thrown into trance by\nfright; and intense alarm may be the cause of recovery. I may relate an\noriental anecdote as an analogy, which, however, I beg you to receive\nwith some reservation.\n\nA Persian, at the siege of Sardis, was about to kill Cr\u0153sus, whom he did\nnot recognise. By his side was the king\u2019s dumb child, who, in a sudden\nparoxysm of agony, screamed out, \u201cKill not Cr\u0153sus.\u201d From this instant\n(as it were a miracle), Herodotus writes, his speech was fully restored!\n\nWe learn from Bourgeois, in 1838, that a medical man, from the sudden\ninfluence of grief, sunk into a cataleptic state, but his consciousness\nnever left him. The lamentations of his wife, the sympathetic condolence\nof his medical friends, and the arrangements regarding his funeral, were\nto him distinctly audible. He knew that he was in his coffin, and that\nthere was a solemn procession following him to the grave. As the solemn\nwords of \u201cEarth to earth\u201d were uttered, and the dust fell on his coffin\nlid, the consciousness of this, and his horror at his impending fate,\nburst the fetters of his icy trance\u2014he shrieked aloud, and was saved.\n\nIn the \u201cPsychological Magazine\u201d we read of a lady who fell into a state\nof catalepsy, after a violent nervous disorder.\n\n\u201cIt seemed to her, as if in a dream, that she was really dead. Yet she\nwas perfectly conscious of all that happened around her in this dreadful\nstate. She distinctly heard her friends speaking, and lamenting her\ndeath, at the side of her coffin; she felt them pull on her dead\nclothes, and lay her in it. This feeling produced a mental anxiety which\nwas indescribable. She tried to cry, but her soul was without power, and\ncould not act on her body. She had the contradictory feeling, as if she\nwere in her own body, and yet not in it, at one and the same time. It\nwas equally impossible for her to stretch out her arm, or to open her\neyes, as to cry, although she continually endeavoured to do so. The\ninternal anguish of her mind was, however, at its utmost height, when\nthe funeral hymns were sung, and when the lid of the coffin was about to\nbe nailed on. The thought that she was to be buried alive was the first\none which gave activity to her soul, and caused it to operate on her\ncorporeal frame.\u201d\n\nI have been assured that the soldier who has been placed in his grave by\nsuch an error, has been awoke in his coffin by the volley fired over\nhim.\n\nParallel with these are the instances in which vitality seemed to be\ninstantly excited by acute pain.\n\nI remember the case of a cataleptic girl, related by the Abb\u00e9 Menon, who\nwas doomed to dissection; the first stroke of the _scalpel_ awoke her,\nand she lived.\n\nCardinal Sommaglia was not so fortunate. He fell into _syncope_ from\nintense grief, and it was decided that he should be opened and embalmed.\nAs the surgeon\u2019s knife punctured the lungs, the heart throbbed, and the\ncardinal attempted to avert the knife with his hand; but the _die_ was\ncast, and he shortly _died_.\n\nThe Abb\u00e9 Prevost was also sacrificed in this way.\n\nAs Vesalius, the physician of Philip II., was opening the thorax of a\nSpanish gentleman, the heart palpitated. Death also occurred here.\nVesalius was brought before the Inquisition, but was pardoned.\n\nA gentleman was seized, apparently with apoplexy, while at cards. A vein\nwas opened in both arms, but _no blood flowed_. He was placed in a room\nwith two watchers, who slept, alas! too long; for in the morning the\nroom was _deluged with blood_ from the punctures, and his life was gone.\n\nThese are indeed unhappy instances of the errors of omission and\ncommission entailed on the fallibility of science. I believe a French\nauthor, Bruhier, has collected fifty-two cases of persons buried alive,\nfour which were dissected prematurely, fifty-three which recovered, and\nseventy-two which were falsely reported dead.\n\nASTR. There is a solemn problem associated with this, on which I have\noften reflected, the solution of which, I presume, your philosophy\n_cannot_ offer to us. At what moment would the mind cease to influence\nthe body, were there no recovery from the trance? I have sometimes felt\na mysterious influence, apart, I am sure, from philosophy, that\nwhispered me, the life, which I had watched in its ebb, was at length\ngone. Yet, of the transit of an immaterial spirit, although convinced of\nthe sublime truth, it is certain we _know_ nothing.\n\nEV. Nothing _demonstrative_. It is not, however, when the body _seems_\ndead, for consciousness, or the _systemic_ life, may for awhile be\nsuspended by mere cold. But dissolution is _that point_, unknown to us,\nwhen the principle of life (whether that be the influence of _arterial_\nblood, or electricity, magnetism, or galvanism,) is not excitable\u2014when\n_molecular_ death has ensued; not even irritability, that _vis insita_\nor _vis nervosa_ of Haller, remaining. Of course mind must instantly\ndepart on the commencement of _decomposition_, the brain being _then_\ntotally incompatible with mind. The _stoics_ believed the soul to occupy\nthe body _until it was putrified_, and resolved into its _materia\nprima_.\n\nASTR. I once thought, Evelyn, that the difference in the tenacity of\nlife in the man and the zoophyte might with some subtlety be explained\non this principle\u2014thus: That the life of a reasoning creature was in\n_its soul_; that of an inferior animal in its _spinal irritability_.\nThus, when man is decapitated, his _soul_ is gone from him\u2014he is dead;\nbut when vitality is in the _vis nervea_, as in the insect, life may\nexist without a head, that is, the organ of a soul. The butterfly will\nflutter, I am told, long after decapitation.\n\nEV. The _excito-motary_ principle illustrates this fact, without the\nrequisition of such a notion; and life, we know, may be _artificially\nsustained_ for a time after decapitation. The interesting physiology of\nthe _reflex actions_ of a nerve explains this, and all the terrific\nconvulsions of galvanized bodies.\n\nCAST. I think I have a glimpse of your meaning, Evelyn. May we not\nbelieve, then, that there is truth in the affirmation, that Charlotte\nCorday\u2019s cheeks _blushed_ at her exposure after her decollation?\n\nEV. There is far more romance than truth, fair Castaly, in this story;\nbut I do believe the probability of a story almost as marvellous, that\nthe lips of Mary Stuart _prayed visibly_ after her head fell from her\nbody. S\u0153mmering has written, that if the open eyes of a decollated head\nbe turned full on the sun, the lids will immediately close, but this of\ncourse _without consciousness_.\n\nCAST. And yet some _learned_ men believed the head of Charlotte Corday\nsensible of its state, from this asserted fact of its blushing.\n\nEV. They should _not_ have believed without complete evidence. Indeed,\nthis question may now be deemed decided _in the negative_, by the\nexperiments of a learned professor of Heidelburg, on the head of\nSebastian Zink, decollated at Rastadt. On placing bitters on the tongue,\nand hallooing \u201cpardon\u201d in his ear _at the instant of decapitation_, it\nwas proved that there was an utter insensibility to all.\n\nIDA. Then sensation is instantly destroyed. In this, as in all his\ndispensations, how is the mercy of the Deity displayed!\n\nEV. It is still a question with us, whether our physical sensations on\nthe point of dissolution are often so acute as they appear.\n\nCabanis and the famous Guillotine declared their conviction that no pain\nwas felt at the moment of or after decapitation. In the works of Lord\nBacon, we read of one who was suspended till he was all but dead, and\nhis declaration was that his suffering was a mere trifle. Cowper also\nleft a manuscript, in which he states that in one of his three attempts\nat suicide, he hung himself over his door in the Temple, but that he did\nnot suffer in the least.\n\nIDA. And in drowning?\n\nEV. While the medical committee of the Humane Society were framing those\nscientific rules which have rendered the process of resuscitation so\nsuccessful, I remember especially one pale and melancholy girl, who\nglided in before us like a spectre. She had attempted suicide, but her\nintention was happily thwarted, after she had been for many minutes in\nthe water, and was apparently lifeless.\n\nTrue, the mental agony which prompts to such an act, will often\noverwhelm sensation; but this creature was _conscious of her act_, and\nassured us that the sensation of drowning was but _an intense feeling of\nfaintness preceding a sinking into insensibility, with a short spasmodic\nstruggle; an uneasiness rather than a pain_. When Clarence therefore,\nrecounting his dream, exclaims,\u2014\n\n \u201cMy God, methought what _pain_ it was to drown!\u201d\n\nI believe, he should rather have referred his feelings to his\n_recovery_, if the words of the pale girl were true; for, when\nconsciousness and sensation are returning, the feeling is intense.\nThroughout the body, as it is recovering from _apathetic_ numbness, the\nsense of returning circulation of the blood is terrible: an acute\nsensation of _pins and needles_ in the brain and the marrow of the\nspine. No wonder, then, that these resuscitated beings will request that\n_no efforts_ may be made, should they again be in the state of suspended\nanimation. The sensation on being born is probably as acute as that on\ndissolution.\n\nIDA. Then there _is_ consciousness?\n\nEV. The evidence of Dr. Adam Clarke will illustrate this interesting\nquestion. Yet I differ somewhat with him, regarding so perfect a\nconsciousness during submersion. In his life, you will see the following\ndialogue with Dr. Lettsom, in which Clarke describes his own case of\nimmersion:\n\n\u201cDr. Lettsom said,\u2014\u2018Of all that I have seen restored, or questioned\nafterwards, I never found one who had the smallest recollection of any\nthing that passed, from the moment they went under water, till the time\nin which they were restored to life and thought.\u2019 Dr. Clarke answered\nDr. L.,\u2014\u2018I knew a case to the contrary.\u2019 \u2018Did you, indeed?\u2019 \u2018Yes, Dr.\nL., and the case was my own. I was once drowned.\u2019 And then related the\ncircumstances, and added,\u2014\u2018I saw my danger, but thought the mare would\nswim, and I knew I could ride when we were overwhelmed. It appeared to\nme, that I had gone to the bottom with my eyes open. At first, I thought\nI saw the bottom clearly, and then felt neither apprehension nor pain;\non the contrary, I felt as if I had been in the most delightful\nsituation; my mind was tranquil and uncommonly happy. I felt as if in\nParadise, and yet I do not recollect that I saw any person; the\nimpressions of happiness seemed not to be derived from any thing around\nme, but from the state of my mind. And yet I had a general apprehension\nof pleasing objects; and I cannot recollect that any thing appeared\ndefined, nor did my eye take in any object, only I had a general\nimpression of a green colour, as of fields or gardens. But my happiness\ndid not arise from these, but appeared to consist merely in the\ntranquil, indescribably tranquil, state of my mind. By and by, I seemed\nto awake as out of a slumber, and felt unutterable pain and difficulty\nof breathing; and now I found I had been carried by a strong wave, and\nleft in very shallow water upon the shore, and the pain I felt was\noccasioned by the air once more inflating my lungs and producing\nrespiration. How long I had been under water I cannot tell; it may\nhowever be guessed at by this circumstance: when restored to the power\nof reflection, I looked for the mare, and saw her walking leisurely down\nshore towards home, then about half a mile distant from the place where\nwe were submerged. Now, I aver,\u20141st. That in being drowned I felt no\npain;\u20142nd. That I did not, for a simple moment, lose my\nconsciousness;\u20143rd. I felt indescribably happy, and, though dead as to\nthe total suspension of all the functions of life, yet I felt no pain in\ndying; and I take for granted, from this circumstance, those who die by\ndrowning feel no pain, and that probably it is the easiest of all\ndeaths;\u20144th. That I felt no pain till once more exposed to the action\nof the atmospheric air, and then I felt great pain and anguish in\nreturning to life, which anguish, had I continued under water, I should\nhave never felt;\u20145th. That animation must have been totally suspended\nfrom the time I must have been under water, which time might be in some\nmeasure ascertained by the distance the mare was from the place of my\nsubmersion, which was at least half a mile, and she was not, when I\nfirst observed her, making any speed;\u20146th. Whether there were any thing\npreternatural in my escape, I cannot tell; or whether a ground swell had\nnot, in a merely natural way, borne me to the shore, and the\nretrocession of the tide (for it was then ebbing), left me exposed to\nthe open air, I cannot tell. My preservation must have been the effect\nof natural causes; and yet it appears to be more rational to attribute\nit to a superior agency. Here then, Dr. L., is a case widely different,\nit appears, from those you have witnessed, and which argues very little\nfor the modish doctrine of the materiality of the soul.\u2019 Dr. Lettsom\nappeared puzzled with this relation, but did not attempt to make any\nremarks on it.\u201d\n\nAnd well he might; for if animation were _totally suspended_,\nconsciousness would have been suspended also.