Introduction.

N the olden time prophecy and poetry were believed to be inspired by the same spirit, and the same word— VATES—was indifferently applied to either of their ministers. Now, however, when antique oracles are dumb, and even dreams and visions are no longer regarded as prophetic of coming weal or woe, it is only as a humble dependant on the magic of poesy and art, that the whilome soothsayer is allowed to dazzle with his enchantments. Still there are moments when his misty spectre seems endowed with reality, and there are few minds who will not entertain him at times in the bower of imagination, although ashamed to admit him to the higher hall of reason.

And there are very few who are not occasionally interested in the mysterious, uncontrollable operations of the mind during slumber. "Dreams," says a writer," are the novels which we read when asleep❞—and it is in these wild romances, that the sternest and gravest foes of the Imaginative and Fantastic in art and literature, read their reproof written legibly by Nature herself. And when we reflect on the inexplicable manner in which the subtlest and

most occult workings of the mind are at times entangled with our dreams, becoming, so to speak, half revealed; and appearing to the observer who never investigates the wondrous world within, like a veritable gleam from a spirit world above, it does not appear strange that there have existed in all ages myriads who believed with religious faith that supernatural intimations were permitted to even the humblest, during sleep.

It is true that modern science and investigation have well nigh explained all the mysteries of dreams, or at least have opened a path to their explanation. The singular faculty of latent memory so well illustrated by Coleridge and De Quincey, and the established fact that this power is frequently awakened in dreams, would serve of itself to explain many a mysterious revelation, which the Rosicrucian philosopher would have ascribed to his mystical Adech or invisible "inner sprite," but which the modern is contented to attribute to fortuitous association. If to the latent memory, we add the quite as mysterious but more usual quality of forgetfulness, we have an explanation of the manner in which knowledge was not only acquired, but also concealed.

And as the power displayed by even weak men during convulsions, or while under the influence of some dominant passion, proves the existence of latent and seemingly immeasurable physical strength, so the mind, in dreams, displays not only the memory alluded to, but also hidden powers which either slumber entirely during our waking hours, or are so subtle in their operation as to defy detec

tion. Should the former be the case, we can only presume them to be the very partial development of embryo faculties, which are only to be expanded in a future life. If the latter, we must assume that the apparent spontaneity of much reasoning, in its relation to the memory, has been as yet, despite the efforts of Cousin, but very slightly investigated. When we recall the vast magazine of knowledge which memory presents to these powers, we can no longer wonder that they should occasionally form combinations and conclusions which appear to the unreflecting, perfectly miraculous.

It is, therefore, not impossible that some philosopher, aided by the researches of modern chemists in the application of their science to the nervous system, and by the theories of such writers as SALVERTE, who seek to establish the claims of ancient magic on physical experience, will yet succeed in restoring to Dreamland its rank as a firstclass power among the kingdoms of the mind. Whether this be effected or not, we trust that enough has been said to justify on the one hand, any doubt as to the supernatural claims of Oneirology, and yet on the other to admit, in the words of Chaucer,

That no man should be too reckeless
Of dreames, for I say thee doubtlesse

That many a dreme full sore is for to drede.

The Dream Angel.

THOSE instances, I believe, are neither few nor far between, in which dreams have given to the afflicted, positive comfort and encouragement during their waking hours. The features of the loved who have long been parted from us either by accident or death, are thus renewed or revivified far more sympathetically than can be done by the most accurate portrait, while to the lover despairing of his lady's favour, a pleasant dream often holds forth hopes not less stimulating than her smiles. All, it is true, are not gifted with such vivid imaginations as to frequently experience these sweet delusions, but they have in every age existed to such a degree that the world has never wanted races who held with religious faith that

"-Departed spirits at their will

Could from the Land of Souls pass to and fro,
Coming to us in sleep when all is still."

To those who can feel a poetic sympathy with this belief, the following sketch, which owes its existence to a hint from Jean Paul's "Voice of the Heart," may not prove un