\n\n\n\n\n TRANSMIGRATION.\u2014ANALYSIS OF TRANCE.\n\n\n \u201cThou shalt hold the opinion of Pythagoras, ere I will allow of\n thy wits; and fear to kill a woodcock, lest thou dispossess the\n soul of thy grandam.\u201d\n\n TWELFTH NIGHT.\n\n \u201cThrough all thy veins shall run\n A cold and drowsy humour, which shall seize\n Each vital spirit.\u201d\n ROMEO AND JULIET.\n\nASTR. You have granted me more than you desire, dear Evelyn. If life be\n_restored_, it had never _deserted_ the body, and yet the mind _had_\ndeserted it.\n\nThe mind and body, then, are both independent of each other. From this\ntruth, a metaphysical question of deep and wondrous interest arises. _In\nwhat condition does the mind exist, during so long a period,\nuninfluencing and uninfluenced by the power of perception?_ I remember\nsearching for some elucidation of this mystery among those ghost-stories\nof the Hebrews, founded on the \u201cpurgatorie of souls\u201d in Stehelin\u2019s\n\u201cTraditions of the Jews,\u201d but I rose from my reading unenlightened.\n\nIDA. And ever will, Astrophel. Profane curiosity must fail in such a\nstudy; adoration alone can sanctify this mystic question, on which\ntheologians and philosophers, even those devoutly confident in the\nsublime truths of immortality, have so essentially differed.\n\nLike Astrophel, Paley inquires where is the soul during suspended\nvitality? and Priestly, where when the body was created? Hume, with the\nsubtlety of a sceptic, asks how can the soul long be the same, seeing\nthat, like the body, its particles are constantly changing? While\nGlanville thinks himself a wondrous wight, as he prates of its\n\u201c_essential spissitude_, a something that is more subtle than body,\ncontracting itself into a _less ubi_.\u201d\n\nWere this sublime secret fathomable by the deepest intellect, then would\nbe unfolded things above, which are ordained to be ever mysteries to\ncreatures on earth; such as the future existence of the spirit, and the\nnature of Paradise.\n\nAlthough revelation has given us glimpses, enough to satisfy humble\ndevotion, what mind can _decide_ on the exact nature and changes of its\nown future state? The negative answer is at once returned by the variety\nof these learned opinions:\u2014That the soul is, immediately after death,\nsubmitted to its reward or punishment;\u2014That its state after death is\none of _half_ happiness or misery, until it be again joined to its body\non the resurrection; and then it shall enjoy or suffer the _extremes_ of\nfelicity or torment;\u2014That the soul rests in quiet unconsciousness until\nthe day of judgment;\u2014And lastly, that souls are purified by purgatory\nand comparative suffering, and _then_ are admitted into the realms of\nperpetual enjoyment.\n\nASTR. Is it not strange that in this notion of purgatory, with slight\nvariations, pagans, and Romanists, and Egyptians, and Brahmins, so\nnearly accord? In the creed of the Brahmins, there is something of\nsublimity, whatever may be their error, and Ida will not chide, if I\nrepeat the essence of their creed, which Robertson has gathered from the\n\u201cBaghvat Geeta.\u201d\n\n\u201cEvery intelligent nature, particularly the souls of men, they conceived\nto be portions separated from this great spirit; to which, after\nfulfilling their destiny on earth, and attaining a proper degree of\npurity, they would be again reunited. In order to efface the stains with\nwhich a soul, during its residence on earth, has been defiled by the\nindulgence of sensual and corrupt appetites, they taught that it must\npass, in a long succession of transmigrations, through the bodies of\ndifferent animals, until, by what it suffers and what it leaves in the\nvarious forms of its existence, it shall be so thoroughly refined from\nall pollution, as to be rendered meet for being absorbed into the divine\nessence, and returns, like a drop, into that unbounded ocean from which\nit originally issued.\u201d\n\nAristotle, in taking up this notion of transmigration in his book \u201cDe\nAnim\u00e2,\u201d says that \u201cthe soul was always joined to a body, sometimes to\none, sometimes to another.\u201d And from this idea were taken the stories of\nFadlallah and the Dervis, in the \u201cSpectator,\u201d of the \u201cTransmigrations of\nIndus,\u201d and the beautiful fable of \u201cPsyche,\u201d or the soul, which when a\nbody died, could not live _alone_ on earth, and so crept into another.\nHerodotus, in the second book of his history, has some allusions to the\nEgyptian creed; and, indeed, the fear of this transmigration was the\norigin of mummies among the Copts. Their belief that the soul (the\nimmortality of which they very early, if not the first, decided,) could\nnot leave the body when _entire_, induced them to preserve that body as\nlong as possible; and the mummy unrollers and hieroglyphic readers must\ncommit sad sacrilege, by exposing their sacred dust to the decomposition\nof air.\n\nWhen the body was dissolved, however, the soul entered that of some\nanimal that instant born; and profane commentators have, on this creed,\npresumed to explain the sacred story of the \u201cbanishment and savage life\nof Nebuchadnezzar.\u201d At the end of 30,000 years, it again entered that of\na man; and it is likely that their object in embalming was, to have the\nsoul _re-enter the same body_ from choice and habit.\n\nSimonides, four hundred years after the siege of Troy, ungallantly\nreversed this doctrine, deciding that \u201cthe souls of women were formed of\nthe principles and elements of brutes.\u201d The Pythagorean system was, if\nnot more courteous, at least more just.\n\n \u201cThus all things are but altered, nothing dies;\n And here and there th\u2019 embodied spirit flies.\n By time, or force, or sickness, dispossess\u2019d,\n And lodges, where it lights, in bird or beast;\n Or hunts without, till ready limbs it find,\n And actuates those according to their kind.\n From tenement to tenement is toss\u2019d,\n The soul is still the same, the figure only lost.\u201d\n\nThis is from Dryden\u2019s translation of Chaucer.\n\nAnd Burton\u2019s record is as follows:\n\n\u201cThe Pythagoreans defend _Metempsychosis_ and _Palingenesia_, that souls\ngo from one body to another, _epot\u00e2 prius Lethes nud\u00e2_, as men into\nwolves, beares, dogs, hogs, as they were inclined in their lives, or\nparticipated in conditions:\n\n \u2018_\u2014\u2014inque ferinas_\n _Possumus ire domus pecudumque in corpora condi._\u2019\n\n\u201cLucian\u2019s cock was first _Euphorbus_, a captaine:\n\n \u2018_Ille ego (nam memini) Trojani tempore belli_\n _Panthoides Euphorbus eram._\u2019\u201d\n\nAnd Plato, in Tim\u00e6us, and in Ph\u00e6do\u2014\n\nEV. Enough of Plato, dear Astrophel; or believe, with me, that _his_\nphilosophy on this point was merely _figurative of the similarity of\nmind, or genius, or feature, between the dead and the living_;\u2014as it\nwas said of old, that the soul of Raphael had transmigrated to the body\nof Francesco Mazzola (Parmegiano), _because_ his style and personal\nbeauty so closely resembled those of the all but divine master of his\nart.\n\nAnd pray what was the gist of that special astronomer, who affirmed that\nhe \u201csaw something written in the moon?\u201d\u2014A wild romance only? No,\nforsooth. Pythagoras may classically vociferate\u2014\n\n \u201c\u2014\u2014errat, et illinc,\n Huc venit, hinc illuc, et quoslibet occupat artus\n Spiritus: eque feris humana in corpora transit,\n Inque feras noster.\u201d\n\nBut read further, and you will find the high moral to be a severe\ninjunction against flesh-eating:\n\n \u201cThen let not piety be put to flight,\n To please the taste of glutton appetite;\n But suffer innate souls secure to dwell,\n Lest from their seats your parents you expel:\n With rabid hunger feed upon your kind,\n Or from a beast dislodge a brother\u2019s mind.\u201d\n\nThink you this injunction will be obeyed, in the face of the \u201cAlmanac\ndes Gourmands?\u201d\n\nIDA. Evelyn is severe. May I tell him that, among the records of the\nEast, he will find incidents blended with this idea which may almost\nconsecrate the creed of a Pagan. As the honey is hung close to the\npoisoned sting of the bee, there may be a bright spot to illuminate the\ngloomy annals of superstition. The very belief in _transmigration_ may\nimpart an atom of mercy, even to an infidel; and where superstition,\nshorn of the light of Christianity, _must_ prevail, it were better sure\nto foster that notion which may, even in one little sentiment, half\nhumanize the heart.\n\nListen to this contrast, between some orient sects, along the eastern\nshores of Hindostan. The daughters of Guzzerat fold their infants to\ntheir bosoms drugged with opium; and when the babe is thus poisoned, the\nHindu girl will answer with a languid and seeming innocent smile, \u201cIt is\nnot difficult to blast a flower-bud.\u201d\n\nThen the Kurrada Brahmins (as we read in the \u201cRudhiradhyaya\u201d), believing\nthemselves the agents of Vishara Boot, the spirit of poison, sacrifice\nthe pundits to their vampire goddess, Maha-Lackshmi.\n\nEqually blind, yet more happy in the _nature_ of their superstition, are\nthe Shravuch Banians, or the proselytes of Jena. The Yati, or\nofficiating priest of _this_ order, in purifying the temples, sweeps the\nfloor with the Raju-hurrun, a broom of cotton-threads, lest hapless one\nlittle insect may be destroyed. And this we may believe, from the creed\nof transmigration being influential among these people. Sir Paul Rycaut\nalso, in his oriental history, informs us of parallel incidents among\nthe devout Mahomedans, who, believing that in the body of a brute may\nreside the soul of a departed relative, ransom, with their gold, many a\nbird that would otherwise flutter away its captivity in a cage.\n\nCAST. I will not flout your praises, Ida; but, in our own island, this\nillusion has rather led _to_ captivity. I remember the story of a lady,\nliving in Worcestershire, who, under the innocent delusion that her\ndaughters were changed into singing-birds, hung her pew in the cathedral\nwith cages of goldfinches and linnets. And Lord Orford, in his\n\u201cReminiscences,\u201d thus records the monomania of the Duchess of Kendal:\n\n\u201cIn a tender mood, he (King George) promised the duchess that if she\nsurvived him, and it were possible for the departed to return to this\nworld, he would make her a visit. The duchess, on his death, so _much\nexpected_ the accomplishment of that engagement, that a large raven, or\nsome black fowl, flying into one of the windows of her villa, at\nIsleworth, she was persuaded it was the soul of her departed monarch so\naccoutred, and received and treated it with all the respect and\ntenderness of duty, till the royal bird, or she, took the last flight.\u201d\n\nASTR. You spoke of the absolute _senselessness_ of trance; and yet there\nwere some hints of the awakening power of fear. Is this consistent?\n\nEV. I expected your objection. In the cases of perfect catalepsy, the\nbrain is not conscious of its mind, or if the mind be active, there is\nno _assurance of its activity_. But, as its faculties are awakened, it\nusually begins to work exactly where it left off;\u2014one of the most\nimposing proofs, both of a separate existence during life, and of our\nbodies\u2019 _unconsciousness_ of this transient disunion.\n\nASTR. I may own, Evelyn, that your illustrations of our questions, in\ndespite of some _straining_ at explanation, carry, on _many_ points,\nconviction to my own mind, but not on _all_. There is another question\nequally interesting with the former. _How is vitality preserved during\nthis protracted abstinence?_\n\nEV. Remember, dear Astrophel, my confession, that there _are_\ninexplicable mysteries. But, to the point of your last question. We are\naware of the long period during which the body may fast after shipwreck,\nor beneath a fallen cliff, or even on the incarceration of animals for\nthe purpose of experiment. Thus Captain Bligh, and seventeen persons,\nsailed four thousand miles in an open boat, with a small bird\noccasionally for the food of all. The Juno\u2019s crew, wrecked off Aracan,\nexisted twenty-three days without food; and the wreck of the Medusa is\nfresh in our memories. Here the body _feeds on its own fat, shrinking_\nuntil that supply is lost, and then it dies.\n\nI might relate to you the very impressive stories of Anne Moore, of\nTutbury; of Janet M\u2019Cleod, told by Dr. Mackenzie; and many strange facts\nrelated by Dr. Willan, Sir William Hamilton, and others.\n\nI might refer you to legends, of which I can scarcely press for your\nbelief. As the strange but authenticated story of Anna Garbero, of\nRacconiggi, forty miles from Turin, who existed without nutrition for\ntwo years, becoming like a shrivelled mummy. And that of Eve Hergen, who\nexisted thirteen years upon the odour of flowers! But even with that\nincredulous frown of Astrophel\u2019s, and that faint smile of thine, fair\nCastaly, let me at once to my explanations.\n\nIn _natural_ sleep the functions of the body are impeded. One of these\nis digestion. As there is little waste of the system there is little\nnecessity for repletion, and life can be supported by a _very slight_\naction of the heart, a minute current of blood; like the slender\nvitality of infants, who, even in a state of health, seem frequently\nscarcely to breathe. The circulation is materially influenced in sleep,\nthe pulse being slower and more feeble than during waking; the\nrelaxation of the _cutaneous_ vessels inducing frequent perspiration,\nespecially in debilitated systems, and in the last stages of _adynamic_\nfevers.\n\nThe body of the cataleptic patient descends to the condition of less\ncomplex animal life, in which there appears a much greater simplicity of\norganization; and we well know, as we descend in the scale of creation,\ntowards the cold-blooded single-hearted animals, and especially if we\nreach the _zoophyte_, in how exact a proportion to this simplicity of\nstructure is the tenacity of life increased. \u201cFish,\u201d says Sir John\nFranklin, \u201cwere taken out of the nets frozen, and became a solid mass of\nice, being by a blow of a hatchet easily split open; they, however,\nrecovered their vitality on being thawed.\u201d\n\nA course of _systematic_ abstinence will enable us, if we wished it, to\nendure extreme privations, which a high feeder would soon sink under;\nand this is probably the discipline adopted by the fakirs of India, who\nfast so long under the influence of superstitious devotion.\n\nVaillant\u2019s spider lived without food nearly one year; John Hunter\u2019s toad\nfourteen months; land tortoises eighteen months; a beetle three years;\nand two serpents, according to Shaw, five years; an antelope has\nsurvived twenty days without food; some dogs forty days; an eagle 23\ndays.\n\nNow all animals fall asleep at certain temperatures, which they cannot\nresist, but the common effect of _extreme_ cold is death. Dr. Solander\nwas yielding to the influence of intense cold in _Terra del Fuego_, but\nwas saved by the firmness of Sir Joseph Banks. Richmond, the black, lay\ndown on the snow to sleep, and died.\n\nThere is a close analogy between this state and the _hybernation_ of\nanimals, although the causes are not similar. _Animalcul\u00e6_ often become\ntorpid for lack of moisture, and, even after the lapse of twenty-seven\nyears, have been revivified by water. The small _furcularia anastobea_\nwill repeatedly become animated and lively by a single drop of water,\nits previous condition being completely quiescent. The snail, the\nalligator, indeed most of the _ophidian_ and _saurian_ reptiles, assume\nthe torpid state in a period of extreme drought; and Humboldt states\nthis also of the _centenes solosus_, a Madagascar hedgehog.\n\nThis hybernation of animals, as of the marmot and the dormouse,\nresembles the deep sleep arising from cold of a _certain_ degree; for if\nthis be _intense_, they will sometimes be momentarily roused from it.\nThey may be constantly kept awake by heat and powerful light.\n\nThus hybernation and the _sleep of plants_ take place from the\nwithdrawal of _stimuli_; _heat_ being the _animal_\u2014_light_ the\n_vegetable_ stimulus.\n\nCAST. The sleep of plants? a fiction surely!\n\nEV. Nay, a truth. The _irritability_ of plants is excited by their\npeculiar stimulus; when this is withdrawn, they fall to sleep. Most of\nthe _discous_ flowers turn to the sun in his course, as the sun-flower,\nthe _helianthus_, and the _croton_. The acacia leaves at noon point\ntowards the zenith. The tamarind, the _oxalis_, and the trefoil, fold\ntheir leaves on the exclusion of light. The evening primrose shuts its\nblossom at sunset, while that minion of the moon, the night-blowing\n_cactus, then only_ begins to bloom; perhaps like the owl, and\ngoat-sucker, and bat, who find _the sun too powerful an excitant_.\n\nVegetables may be put asleep by the withdrawal of proper stimulus,\u2014the\nexclusion of this light. But this is a law of nature, and ordained for a\nspecial purpose. It is chiefly _during fructification_; the leaves at\nnight folding round the flowers and seed-vessels, to protect them from\nthe chilling blight of the night cold, which would congeal their juices.\nIn this condition of the plant its irritability ceases, but the\ncirculation of its sap-vessels is not suspended. Its vitality continues,\nbut if the exercise of its _peculiar phenomena_ be long discontinued, it\nwill fade and die. Now the _vis insita_ of the muscle resembles\nvegetable irritability; and, as this is lost and sensibility suspended,\nthe body is indeed in a condition of vegetable sleep; for vegetables\nhave not of course sensation, although the Darwinian romance would endow\nthe _dion\u00e6a_, the _hedysarum_, and the _mimosa_ with sensibility, and\nall the blossom-beauties of Flora with the fervour of sexual passion.\nTrance then is caused by _the removal of a stimulus_. As somnambulism\nmay result from a _redundancy_ of nervous energy, trance and catalepsy,\nas well as _incubus_, seem to arise from an _inefficient_ secretion or\nsupply of this quality, in whatever it may consist, or an impediment to\nits transmission from the _sensorium_ or brain to the expansion of a\nnerve. Thus the motive power of a muscle is in these diseases\n_suspended_, which in _paralysis_ may be _permanently_ impaired or\ndestroyed.\n\nTo describe this state, I must abound in negatives. The brain is not\nconscious: there is no sensation. Even the marrow by its _reflex\nfaculty_ does not excite a muscle: there is no action: the mind has no\ncognizance: the body is for a time paralyzed. What is there then which\nmay be termed life? merely involuntary circulation and gentle breathing.\nIn this condition also there is a congestion of dark blood about the\nbrain and in the right side of the heart; the circulation being reduced\nto an extreme _lentor_ or sluggishness, while in real _asphyxia_ there\nis a total stagnation.\n\nI have done with minute pathology: as there are however two diseases,\n_epilepsy_ and _insanity_, which may be the _result_ of catalepsy, I may\noffer a precept on the point. The propensity to trance cannot suddenly\nbe averted, but the state of the body and mind are important studies for\nour treatment. Melancholy and apathy are the features of the mind of the\ncataleptic, and languor and faulty secretions the symptoms of the body.\nCheerful society, sympathy with suffering, but firmness in resisting\nsloth and erroneous fancies, and the direction of the patient\u2019s mind to\nmoral recreations, comprehend the sum of our _mental_ treatment.\n\nIt is equally essential to ensure regulation of the secretions,\nespecially those of the liver. We should employ _cupping_ from the nape\nof the neck, if there be pain, or heat, or fulness of the head, and\nconstant but gentle exercise. The head should not be low during sleep,\nnor should food be taken within two hours of retiring to rest. I believe\nobedience to these slight precepts will frequently mitigate, perhaps in\nthe end avert the attacks, especially if they have arisen from diseased\nconditions of the body, or gloomy or depraved studies, and deep\ncontemplation.\n\nThe most simple or unconnected form of catalepsy, is that most likely to\nend in madness. Perhaps, too, in deep and gloomy subjects, which begin\nby absorbing mind and sense, the end is thus; so that cataleptic\nabstraction is but the reverie or foretaste of mania.\n\nAs to suspected cases of still existing vitality: where there is\n_plethora_, I would employ bleeding, or cupping, _insufflation_,\n_Galvanism_; and I should not in extreme cases fear _acupuncture of the\nheart_, and galvanic shocks then transmitted through the needle.\nBeclard, in \u201cLa Piti\u00e9,\u201d in Paris, allows the needle to remain three or\nfour minutes and then withdraws it, and I have learned from my oriental\nfriends, that the Chinese practice this mode extensively.\n\n\n\n\n MESMERISM.\n\n\n \u201cThus smiling, as some fly had tickled slumber,\n Not as Death\u2019s dart, being laugh\u2019d at.\u201d\n CYMBELINE.\n\n \u201cBy some illusion see thou bring her here,\n I\u2019ll charm his eyes against she doth appear.\u201d\n\n \u201cSuch tricks hath strong imagination.\u201d\n MIDSUMMER NIGHT\u2019S DREAM.\n\nIDA. You are very formidable creatures, Evelyn, if you can touch and\nwound the heart of a sensitive girl so easily; we must be wary, dear\nCastaly. It must be a desperate case that justifies so desperate a\nremedy; yet, with all this danger, the magi of our day will, as I have\nheard, induce by their art this very state of trance.\n\nASTR. Magnetic sleep. If the phenomena of this animal magnetism be not a\n_mystery_, it is at least a curiosity. And yet Evelyn will tell us that\nthey, too, obey the _common_ laws of our nature. I believe, however,\nthere are stories of most strange and _novel_ interest, beyond the scope\neven of _his_ philosophy.\n\nEV. The hand of a magnetiser _seems_, I confess, to effect a wonder; but\nyour challenge will be fatal to you, Astrophel. In this same question of\nanimal magnetism we may discover _the spring of all your mysteries_. The\nclose analogies between the _natural_ and _imparted_ phenomena of trance\nand magnetic sleep and somnambulism, and somnambulic blindness, and\nmagnetic ecstacy; even the frauds of lucid vision and clairvoyance, and\nthe vaunted gift of prophetic divination, with the explanation of some,\nand the refutation of others, will dispel the most subtle arguments in\nproof of divine influence; seeing that the process is conducted by men\nof mortal mould, who claim no merit even for the possession of occult\nlearning.\n\nCAST. Mercy, dearest Evelyn, mercy. No more philosophy to-night. The\nsmile of yon planet Venus, that was twinkling from out its cerulean\nblue, is veiled in a cloud; for our cold discourse is treason to its\ninfluence. Be ready with your stories, Astrophel.\n\nEV. The history of Mesmerism is a romance in itself, dear Castaly. If I\ninvade not the province of Astrophel, I will, as some apology for my\ndull prosing, sketch its progress by way of episode.\n\nYou must know, then, that it was Maximilian Holl who first, from the\ninfluence of his magnets on the body, imparted the practical idea of\nanimal _magnetism_ to Mesmer, who had already written his inaugural\nthesis, at Vienna, on \u201cPlanetary Influence,\u201d and had laid down this\nunblushing aphorism: \u201cThere is one health, one disease, one remedy, and\none physician, and that physician am I.\u201d His immediate proselytes were\nDeslon at Paris, and Gmelin at Heilbronne, and Reicke at Stutgard, and\nKlug\u00e9 at Berlin. Encouraged by the Swedenborgian tenets, this magic\nbrought immense revenue into the purses of Mainanduc in England, and the\nrest of its revivers; so that one hundred guineas were given for a\ncourse of lectures and experiments, and fifteen guineas for a\nconsultation and the imparting of its influence.\n\nIn after times Miss Prescott, among others, gained great fame in the\nart: but De Lauterbourg was one of its most popular professors. Three\nthousand patients, it is said, were often waiting for the magnetic\ninfluence about his house at Hammersmith.\n\nIn 1784 an ordonnance of the French king confirmed Mesmer in his working\nof these apparent miracles. By tractions on the body, either with the\nhand or by substances magnetized with his \u201cimponderable fluid,\u201d by\n_champooing_, and the accompaniment of sweet music, a state of\nenchantment of the senses was induced. Convulsions and mania were often\nexcited in the \u201cHall of Crisis,\u201d which was lined by soft cushions to\nprotect the convulsionaries. These paroxysms and tempests of the brain\nMesmer seemed to control, like a second Prospero, with his wand of\nenchantment, gliding, in robes of silk, among the multitude of devotees,\nwhom novelty and voluptuousness had attracted to his shrine.\n\nTo study and report on these mysteries, commissioners were appointed by\nthe \u201cFaculty of Medicine,\u201d by the \u201cAcademy of Sciences,\u201d and by the\n\u201cRoyal Society of Medicine.\u201d These _savans_ referred all to the\ninfluence of imagination, or of emotion in sensitive systems; and that\nthere must be this sensitive predisposition is often proved, for idiots,\nand those who have been blindfold, and unconscious children, _remain\nuninfluenced_, although it is declared by one that he magnetized an\n_idiot baby_!\n\nI must observe, that before the commissions in Paris, especially that of\nwhich Franklin was a member, not the slightest influence was observed;\nand the experiments of Monsieur Berner, who was the chief manipulator,\nwere a perfect failure, especially in regard to the _clairvoyance_.\n\nAstrophel reminds me by his frown\u2014\u2014\n\nASTR. That magnetic power is not granted to all; that all possess not\nthe essential qualities of mind and body. It was affirmed that the\noperator must have his mind abstracted, and teeming with affection and\nbenevolence towards his patients; must believe himself a very _magnet_,\nand feel a desire of benefiting mankind. Thus a sympathy, or\nincorporation of atmospheres, was induced, by which disease was\ninfluenced; and even in persons distant from each other, by an intensity\nof thought the patient tasted, smelt, or heard, the flavours, odours, or\nsounds which at that moment affected the senses of the _operator_. The\nmagnetizer must thus be confident that, by his will, he can pass his\nwhole nervous energy into his patient. It is essential, also, that the\n_mind of the patient_ should have a corresponding willingness _to be_\nmagnetized.\n\nEV. And this congenial platonism is sometimes so intense, that offers of\n_magnetic marriage_ are made by the ecstatic ladies to their\nmagnetizers, even though it may not be _leap-year_, on the plea that the\nloneliness of magnetic widowhood distressed them, and that the\npossession of a _sleeping_ partner was better than _sleeping_ alone.\n\nUnder this interesting disposition for magnetic union, the eyes of the\nmaiden being fixed on the magnetizer intensely, _his_ hands were passed\nbefore her body, his fingers thus forming natural conductors, by which\nthe magnetic fluid was conveyed from the positive to the negative\nmagnetic body. Then came the wonders of this influence. The patient was\nwarmed by the benevolence of the magnetizer, who felt an _aura_ or\ntingling in the part corresponding to any painful part of the patient\u2019s\nbody which was relieved or cured. Indeed, Bertrand assures us that many\ntold him they saw a _blue fluid streaming from his fingers_ when he\nmagnetized them.\n\nThe secret of this is closely analogous to the effect of brooding over\nsorrow: the mind of the patient is _concentrated_ on the spot to which\nthe passes are directed; and, as we know that _disease_ can be excited\nthus by imagination (especially in the hypochondriac), so it is a truth\nthat this concentration may _remove_ disease and pain, especially by the\nsuperaddition of faith.\n\nASTR. But the magnetizer, as they said, was not always _in a state_ to\noperate, and required a certain _training_. So it was observed that\nCasper Hauser\u2019s _cat_ did not follow him after he had eaten meat; his\nmagnetic and somnambulant qualities were destroyed by animal food,\nalthough they were so abundant in his _wilder_ state,\u2014as his history\nwill thus illustrate to those who believe it:\n\n\u201cAs I came into the room, and the door of the deceased person was\nopened, which I did not know, I felt a sudden dragging on both sides of\nmy breast, as if any one wished to pull me into the room. As I went on\nand proceeded towards the sick person, a very strong breath blew on me\nfrom behind, and the pulling which I felt before in my breast I now felt\nin my shoulders. I went towards the window; the sick person followed me.\nAt the time that I wished to ask a question of Mr. Von Gutter, I felt a\ntrembling in my left foot, and it became unwell. She went back again,\nand that trembling left me. She seated herself under the canopy and\nsaid, \u2018Will not the gentleman sit down?\u2019 Hereupon Mr. Professor Hensler\nsaid to her, she should see me. So as she drew nigh to me, within two or\nthree steps, I was still more unwell than before, and I felt pains in\nall my limbs. Mr. Professor Hensler told her that I was the man who had\nbeen wounded (that is, by the attempt which had been made to assassinate\nhim); at the same time she noticed my scar, and pointed towards it; then\ncame the air strong upon my forehead, and I felt pain in it, also my\nleft foot began to tremble greatly. The sick person seated herself under\nthe canopy, and said that she was ill; and I also said that I was so\nunwell that I must sit down. I sat down in the other room: now the other\nfoot began to twitter. Although Mr. Von Gutter held my knees, I could\nnot keep them still. Now a violent beating of my heart came on me, and\nthere was a heat in all my body: that beating of the heart left me\nafterwards; and I had a twittering in my left arm, which ceased after\nsome minutes, and I was again something better. This condition lasted\nuntil the next morning, then I had a headache again and a twittering in\nall my limbs, still not so violent. In the afternoon, about three\no\u2019clock, it came again something less, and left me earlier: then I was\nquite well again.\u201d\n\n\u201cThe Somnambulist was greatly affected by the _presence_ of Hauser. I\nheard that, afterwards, when she was asleep, she had said these\nwords,\u2014\u2018That was a hard struggle for me.\u2019 She felt indisposition from\nthis process even on the next day.\u201d\n\nEV. The first sensation from magnetism is usually that of slight\n_vertigo_,\u2014a state of musing or reverie succeeding, the mind being\nlulled into abstraction, as it is by the rippling of water, the busy hum\nof bees, or the murmuring of the \u00c6olian-harp. I would explain this\nfeeling by the term, _confusion of the senses_; for a certain period\nmust elapse ere an external object make an impression on the mind. When,\ntherefore, objects or sounds become _extremely rapid_, the perception is\nconfused, and the mind, left as it were to itself, cannot follow the\nimpressions _so as to associate them_, and thus the magnetic ecstacy\nensues.\n\nASTR. But Monsieur de Paysegur, who first excited _magnetic\nsomnambulism_, magnetized trees and ropes, by which he converted those\nwho clung to them into sleep-walkers. Dr. Elliotson, also, mesmerized a\n_sovereign_, by _merely looking on it_; and a girl, who intuitively\n_selected_ it from a heap of others, was instantly struck with _coma_.\n\nEV. The last is a very frail experiment. Paysegur often failed in his\nillustrations, and then the cunning juggler explained this, by affirming\nthat the trees counter-magnetized each other. Now, whatever may be the\ninfluence imparted by this _traction_, the phenomena of _excited_\nsomnambulism are similar precisely to those _spontaneously_ occurring.\nMagnetic sleep, or ecstasis, is its precursor; and there is a total\nunconsciousness of it when awake. Here is one of those close analogies\nthat are the most potent arguments on which the question of magnetism\nrests. For, in all the states alluded to, the interval of _ecstacy_ is\n_a blank_. And, as in the cases of intense alarm, as you remember, the\nmesmeric ecstacy will cause a sensitive girl to _forget the present_,\nwhile the scenes of youth and infancy pass vividly before her memory.\n\nNow the effects of the passes of magnetism are referred to _six_\ndegrees,\u2014the chief conditions being those of sleep, somnambulism, and\nclairvoyance. The essence of the last, it seems, is combined with a\nblending of one\u2019s own feeling and nature with those of others;\u2014a\nreuniting, in fact, of body and soul once separated from that individual\nwhole, which some philosophers, as Hecker, believed the whole human race\nto be. You observe my fidelity, Astrophel.\n\nIt must be confessed, that some of the experiments at which I have\nmyself assisted exhibit very strange results. In some, there is the\npropensity to chatter nonsense,\u2014a system of one form of _hysteria_, of\nwhich the analogy is perfect. One little jade created much amusement, by\ninserting supernumerary syllables, thus\u2014oppor_way_tuni_whats_ty.\n\nThe insensibility of the nostril to the most powerful _ammonia_ is a\nvery imposing fact; one which must strike us more than that of\ninsensibility of the eye to light, or the ear to sounds. For the faculty\nof perception may be often suspended in either of those organs of sense,\nif attention be powerfully diverted to another point, or, as it is by\nthe abstraction of magnetic ecstacy, not directed _to any_.\n\nSo that I do not wonder when thoughtless proselytes believe these\neffects to be _miraculous_, or credit the assertions of Pereaud, in his\n\u201c_Antid\u00e6mon of Mascon_,\u201d that,\u2014\u201cThe devil causeth witches to fall into\necstacies, so that a man would say their souls were out of their body.\u201d\nOr those of Bodin, in his \u201c_Theatre of Universal Nature_,\u201d that \u201cthose\nthat are rapt of the devil feel neither stripes nor cuttings.\u201d\n\nSo that the honour of the magnetic monomania must at last be conceded to\nthe fallen angel.\n\nIDA. And are all these wonders worked only to excite curiosity?\n\nASTR. I believe there is some good in it. Is it not certain, that during\nthis state of magnetic sleep, operations have been performed without\ncreating pain? The lady on whom Mons. Chopelain operated, talked coolly\nand unconsciously during its performance. And Jules Cloquet, in Paris,\namputated the breast of a lady who had been put into an ecstacy or state\nof apathetic trance by a mesmerizer.\n\nEV. It is, I believe, quite true that she was perfectly unconscious of\nthe operation. But even this is not _safe_. Pain is given us as a\nwarning against extreme injury; that by our complaint or suffering, the\nsurgeon\u2019s mind may be _on its guard_. For the body is so far in disorder\nwhen it is chilled by this apathetic spell, that it may sink under fatal\ninjuries, although they may be endured by the mind unconscious of its\nperil or its state. As a very curious antitype to these cases, it is\nstated in a medical gazette, that a young lady fell down in an\nhysterical fit and was insensible for two days. As a puffy swelling\narose, she was _trephined_, but there was no disease of the brain. In\ntwo days after this, she awoke and expressed all the steps of the\noperation, of which she had been _painlessly sensible_.\n\nASTR. And in this state of _ecstasis_, is there not strange havoc played\nwith the senses, by their seeming displacement or transference?\n\nThe philosophers will tell us that the _ganglia_ in the abdomen become\nas it were _little brains_, and the plexusses and the nerves of the skin\nbecome, like those of the senses, capable of imparting the idea of\nvisible objects to those ganglia and of rendering a slight whisper\ndistinctly audible. This is all very fine, and very _material_; but this\nstraining at explanation is itself a proof of mystery. Van Ghest records\nthe case of Mademoiselle B\u2014\u2014, a young lady who was magnetized: she\nassured him that while she was intently looked upon, she felt her eyes\nand brain leave her head, and become fixed in her stomach, in which\nsituation she saw acutely; but if she was in the slightest degree\ndisturbed, the eyes and their sense seemed to return to her head.\n\nThe stories recorded in the book of the Rev. Chauncey Townsend are not\nless curious than this.\n\nEV. Although I take the _metaphysics of a divine_ with reservation, his\n_facts_ may not be doubted. For there are _other_ powerful impressions\nthat will produce phenomena as curious. The arm of a young man in the\n\u201cOspidale della Vitta,\u201d at Bologna, in 1832, was grasped by a convulsive\npatient. Violent spasms succeeded, and he lost the senses of taste,\nsmell, and sensibility of the skin, but he could hear _if the voice was\napplied on the stomach_; and could, at that spot, discriminate between\ndifferent substances.\n\nAnother patient in the same hospital was subject every third day to\nviolent convulsions, during the continuance of which, he lost entirely\nthe use of all his senses, and could neither hear, see, nor smell. His\nhands also became so firmly clenched, that it would be impossible to\nopen them without breaking the fingers. Nevertheless, Dr. Ciri, the\nphysician under whose charge he was placed, discovered that the\n_epigastric region_, at about two fingers breadth above the navel,\nreceived all the impressions of the senses, so as to replace them\ncompletely. If the patient was spoken to whilst the finger was placed on\nthis spot, he gave answers, and even, when desired, opened his hands of\nhis own accord. If any substance or matter was placed there, he could\ndescribe its form and quality, its colour and smell. As long as the\nfinger was kept on the stomach, the convulsion gradually diminished\nuntil it entirely disappeared; but if the finger were placed on the\nheart, the convulsion returned with increased violence, and continued as\nlong as the finger was kept in that position. If a flute was played\nwhile the finger was kept on the stomach, the patient heard the music;\nbut if the finger was taken away, and placed on the heart, and then\ntaken back again to its former position, the man asked _why they played\nby intervals_; yet the flute had never ceased. These experiments were\nall made in the presence of the professors and students of the hospital.\n\nI will not counsel you, Astrophel, as to the _extent_ of your belief in\nthese strange tales, but extreme exaggeration often lessens the interest\nwhich scientific minds would take in these curiosities.\n\nThese pictures are correct in their _outline_, but the artists _have not\nspared their colours_. They will remind _us_, who are learned in\nlegends, of that illusive monomania among the monks of Mount Athos, who\nbelieved that they could at pleasure attain a celestial vision by\ncommuning devoutly with the Deity, _while their attention or their sight\nwere directed to the umbilicus_! And they were therefore called\n\u201cOmphalopsychians.\u201d We discover also very close analogies to this mental\nconcentration, in the acuteness with which _one_ sense is endowed on the\nfailure of _another_. The delicacy of touch in the blind is often\n_extreme_; I knew a blind lady who played an excellent rubber, passing\nher finger lightly over the card spots; and more curious still are the\ncases of Miss M\u2019Avoy, of Stanley the organist, and of Professor\nSaunderson. De Luc tells us of a lady, who read distinctly by passing\nher fingers over the page, even of a strange book. In Laura Bridgman, an\nAmerican girl, an inmate of the Institution of Boston since 1837, the\n_whole faculty of perception_ was concentrated in the one sense of\ntouch. At the age of two, sight, and hearing, and smelling, and almost\ntaste, deserted her. To this interesting creature, through the acuteness\nof her sense of touch in tracing letters, has been imparted so much\nknowledge, that the _moral sentiments_ and the congenial affections of\nthe heart are now beautifully displayed in her character. If by the dumb\nalphabet, or finger-talking, conversation is commenced with her, she\nfollows the fingers with her arm with extreme rapidity, so that scarce a\nletter escapes her. Such are the wonders of this child\u2019s intelligence,\nthat her mind has been cited as illustrative of _innate sentiment_; but\nthe very _facility_ is enough to explain her actions.\n\nLe Cat writes of a blind sculptor at Voltera, who modelled features most\nfaithfully by the touch.\n\nA French gentleman lost the integrity of _every sense_, but _sensation_\nremained in half of his face, on which he received the correspondence of\nhis friends by their tracing on it letters or forms.\n\nIn Mr. Eschke\u2019s establishment at Berlin, conversation was carried on by\ntracing letters on the _clothes of the back_.\n\nA Bolognese, on witnessing a woman in acute _hysteria_, became\noccasionally convulsed, and impenetrably deaf; if, however, the\nslightest whisper was breathed to the _pit of the stomach_, he heard\ndistinctly.\n\nFrom Andral\u2019s Lectures, to please you, Astrophel, I will select this\nfragment:\n\n\u201cI saw yesterday a young lady who has been frequently magnetized, and\nwho, on my visit, presented some very remarkable circumstances. After a\nfit of indigestion she fell into the ecstatic state, in which she\ncontinued when I saw her. Her skin was perfectly insensible, and her\neyes were open like animals\u2019 in whom the _fifth pair_ of nerves has been\ndivided. She could perceive light, knew the difference between day and\nnight for instance, but she could see and distinguish nothing else. She\ncould not speak, but by signs expressed that her intellect was unusually\nactive. But the most remarkable of the phenomena she presented was a\nsingular _exaltation of the sense of hearing_. So extraordinarily\ndelicate had this become, that she distinctly perceived sounds inaudible\nto myself and several other persons.\u201d\n\nCarus, unmindful of the existence of a state of abstract reverie\nresembling sleep, records the case of a young ecclesiastic, who composed\nsermons in a state of slumber, correcting and adding to them with\n_peculiar care_. And this is the deduction: that the sense of vision\nseemed to be _transferred to the fingers_, as the eyes were perfectly\nblinded to the writing paper. His eyes, when he sat for his portrait,\nshould have been painted at the tips of his fingers.\n\nJames Mitchell, congenitally deaf and blind, discriminated his friends\nfrom strangers, and even formed a fair estimate of character, by the\nsmell of the parties. And there was a deaf woman (writes Le Cat) who\ncould read, and even tell the difference of languages, from the _silent_\nmotion of the _lip_.\n\nFrom these very curious illustrations we may confess that these lines in\nHudibras are no fiction:\n\n \u2014\u2014\u201cCommunities of senses\n To chop and change intelligences,\n As Rosicrucian virtuosis\n Can see with ears and hear with noses.\u201d\n\nFor so strange are the synonymes of the senses, that the blind will\nexpress their notion of _colour_ by _sound_; the tint of scarlet is like\nthe sound of a trumpet. From this hint, probably, St. Amand, in the\n\u201cPilgrims of the Rhine,\u201d speaks of a _visible music_.\n\nIDA. Do we not perceive, also, something of this acuteness in the sense\nof touch under certain other conditions? In the story of Caspar Hauser,\nwhether it be romance or reality, we read the following illustration of\nthe effect of _mineral_ traction:\n\n\u201cOnce, when the physician, Dr. Osterhausen, and the royal crown fiscal,\nBrunner, from Munich, happened to be present, Daumer led Caspar, in\norder to try him, to a table covered with an oil cloth, upon which lay a\nsheet of paper, and desired him to say whether any metal was under it.\nHe moved his finger over it, and then said, \u2018There it draws.\u2019 \u2018But this\ntime,\u2019 replied Daumer, \u2018you are nevertheless mistaken, for,\u2019 withdrawing\nthe paper, \u2018nothing lies under it.\u2019 Caspar seemed at first to be\nsomewhat embarrassed, but he put his finger again to the place where he\nthought he had felt the drawing, and assured them repeatedly that he\n_there_ felt a drawing. The oil cloth was then removed, a stricter\nsearch was made, and a needle was actually found there.\u201d\n\nCaspar Hauser might have felt this, or a cunning youth might have palmed\non us his _idea_ for a truth. Yet I confess Parkinson also relates the\ncase of a woman who fainted on the touch of a _stethoscope_, exclaiming\nthat it was \u201c_drawing_ her too strongly.\u201d\n\nCAST. And of clairvoyance. Have you no incidents, Astrophel?\n\nASTR. Many. Listen to the following fragments. One from Andral\u2019s\nLectures:\n\n\u201cM. Feruss was present at the experiment. A watch was held behind the\nindividual\u2019s head. \u2018I see,\u2019 said he, \u2018something that shines.\u2019 \u2018What is\nit?\u2019 \u2018A watch.\u2019 He was asked the hour, and _replied exactly_. Two\ndifferent watches were tried. He was equally precise. The watches were\ntaken out of the room, and the hands altered. He still told the hours\nand minutes expressed on the dials.\u201d\n\nAnother from an English newspaper, in 1833:\n\n\u201cMr. Barnaby (\u2019twas at Bow-street) took his watch from his pocket, and\nsaid, \u2018What have I got in my hand?\u2019 \u2018A watch,\u2019 was the reply.\u2014\u2018What is\nit made of?\u2019 \u2018Gold.\u2019\u2014\u2018What chain is attached to it?\u2019 \u2018None at all,\u2019\nsaid the boy: \u2018there is a riband to it.\u2019\u2014\u2018Can you tell at what hour the\nhand stands?\u2019 \u2018Yes, at twelve.\u2019 Mr. B. showed his watch, and the hands\nwere at twelve precisely. Mr. B. then produced his purse from his\npocket, and asked the boy the colour of it, and what it contained, and\nhis answers were, without having the least opportunity of turning round\ntowards the bench, that one end of the purse was brown, and the other\nyellow, and that the brown end contained sovereigns, and the yellow end\nsilver. Mr. B. admitted the correctness of the description, and, taking\nsome silver from his pocket, asked the boy to describe the different\npieces. \u2018What is this?\u2019 \u2018Sixpence,\u2019 said the boy, \u2018and of the date\n1819.\u2019\u2014\u2018What is the next?\u2019 \u2018A shilling, and dated 1816,\u2019 was the reply.\nAnd when the clerk brought forth another coin, and asked similar\nquestions, the boy said, \u2018That is a sixpence of the date of 1817;\u2019 and\nall these guesses proved to be correct.\u201d\n\nTownsend and Wood, at Antwerp and Paris, produced this second sight in\nseveral instances. E. A., with eyes bandaged, read two hundred pages of\nprint, and even written music.\n\nEV. A little more sifting of these cases, Astrophel, and they would\nresemble that of the cataleptic female of Amiens, related by Petelin;\nwho also professed to tell the spots of a card, _unseen_ by her. But it\nwas discovered that the physician _glided it beneath the bedclothes_. Or\nthat told by Bertrand, of another _ecstatic female_:\u2014\u201cWhile lying\nentranced in a chamber illuminated by a candle, her ring was removed\nfrom her finger by Monsieur Bertrand, and given to a person standing\nnear him. She was asked who had her ring,\u2014\u2018Mr. Eyre has it in his\ntrowsers pocket.\u2019 Mr. Bertrand exclaimed that she was wrong, for it was\n_not_ to Mr. Eyre the ring was given. The lady persisted in her\nstatement, and, on immediate inquiry, it was found that the person who\nfirst was given the ring had secretly conveyed it to Mr. Eyre.\u201d\n\nThe pages of history are not deficient in these pretensions to miracle.\nFrom Ulrick Zwingle we learn that Thomas Aquinas, the evangelical\ndoctor, professed, by intense thought, to throw himself into ecstacy; in\nwhich, strange visions and mysteries of another existence passed before\nhim.\n\nMatthew Paris writes of a monk of Evesham, and of a certain _Sir Owen_,\nthat, in one of these ecstacies, was favoured with an introduction into\nSaint Patrick\u2019s purgatory. So the mad visionary, Jacob B\u0153hm, fell into\nmany strange trances, and at last were revealed to him,\u2014\u201cThe origin of\nnature; the formation of all things; and even divine principles and\nintelligent natures!\u201d\n\nBut the case of Santa Theresa, if we can but believe the testimony of so\naccomplished an hypocrite, presents phenomena far more remarkable than\nall these. \u201cHer frame was naturally delicate, her imagination lively,\nand her mind, incapable of being fixed by trivial objects, turned with\navidity to those which religion offered, the moment they were presented\nto her view. But, unfortunately, meeting with the writings of Saint\nJerome, she became enamoured of the monastic life, and, quitting the\nline for which nature designed her, she renounced the most endearing\nties, and bound herself by the irrevocable vow. Deep melancholy then\nseized on her, and increased to such a degree, that for many days she\nlay both motionless and senseless, like one who is in a trance. Her\ntender frame, thus shaken, prepared her for ecstacies and visions, such\nas it might appear invidious to repeat, were they not related by herself\nand by her greatest admirers. She tells us that, in the fervour of her\ndevotion, she not only became insensible to every thing around her, but\nthat her body was often _lifted up from the earth_, although she\nendeavoured to resist the motion. And Bishop Yessen relates in\nparticular, that, when she was going to receive the _Eucharist_ at\nAvila, she was raised in a rapture higher than the grate, through which,\nas is usual in nunneries, it was presented to her. She often heard the\nvoice of God, when she was recovered from a trance; but sometimes the\ndevil, by imitation, endeavoured to deceive her, yet she was always able\nto detect the fraud.\u201d\n\nSo that Theresa\u2019s life was an elysium on earth, and she might well have\ncried out in her ecstacy,\u2014\n\n \u201c\u2014\u2014sic sine vit\u00e2,\n Vivere quam suave est, sic sine morte mori.\u201d\n\nYet the modern proselytes to Mesmerism would scarcely believe this a\nfiction, but an illustration of that lucid vision which may, it is\nbelieved, be so highly excited, as to associate the being with universal\nnature: a creed grounded on the expansion or illimitable nature of\nthought or mind, by which it seems to leave the body, carrying with it\nits consciousness.\n\nSo the disciples of Mesmer asserted, that, when they thought or spoke\nwarmly of absent persons, they would both appear in their _eid\u014dlon_; and\nalso that they were, at that exact time, speaking or thinking of _them_.\nThis was Shelley\u2019s conviction, that minds _sympathetically_ imparted\nideas and thoughts,\u2014particles, indeed, of the \u201cmens divinior.\u201d So that\nthey might well see in the dark.\n\nBrown would be in a flood of joy to hear the affirmations of these\necstatics, whose spirits, as they believe and avow, are for the time\nreleased from the chains of mortality. \u201cWhy,\u201d exclaimed one of these\nhalf-spiritualized creatures,\u2014\u201cWhy do you bring me again to life? Would\nyou depart from me, my body would grow cold, my soul would not return to\nit, and I should be happy.\u201d\n\nASTR. You are fond of caricature, Evelyn. I speak of sober truths only.\nI am told that the powers of acquirement may be so increased by\nmagnetism, as to resemble _new_ faculties. A lady, during a sort of\necstacy, sung most scientifically church music; although, when awake,\nshe entirely failed, and had forgotten all. And others will speak\nlanguages and sentiments, of which they are perfectly unconscious when\nawake.\n\nThere was a girl in the vicinity of Bedford Row, of whose case there are\nrelated similar wonders of this magnetically-imparted accomplishment;\nand her beauty was so enchanting, as to transcend the brightest visions\nof Michael Angelo or Correggio.\n\nEV. Like that of the inspired somnambule, of whom Wolfart thus writes in\nhis \u201cAnnals:\u201d \u201cAn evil spirit ushered in her somnambulic sleep, and then\na good spirit spread its wings around her; and when they had conversed,\nhe flew with her to the Eternal City, through the sun and the moon; and\nwhile there, tranced scenes were around her, and her spirit was enjoying\nher beatitude: her face was like the face of a seraph, and no mortal\npainter might essay to trace its beauty.\u201d So say those who _saw_ this\nmystery.\n\nASTR. Yet, as to the prophetic power imparted by magnetism,\u2014cases are\nrecorded by our enthusiastic proselytes, which throw the spells of the\nconjuror into an eclipse\u2014\n\nEV. And therefore forbid belief.\u2014\n\nASTR.\u2014Even those displayed before our learned bodies. Madame Celini\nSauvage, you remember, in the presence of the committee, in Paris, was\nplaced in somnambulism. Even while insensible to stimuli she formed, it\nis recorded, a correct judgment of the diseases of persons around her,\nespecially in the person of M. Marc, one of the committee; and in that\nof a young lady, on whom M. Dupuytren had operated for dropsy, and had\ntried the effects of the milk of a goat which had been anointed with\nmercury. Madame, unconscious of this, _prescribed the very same remedy_.\nYou remember the report, Evelyn.\n\nEV. I remember, but believe it not.\n\nCAST. And is it thus with _all_ our legends? have you no more faith in\nyour own order? There is the learned physician, Justin Kerner. _You_\nhave not forgotten, Astrophel, his beautiful story of that most\naccomplished somnambule, the Prophetess of Prevorst, who seemed, as she\nsaid, to draw from the air a living principle, and whose _very\nvitality_, it was believed, was preserved by the magnetic influence. The\nbody of this ethereal creature enfolded her spirit like a veil of\nfilm,\u2014she was a very flower of light living on sun-beams. Her senses\nwere lighted up by the minutest atom. A web of gossamer stung her waxen\nskin like a nettle. At the pale green light of a glow-worm, she fell\ninto ecstatic sleep; and then, (as to my own Tasso,) came to her\nspectral visitants, with whom she conversed, and whose colourless forms\nwere visible even to her earthly companions. This fair creature had, as\nthe story goes, been some time dead, when her mother made passes over\nher cold face and lips; and lo! her eyes opened, and a tremor was on her\nlip. Were I Astrophel, methinks I would make a pilgrimage to Lowenstein,\nwhere her body lies. And now, Evelyn, if you will, reprove me for my\nwildness, but confess there must be a sort of truth in legends so\ncircumstantial as these.\n\nEV. A fair question, dearest Castaly. Yes, it is the crude or false\ninterpretation of that _sort of truth_, a transient glimpse it may be,\nof some embryo principle, that leads to popular error. A baseless theory\nis raised on an _isolated_ fact; and infantile science, bursting from\nits leading-strings ere it can crawl, topples headlong down the\nprecipice, and splits on the rock of hypothetical presumption.\n\nAnd then the confusion into which the mind is thrown by the definitions\nand conclusions of magnetizers, would make a very Babel of the fair\nfield of philosophy. The least perplexing, perhaps, is that of the\nFrench _savans_ who referred magnetism to the efforts of a fluid matter\nconsisting of fire, air, and spirit, to preserve its equilibrium in\ncertain bodies which were, as to their capacity for this fluid, in a\nstate of plus and minus. There is nothing very unphilosophical in this;\nfor the essence of magnetism is somewhat analogous to eccentric\nderangement of mind, a disturbance of that order or symmetry among the\nfaculties and actions, by which one is highly excited and another is\ncomparatively passive. In a word, Mesmerism is true in part: it _may_\ninduce catalepsy, somnambulism, exalted sensation, apathetic\ninsensibility, suspended circulation, even death. Clairvoyance and\nprophecy alone are the impositions as regards its _effects_, as the\n\u201cblue flame\u201d at the finger tips is of its _nature_.\n\nOne folly more. Mesmer himself vaunted to Dr. Von Ellikon, \u201ctwenty years\nago I magnetized the sun;\u201d &c. so that the miracle of Joshua was but a\nstroke of magnetism. Indeed, Richter, rector of the School of Dessau,\naffirms that all the miracles of the Testament were but the sequences of\nmagnetic passes. And Kieser refers all to a \u201ctelluric spirit,\u201d a sort of\nmagic, of which the sun and moon are the grand reservoirs; nay, this\ninfluence is the real cause of sleep and waking.\n\nIDA. So that we are mesmerized by the moon at night-fall, and\nunmesmerized by the sun at the opening of the dawn.\n\nEV. Then there were some aphorisms of Wolfart about _fiddling_ to the\nviscera with his magnetic medicine, and working them up, as it were, to\na jig or a bolero. These are the visions of a madman. But surely the\nillusion regarding this mysterious fluid is confessed in Dupotet\u2019s own\nnotion of _his own_ wondrous faculty, when he asserts his belief that\nanimal magnetism is analogous to the royal touch, and the mysteries of\nApollo, and \u00c6sculapius, and Isis, the miracles of Vespasian, and the\nSibylline prophecies.\n\nASTR. You sneer at this as you did at the blue flame; but Dupotet\nassures us that while he is magnetizing his patients, he feels a\nsensation at the points of his fingers resembling the _aura_ from\ndiffused electricity. Now is it not fair to ask if electro-magnetism may\nnot reside in the _animal_ as well as in the _mineral_, in _man_ as well\nas in the _torpedo_ and _gymnotus_. And why may there not be a condition\nof intercommunication or _en rapport_, a magnetic _aura_ creeping\nthrough the nerves of each body?\n\nWe should not, therefore, make any hasty decision against the presence\nof an _aura_ streaming from the fingers and directed by the will.\nMonsieur Deleuze said, in Paris, \u201cI do not know if this be material or\nspiritual, nor to what distance it is impelled; but it is impelled and\ndirected by my will, for if I cease to will, the influence instantly\nceases.\u201d\n\nI remember Priestly opined that _phlogiston_ in our bodies _produced_\nelectricity, which was destined for our own purposes merely. But as the\n_silurus_ and the _torpedo_ possess the power of _imparting theirs_,\nalthough at the expense of their animal power, I presume to think that\nconcentrated mind _may_ impart our own nervous influence to others.\n\nEV. I admire the acuteness of your question, Astrophel; but you are now\ncome down from your clouds; you are descending unawares to _physiology_.\nThere are, doubtless, many peculiar states of the nervous system at\npresent inexplicable. I grant it is _possible_ that the influence of the\nnervous energy may become so eccentric as to illustrate the phenomena of\nmagnetism, if, as some believe, this influence depends on a subtle fluid\nanalogous to light, heat, and electricity; the nerve conveying this\nfluid as the wire conducts the electric.\n\nThus an influence, which is apparently _physical_, may be, in reality,\n_mental_, for there is usually _consciousness_ of the contact. M.\nBertrand believed that the mind alone of the patient was acted on, and\nthis is strengthened by the experiments of the Abb\u00e9 Faria, who produced\nmany of these phenomena by merely exclaiming to his sensitive visitors,\n\u201c_Dormez_.\u201d\n\nASTR. Well, you are drawing the influences of mind and body very closely\ntogether, Evelyn. If animal magnetism be not the universal influence of\nsensitive beings, what is _personal sympathy_?\n\nEV. It is not that mysterious freemasonry of the senses which may impart\na superhuman knowledge, or confer a power of personal recognition. Yet\nwe are required to believe such stories.\n\nASTR. And are there not many well attested? There was a Monsieur de la\nTour Landrie, a nobleman of France, who so powerfully influenced a young\nshoemaker by whom he was measured, that the youth fell into a senseless\nsyncope, and profuse h\u00e6morrhage succeeded it. This influence was\nrepeated, and excited so deep an interest in the mind of the noble, that\nhe instituted an inquiry regarding his birth and fortunes. And the\nresult was, that Monsieur de la Tour discovered in the humble mechanic\nthe son of his sister, the Baronne de Vesines.\n\nThe thrill of feeling with which the lover touches the lip of his\nmistress, the intense delight with which the mother presses her infant\nto her bosom, are illustrations of that power to which I allude. It is\nthe magnetic touch of beauty which sends the fires of passion not only\nthrough the bounding heart of youth, but even through the icy veins of\nthe stoic. \u201cHe that would preserve the liberty of his soul,\u201d said\nSocrates, \u201cmust abstain from kissing _handsome_ people.\u201d \u201cWhat, then,\u201d\nsaid Charmides, \u201cmust I be afraid of coming near a handsome woman?\nNevertheless, I remember very well, and I believe you do so too,\nSocrates, that being one day in company with Critobulus\u2019s beautiful\nsister, who resembles him so much, as we were searching together for a\npassage in some author, you held your head close to that beautiful\nvirgin, and I thought you seemed to take pleasure in touching her naked\nshoulder with yours.\u201d \u201cGood God!\u201d replied Socrates, \u201cI will tell you\ntruly how I was punished for it for five days after. I thought I felt in\nmy shoulder a certain tickling pain as if I had been bit by gnats, or\npricked with nettles; and I must confess, too, that during all that time\nI felt a certain hitherto unknown pain at my heart.\u201d\n\nEV. So that \u201cthe crime,\u201d like that of Sir Peter Teazle, \u201ccarried its\npunishment along with it.\u201d But you must see that the mind of Socrates\nfirst _appreciated_ beauty, ere this influence was imparted to him.\n_Imagination_ is not certainly idle here, yet I grant, that if the charm\nof _substantial_ beauty or endearment be wanting, poesy will ever be but\na cold and joyless sentiment.\n\nASTR. Then there is another mysterious sympathy, the fascination of the\nevil eye, or _fascino_. There were, both in Africa and in Illyria,\nwrites Aulius Gellius, certain families believed to possess the power of\ndestroying trees, flowers, and children, and this by merely praising\nthem; and Plutarch and Pindar refer to the credence of the Greeks on\nthis point, who were wont to invoke the Fate Nemesis against this\nfascination of an evil eye.\n\nI think, too, traces of this credence may be found in Ovid, and Horace,\nand Pliny.\n\nEV. Yes, and in modern Italy the professors of the art are yet termed\n_jettatori_, or _eye-throwers_. But Valletta, an Italian author,\nconscious of the truth, boldly disclaims for his countrymen the notion\nof _demoniac influence_, referring it to _physical impression_, somewhat\nresembling the fascination of the eye of the rattlesnake, that drops, as\nwe are told, the bird from the branch into its mouth. In that exquisite\nsympathy between mind and body (the sequence of an influence on\nsensibility, or on the senses) consists the secret of all this.\n\nYou remember the effects of intense impression on the mind in the\nexcitement of catalepsy, and indeed in causing instantaneous death: this\nis intense influence on the _sensibility_. The effects of deep\nimpression on the sight or touch, by the passes of magnetism, are\nmagnetic ecstacies: this is intense influence on the _senses_. So that\nall your mysteries are the result of this influence passing through the\nbrain to the body; and the vaunted miracles of Mesmer, and Bertrand, and\nDupotet, are, as I have said, impositions, chiefly as regards the\n_nature_ of their _influence_. And, like these, the doctrines of Fludd\n_the Seeker_, of the Abb\u00e9 Nollet, of Lavater, of Nicetas the Jesuit, and\nthe quaint ideas of many other visionaries, which you may read in their\nwritings, are really explicable by the laws of physiology.\n\nWhen the magnetiser asserts that a patient should possess _a disposition\nto be acted on_, he unwarily divulges his own secret; for this is\nnothing more than blind faith in a promise. And this credulity is most\ncharacteristic of that disordered condition of a nerve, acute\nsensibility, in which the slightest causes may effect a seeming wonder.\nNay, even disease and _death were_ so induced during the manipulations\nof Hensler and Emmelin.\n\nThis also is the secret of that influence imparted by the touch of a\nseventh son; or of the hand of a criminal hanging on the gallows; or the\nrevolting precept of Pliny, that an epileptic should drink the blood of\na dying gladiator, as it gushes from his wound; or the _stroking_ of\nValentine Greatrex; the _sympathetic powder_ of Sir Kenelm Digby; the\n_tractors_ of Perkins; of chiromancy, rhabdomancy, and of other\ncuriosities recorded in tracts and journals.\n\nIn my professional life, I have seen the same influence, though\ninfinitely less in degree, imparted by an implicit confidence in the\nblessings of our science. Even Bertrand honestly confesses its power.\n\nA lady was thrown into deep sleep by the touch of a magnet, sent by him\nin an handkerchief from the distance of three hundred miles. But the\n_same effect_ was produced by the contact of _unmagnetized_ cambric; and\nBertrand allows, that where an ignorance of his intention existed, _even\nthe magnetized talisman was powerless_ over his patient.\n\nI could tell you tales of bits of wood effecting all the wonders of the\nmetallic tractors of Perkins; and cubes of lead, and those of nickel,\nfraught, as a learned doctor had declared, with magnetic virtues; but I\nspare you.\n\nFrom this superstitious faith spring also the miracles of that pious\nsaint, who had assumed the staff of Saint Francis Xavier, the Prince\nHohenlohe. One of these was the cure of Miss O\u2019Connor, attested by Dr.\nBaddeley, of Chelmsford, who had tried in vain to relieve the lady of\n_acute neuralgia_. She was directed to prostrate herself at the altar in\nChelmsford at the moment when the sainted prince would kneel at his\nshrine in the cathedral of Bamberg. At the appointed time, during the\nsolemn celebration of high mass, as she exclaimed, \u201cThy will be done, O\nLord,\u201d the agonizing limb was painless.\n\nI do not doubt the possibility of such an incident. And here is the\nunfolding of another secret of these German magnetizers, who were\nbelieved to _shoot at_ their patients with the unerring aim of a rifle,\neven though many miles might intervene. Nadler, as we are told in the\n\u201cAsclepeion,\u201d was so good a shot, that he brought a woman to the ground\nat the moment he fixed his magnetic aura at her, aiming between the eyes\nand the bosom, even at the distance of eighteen miles.\n\nI am aware that this, my philosophy, would not pass current at the\nVatican, for \u201cthe congregation of the holy office, having once applied\nto the pope, to know if animal magnetism were lawful, and if penitents\nmight be permitted to be operated on; his holiness replied, that the\napplication of principles and means purely physical to things and\neffects which are supernatural, for the purpose of explaining them\n_physically_, is nothing but an unlawful and heretical deception.\u201d\n\nBut I may tell you that his holiness himself was once a great monopolist\nof saints\u2019 cures, if we may believe a book, printed by Roberts, in\nLondon, in 1605, entitled, \u201cA Declaration of egregious Popish\nImpostures, to withdraw the hearts of religious men, under pretence of\ncasting out devils; practised by Father Edmunds, alias Weston, a\nJesuite, and divers Romish priests his wicked associates.\u201d\n\nAnd, moreover, the interference of priests has often led to the\ninterdiction of protestants, in their scientific ministering to disease\nthe most severe, as typhus fever, or surgical operations, because they\nwere heretics; while the profane Paracelsus says, \u201cIt matters not, by\nGod or devil, so he _be_ cured;\u201d even without an indulgence, I presume,\nfrom Della Genga, or the leave of the sacred college.\n\nBelieve me, the influence of faith will illustrate all this mystery, and\nreduce even these impostures to a simple truth. Without it, only the\ngrossest superstition would believe that sympathy would thus \u201ctake the\nwings of the morning,\u201d and impart to a mind that was thinking at our\nantipodes a consciousness of our own sentiments; for this would be a\nrevival of that blind credulity, which in the darker ages was reposed in\nthe superhuman agency of magic and of witchcraft.\n\n\n\n\n SIBYLLINE INFLUENCE.\n\n\n \u201cShe was a charmer, and cou\u2019d almost read\n The thoughts of people.\u201d\n OTHELLO.\n\nIDA. As you unfold the wonders of the mind, Evelyn, the secrets of many\nsplendid mysteries shine forth in the light of your truth; and the\nwisdom of \u201ccharmed rings,\u201d \u201cblessed brambles,\u201d and amulets and\ntalismans, fades before the precepts of a purer faith. Yet is there no\nwitchcraft in your philosophy? You have, methinks, absolved Astrophel\nfrom spells and dark hours, for, in the softened lustre of his eye I see\na light more holy than its wonted flash of divination.\n\nCAST. You have more faith in his conversion than I have, Ida; for, lo ye\nnow! On a mossy stone in Tintern lay this sable velvet pouch, which,\nfrom its mystic \u2019broidery, might be the lost treasure of a Rosicrucian\ncabalist.\n\n \u201cThere\u2019s magic in the web of it;\n A sibyl that had number\u2019d in the world\n The sun to make two hundred compasses,\n In her prophetic fury sew\u2019d the work.\u201d\n\nAnd here is a scroll of vellum folded within it. Listen, and you shall\nhear the pencillings of some unhappy student, benighted in the mazes of\nthe Cabala.\n\n\u201cThe eye of modern philosophy may wink at the wisdom of occult sciences,\nand sorcerers and magicians, necromancers and Rosicrucians, cabalists\nand conjurers, astrologers and soothsayers, Philomaths, Drows, and\nOreades, wizards and witches, and warlocks, and sibyls and gipsies, may\nbe, in _its_ estimation, a mere legion of cyphers. Yet faith hath been\nlong and firmly lavished on the art of divination by the learned and\nmighty men of all ages. The Chaldean, who read the stars, was the\ncoryph\u00e6us and the type of superhuman knowledge; the magi of Persia and\nEgypt, and other orient lands, followed in his wake. The venerable\nHermes Trismegistus was surrounded by his proselytes in the year of the\nworld 2076; and Apollonius and Zoroaster, and Pythagoras, and, in later\nages, John of Leyden, Roger Bacon, and other learned mystagogues, have\nimbibed a more than mortal wisdom from the aspect of those starry lights\nwhich gem the vaulted firmament; while the luminous schools of Padua,\nand Seville, and Salamanca, were rich in the records of occult and\nmystic learning. Emperors and kings, and ministers, who ruled the\ndestiny of mighty nations, have believed. Wallenstein was all confiding;\nRichelieu and Mazarin (as Morin writes) retained soothsayers as a part\nof their household; Napoleon studied with implicit faith his book of\nfate; and Canute, obedient to his confidence in the virtue of relics,\ndirected his Roman agent to buy St. Augustine\u2019s arms for one hundred\nsilver talents, and one of gold.\n\n\u201cNay, what saith divinity itself? Glanvil, the chaplain of King Charles\nII., affirms in his \u2018Saducismus Triumphatus,\u2019 that \u2018the disbeliever in a\nwitch must believe the devil gratis;\u2019 and Wesley said, that \u2018giving up\nwitchcraft was, in fact, giving up the Bible.\u2019 Now, as the Chaldean\nsophs were divided into three classes\u20141. the \u2018Ascaphim,\u2019 or charmer; 2.\nthe \u2018Mecascaphim,\u2019 or magician; 3. the \u2018Chasdim,\u2019 or astrologer; so the\nlegion of modern witches was composed of a mystic tryad, distinguished\nby colours that were a symbol of their influence on our mortal frame.\nThe black witch could hurt, but not help; the white could help, but not\nhurt; the grey could both help and hurt.\u201d\n\nIDA. My own Castaly, have pity on us. Evelyn may unrol the coils of this\nunholy manuscript if he will.\n\nI do believe this lettered clerk has, in some unhappy hour, wandered by\nthe ruins of the Seven Churches in the valley of Glendalough; and there,\ncreeping up to St. Keven\u2019s bed, that hangs over the gloomy waters of its\nlake, has won the fatal gift of Catholic magic. Or perchance he has\nsworn allegiance with Faust and Friar Bacon.\n\nASTR. If an Oxford student _must_ kneel at the shrine of a fair lady, he\nwill whisper this confession. In exploring the treasures of black-letter\nromance, he revelled among the occult mysteries, slighting that pure\nanalysis of nature which is the essence of all philosophy. The legends\nof Reginald Scott, De Foe, Glanvil, and Wanley, were the companions of\nhis pillow; and thus in poring over the legends of enchantment, he was\nhimself enchanted, and contemplated a wondrous history of witchcraft,\nwhere Sir Walter himself had failed. Let me have light penance, and I\npromise in the simple and beautiful light of nature alone to read her\nwonders; and if I dare, to study astrology in those planet eyes which\nlook so mildly on their proselyte.\n\nIDA. Or rather, as the magi of old, you will burn your books of\ndivination; and, like Friar Bacon, who broke the rare glass which showed\nhim things fifty miles off, you will study divinity, and become a pious\nanchorite.\n\nCAST. I am happy that you abandon the dark and dooming spells of the\nmagus and the witch, Astrophel, for witchcraft is the unholy opposition\nof a demon to the Deity. Yet in your fate I read my own. But censure not\nthe poetry of that innocent romance that lights up the legends of the\nberry-brown sibyl, whether she be a _tirauna_ prowling in the streets of\nMadrid, or a gipsy perched upon the heath-brow of Norwood; for theirs\nare _happy_ prophecies. Yet if, like Astrophel, I am to be the slave of\nphilosophy, let me at least make \u201ca dying and a swan-like end.\u201d\n\nIt was among the heath-valleys, where nature lay in wild repose around\nthe place of my birth, that I first met the glance of a gipsy\u2019s eye. On\nthe northern side of that beautiful sandhill in Surrey, that rears its\npurple and turret-crowned crest between the chalk hills and the weald,\nthere is a green and bosky glen, the \u201cValley Lonesome,\u201d Along the waste\nof _Broadmoor_, that spreads between the brow of _Leith-Hill_ and the\nRoman camp of _Anstie-bury_, comes rippling down the crystal streamlet\nof the _Till_, which, blending with a torrent that leaps from a lofty\nsand-rock, steals away amid mosses and cardamines, and cuckoo-flowers;\nnow gliding between its emerald banks, now swelling into a broader\nsheet, beneath the beech woods of _Wotton_, the ancient seat of the\nEvelyns. There the willows dip their silver blossoms, and the violet,\nalmost hidden beneath them, fills the air with sweetness. There the wild\nbriar wreaths in light festoons its tiny roses, and the passion-flower,\nentwining its luxuriant tendrils around the aspen and the sycamore,\nhangs its beautiful blue stars in rich profusion. And there, among the\nboughs of lofty elms whose shadows in the early morning darken the\ncasements of _Tillingbourne_, a colony of rooks hang their woody nests;\nand the murmurs of the ringdove, nestling within the woods of Wotton and\nthe Rookery, are heard in the golden noon and sunset of June, floating\naround this leafy paradise.\n\nIt was on such an eve that my thoughts had faded into slumber; and when\nmy eyelids oped, there was a form of embrowned beauty before me so wild,\nyet so majestic, that Cleopatra, in the garb of an Egyptian slave-girl,\nmight have stolen upon my sleep: so scant of clothing, so lovely of form\nand feature, she was like an almond-flower upon a leafless branch. Her\nexpression was full of beautiful contrasts, for, while her eaglet eye\nwent into my being, there was a languid smile on her ruddy lip, as she\nwere about to syllable my own destiny; and, indeed, she _did_ unfold to\nme many things which have been most strangely worked out and verified in\nmy life. I wept at some of these foretellings, and she said, \u201cTears were\nthe pearls that gem the rose-leaves of life.\u201d I smiled at others, and\nshe said, \u201cSmiles were the sunlight that warmed their swelling leaflets\ninto beauty.\u201d\n\nThroughout that summer night, when all were sleeping, save two romantic\ngirls, she unfolded to me the secrets of her tribe, and a mine of\nmysteries learned from a Bohemian _Maugrabee_. She told me how, and why,\nthe Druids, when the moon was six days old, cut the _misseltoe_ with a\ngolden knife; how the _vervain_ was gathered with the left hand, at the\nrising of the dog-star; and the _lunaria_ was valueless, if not picked\nby moonlight; how the _roan-wood_, and the _Banyan seedling_, and the\nfour-leaved _shamrock_, bore a charm in their tender leaves against\nevery ill of life. In nature, she said, there is no bane without its\nantidote, were the intellect of man ripe for its discovery. There are\ncorals and green jaspers, carved into the forms of dragons and lizards,\nhung round an infant\u2019s neck, for the cure of an ague; the\ncrimson-spotted _heliotropium_, to staunch a flow of blood; a wrapper of\nscarlet-cloth, to mitigate the virulence of small-pox; the blue-flannel,\n_nine times_ _dyed_, to allay the pains of rheumatism; and the magic\nword _Abracadabra_, to sooth the disorders of a nerve. And, above all,\nthat wondrous _weapon-salve of sympathy_, which once healed on the\ninstant the wound of Ulysses, and that which the dainty Ariel gave to\nMiranda, to charm Hippolito to life and health; and that with which the\nlady of Branxholme _salved_ the broken lance, when William of Deloraine\nwas healed.\n\nIt will be long ere from my memory fade this vision of Charlotte\nStanley. In pity, Evelyn, leave me this one romance of my young\nlife,\u2014the sheet and taper, nay, the ducking-stool for the witch, if you\nwill, but deign to bestow one smile upon the gipsies.\n\nRemember the story of the Sibylline Tables. If Sextus Tarquin had not\nfrowned on the _Roman_ gipsy, she had not burned six of those precious\nvolumes, which, from the massive cabinets of stone made to enclose the\nthree that were preserved, prove that the Roman thought them priceless.\nOne smile, Evelyn, for my sibyl.\n\nEV. Not in memory of the Sibylline Tables, but for your own sake, dear\nCastaly. Although the innocence of your nut-brown sibyl is not so clear,\nand I am somewhat jealous, too, of that _white magic_ of hers, which\nhath won the belief of so many minds the reverse of illiterate, who,\nfrom the Chaldean even to Bacon and William Lilly, have spurned\nphilosophy, and even divinity, and pinned their faith upon a gipsy\u2019s\nsleeve, and doted on the inspiration of an astrologer.\n\nIDA. Forgetful, it would seem, that the wicked king of Babylon found the\ndevout Daniel, and Hananiah, and Michael, and Azariah, _ten times\nbetter_ than all his magi and astrologers.\n\nThese are the antiquaries who possess the last relic of the true cross;\nor the last morsel of Shakspere\u2019s mulberry, of which last bit there may\nbe about ten thousand; such are they who would pen learned theses on the\ndisputed place of sepulture of St. Denys, and _determine_ the question,\ntoo, although one of his heads is in the cathedral of Bamberg, another\nin the church of Saint Vitus in the castle of Prague; one of his hands\nin a chapel at Munich; one of his _bodies_, minus one hand, in the\nkeeping of the monks of Saint Emmeram at Regensberg; while the monks of\nSaint Denys possess another, his head being preserved in the third\nshrine of the treasury in their cathedral. These may be innocent\nfollies, but superstition, alas! will not always stop here; fanaticism\nsoon descends to self-infliction, or to cruelty, and in that moment it\nbecomes a black stain on the heart of man. Yet, even for the tortures of\nthe Inquisition (so exquisite, that we might believe them the\nsuggestions of a devil), the jesuit, Macedo, has put forth this profane\njustification: that the bloody tribunal was first instituted by the\nDeity, in the condemnation of Cain and the bricklayers of Babel.\n\nEV. Such was the trial of _ordeal_ instituted for the test of innocence.\nAmong the Anglo-Saxons, as all the chronicles of their history will\nshow, this mode of trial prevailed; as in the ordeals of the _Cross_, of\n_boiling water_ and of the _hot iron_; of _cold water_, or _drowning_;\nand of the _corsned_, or consecrated cake. Equally savage was the trial\nfor murder, so prevalent in Scotland, especially the institution of\ntheir _Bahr-recht_, or \u201cRight of the bier.\u201d Among the \u201cdecisions\u201d of\nLord Fountainhall, you may read of legends almost incredible. Philip,\nthe son of Sir James Standfield, was executed because, in lifting the\ncorpse of his murdered father from its bier, blood welled forth from his\nwound; and the Laird of Auchindrane was tortured, because a corpse\nchanced to bleed on the approach of a little girl, who, I believe, was\nmerely one of his domestics.\n\nBut waving these profanations, the reliques of a darker age, let me have\na word with Astrophel on parting. The seeming _fulfilment of many a\nsibylline prophecy_ is perfectly clear _as to its source_. There may be\n_coincidence_, as in the dream; or _faith_ and _inducement_ may impart\nan energy of action, which may itself work a wonder, or accomplish that\nend which is referred to a special power.\n\nAt the siege of Breda, in 1625, when fatigue and abstinence had well\nnigh reduced the garrison to prostration and despair, the Prince of\nOrange practised this pious fraud on his soldiers:\u2014He pretended to have\nobtained a charmed liquor, so concentrated, that (on the principles of\nhom\u0153opathy) four drops would saturate a gallon of water with restorative\nvirtues; and with so much skill was this administered by the physicians,\nthat a _general restoration was speedily effected_.\n\nYou remember, Astrophel, the temptation of Diocletian. From Flavius\nVopiscus we learn, that he was paying the Druidess of Brabant, with whom\nhe lodged. \u201cWhen I am emperor,\u201d he said, \u201cI will be more generous.\u201d\n\u201cNay,\u201d said the Druidess, \u201c_you shall be emperor, when you have killed\nthe_ BOAR.\u201d He hunted and killed boars incessantly, but the purple was\nnot offered to him. At length, the Emperor Numerianus was murdered by\nArrius _Aper_. This was the eventful moment, and, transfixing the heart\nof Aper with his sword, he said, \u201cI have slain the boar!\u201d and the\nimperial crown was his.\n\nIs not this, too, the counterpart of that seeming prophecy of the Weird\nSisters, which made Macbeth a murderer and a king?\n\nThere was an enchanted stone at Scone, in Scotland, the palladium of\nScottish liberty, for it was believed that the lord of that spot on\nwhich the stone lay, should bear sovereign sway. King Edward bore this\ntalisman away in triumph; and Scotland, _depressed by its loss_, became\na vassal of the English crown.\n\nAnd this faith may invest the merest trifle with a spell. Sir Matthew\nHale was presiding in his court on the trial of a witch. She had cured\nmany diseases by a charm in her possession; and the evidence seemed\nconclusive of her guilt. But when the judge himself looked on this\ncharm, behold! it was a scrap of paper, inscribed with a Latin sentence,\nwhich, in default of money, _he himself_, while on the circuit, had\ngiven many years before, in a merry mood, to mine host, by way of\nreckoning.\n\nAmong the many analogies to this story in ancient times, there was the\npotent poison-charm or antidote of Mithridates, King of Pontus. Its\n_effect_ was supreme. And what its composition? twenty leaves of rue,\none grain of salt, two nuts, and two dried figs!\n\nNow you will remember that the wizard and the ministers of these charms,\neven among savages, were also their physicians, and, among pagans and\npapists, their priests. It is clear that the sensitiveness of mind and\nbody _under disease_, when the first were consulted, and under the\ninfluence of superstitious fear, instilled by the priesthood, rendered\nthem impressible to the most trifling causes.\n\nEven in minds of superior natural energy, from the instilment of\nsuperstitious ideas _in infancy_, a blind faith will often become\nparamount. Such a mind, and so influenced, was Byron\u2019s; and on such a\nfaith he once stole an agate bead from a lady, who had told him it was\nan antidote to love. It failed: had it not, Byron might have been a\nhappier man; but the world would have been \u2019reft of poesy, the\nbrightest, yet the darkest, that ever flashed on the heart and mind of\nman.\n\nSir Humphrey Davy, you may recollect, \u201cknew a man of very high dignity,\nwho never went out shooting without a bittern\u2019s claw fastened to his\nbutton-hole by a riband, which he thought ensured him good luck.\u201d\n\nTo illustrate the _innocence_ of your gipsy, Castaly, hear this story.\n\n\u201cAbout forty years ago, a young lady, afterwards Mrs. W\u2014\u2014, rallied her\ncompanions aloud for listening to the predictions of an itinerant gipsy,\nwhen the latter malignantly threatened her to beware of her first\nconfinement. She was shortly afterwards married; and, as the period of\nher peril approached, it became evident to her friends that the\nremembrance of the wizard malediction began to fasten upon her spirits.\nShe survived her time only a few days: and the medical attendants, who\nwere men of eminence, stated it as their opinion, that mental\nprepossession alone could be admitted as the cause of her death; not one\nunfavourable circumstance having occurred to explain it.\n\n\u201cAnd some melancholy illusion of this nature induced fatality in the\ncase of another lady, (Mrs. S.) who, according to the statement of the\nvenerable Mr. Cline, reluctantly submitted to the removal of a small\ntumour in her breast. Unexpectedly, and without any apparent cause, she\ndied, on the morning following the operation. It was then for the first\ntime ascertained that she had prognosticated her death, and the\nimpression that she should not survive had taken so strong a possession\nof her mind, that her minutest household arrangements were preconcerted,\nas appeared by the papers found in her cabinet.\u201d\n\nI believe that many modern instances of gradual and almost imperceptible\ndecay, may be referred to the influence both of melancholy prophecies\nand visions on the mind, although their agency may be unsuspected, and\nas obscure as that of the poisonous herbs of the Thessalian Erichtho, or\nthe sorceress of Neapolis, or the _aqua tofana_ of the _Italians_.\n\nAnd superstitious fear may induce a _sudden_ death. Alfred, a nobleman,\nwas one of the conspirators against the Saxon Athelstan. To justify\nhimself from the accusation, he went to Rome, that he might make oath of\nhis innocence before John, the pope. On the instant he took the oath he\nwas _convulsed_, and, in three days, _died_.\n\nThen as to the language of the stars:\u2014as the phrenologist is much\nindebted to the principles of Lavater in forming his estimate of\ncharacter, so I believe of the astrologer. The aspect of the _face_ is\nnot always disregarded in his prophecy, while he seems to observe only\nthe aspect of the stars. And although there is often a very strange\nprecision in his guesses, yet there was once a curious incident in my\nown presence, from which we may learn something of this secret. On a\nvisit to a learned astrologer, (who might rest his fame on another art\nin which he is so eminent,) our fortunes, past and future, were told\nwith extreme minuteness, and, I confess, with many coincidences of\nformer times. One was reminded by the seer of a state of deprivation\nwhich he endured in the year 18\u2014, in the Mediterranean. The officer\nremembered in that year being becalmed in a voyage to Malta, and, under\na sultry sky with parching thirst, enduring the want of water for many\ndays. This was conclusive of the fidelity of the planets, until we\ndiscovered that the horoscope was imperfect, for the officer had given\nto the astrologer the _wrong date of his birth_.\n\nCAST. And this, sir, is your Philosophy of Mystery? Oh for the\nforethought of my sibyl, that I might learn my own fate for listening to\nthis treason against the throne of fancy, on the steps of which I have\nso long offered up my homage\u2014this ruthless spoliation of her dreamy\nkingdom!\n\nEV. Let me for once play the sibyl, fair Castaly, and whisper the\npenalty in your ear\u2014\u2014\n\nIDA. A lesson in natural philosophy; and the apt scholar, as I read it\non her cheek, has in a moment learned it all by heart; o\u2019ershadowing all\nher bright visions of earth and its romances.\n\nEV. What marvel that a daughter of earth should be so apt in its\nphilosophy?\u2014\n\n \u201cFor half her thoughts were of its sun,\n And half were of its show\u2019rs.\u201d\n\nBut it is not so easy to shake the throne of fancy, or to lay the genius\nof romance. He will ever wave his wand of enchantment over the human\nmind. The poet will still build his air-castles, and the ghost-seer\nindulge in his wild visions of nonentity.\n\nThe wonders of creation will still affect us, according to the quality\nof intellect or genius, or the constitution or cultivation of the mind.\nThe poor Indian will still \u201csee God in clouds, and hear him in the\nwind,\u201d and the untutored rustic be startled by the shadow of a shade. To\nhim the slightest change in the regular course of nature will still be a\nspecial miracle: thunder, the awful voice of Divine reproof; lightning,\nthe flashes of Divine displeasure; the scintillations of the aurora, the\nspectral forms of contending armies; and the comet foretel the wreck of\nmighty empires. Against this untutored devotion I would not breathe a\nthought,\u2014it is the voice of the Deity speaking to the savage.\n\nBut it is the privilege, the duty of intellect, to think more deeply of\nthe physiology of nature; and to learn from the physical sciences, its\nreal utility in the grand scheme of the creation.\n\nPhilosophy, rising from the sublime study of these beautiful phenomena,\nregards them as the pure effect of those elemental laws, by which the\nintegrity of the universe is preserved. And what ought this philosophy\nto teach us? Not the superstition of the bigot\u2014for the age of special\nmiracles is, for the present, past; not the pride of the fatalist, who\nrefers all to chance and necessity; not the mania of the astrologer, who\nplumes himself on his prophetic wisdom, and presumes to interpret to the\nletter the mysterious voice of his Creator; but that true wisdom, which\nthrew over Boyle, and Locke, and Newton, the mantle of humility and\ndevotion.\n\n * * * * *\n\nThe autumn floods had descended from the mountains of Gwent; the banks\nof the meandering Wye were desolate, and her woods leafless; yet the\nAbbey of Tintern was still majestic and unchanged.\n\nIt had been decided, that when the summer sun shone again on Wyndcliff,\nthe wanderers should revisit the beautiful valleys that lay beneath it,\nin memory of happy hours; but ere this was fulfilled, changes manifold\nhad come over their destiny, from which might be fashioned a true\nlove-story.\n\nFor Astrophel, Ida had unconsciously worked a spell of natural\nwitchcraft, and his wild thoughts were ever chastened by the pure light\nof her devotion. And Evelyn almost confessed to Castaly, that there\nmight be a sort of animal magnetism. He has neglected the study of the\natomic theory, for the contemplation of the animated atoms that play\naround his domestic hearth; and the heart and life of Castaly, a poetry\nin themselves, have since interwoven many a blushing flower on the\nclassic pages of his philosophy.\n\n THE END.\n\n\n LONDON:\n GILBERT AND RIVINGTON, PRINTERS,\n ST. JOHN\u2019S SQUARE.\n\n\n\n\n _BY THE SAME AUTHOR._\n\n\n PRACTICAL REMARKS ON\n\n THE DISEASES OF THE SKIN,\n ON THE\n EXTERNAL SIGNS OF DISORDER,\n\n AND ON THE CONSTITUTIONAL PECULIARITIES DURING\n INFANCY AND CHILDHOOD.\n\n \u201cMuch useful information conveyed in very few words.\u201d\u2014_Lancet._\n\n \u201cMr. Dendy has drawn from his opportunities, as Surgeon to the\n Royal Infirmary, valuable materials for various disquisitions on\n the diseases of infancy.\u201d\u2014_British and Foreign Medical\n Quarterly Review._\n\n 8vo. Price 6_s._ 6_d._\n\n * * * * *\n\n THE BOOK OF THE NURSERY.\n\n PRECEPTS FOR THE MANAGEMENT OF INFANTS,\n\n AND FOR THE PREVENTION AND DOMESTIC TREATMENT OF\n THE DISEASES INCIDENTAL TO CHILDHOOD.\n\n \u201cAll should study this book, and instal it in their\n nurseries.\u201d\u2014_Metropolitan Magazine._\n\n \u201cMr. Dendy has done valuable service to the rising\n generation.\u201d\u2014_Literary Gazette._\n\n * * * * *\n\nTranscriber\u2019s Notes:\n\nPage of other books by this same author was moved from the front of the\nbook to the end of the book. Archaic spellings have been retained as in\nthe original. Punctuation and obvious typesetting errors have been\ncorrected without note. Other errors have been corrected as noted below.\n\npage 5, St. Hilary at Poictiers ==> St. Hilary at Poitiers\npage 30, The Welch guide was ==> The Welsh guide was\npage 33, to be a meanless ==> to be a meaningless\npage 48, Praise God Barebones ==> Praise God Barebone\npage 53, of Halloween and Hogmany ==> of Halloween and Hogmanay\npage 54, Stonehenge and Abury, ==> Stonehenge and Avebury,\npage 54, when we have past ==> when we have passed\npage 67, the niflheiner, or hell ==> the niflheimr, or hell\npage 95, shall be crowned King ==> shall I be crowned King\npage 95, Westermister Abbey, likely refers to Westminster Abbey\npage 95, in the of Hyde the Park ==> in the Hyde Park\npage 159, Hogmany, or New-year\u2019s Eve, and ==> Hogmanay, or New-year\u2019s Eve,\n and\npage 160, around the Feroe Islands. ==> around the Faroe Islands.\n\n[End of _The Philosophy of Mystery_ by Walter Cooper Dendy]","title":"The Philosophy of Mystery","tradition":"ritual-magic","translated_text":null,"word_count":130801}