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NATIONAL
LIBRARY
MEDICINE
Washington,D.C. 
THE
PHILOSOPHY
SLEEP
          ROBERT   MA CN1SH,

AUTHOR OF "THE ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS," AND MEMBER OF
   THE FACULTY OF PHYSICIANS AND SURGEONS OF GLASGOW.
                        - ■-, f ,.-
           FIRST AMERICAN- EDITION
                              ''/ .





                 NEW YORK:

D.  APPLETON & CO.,  200,  BROADWAY

         AND FOR SALE BT ALL BOOKSELLERS.


                    M DCCC XXXIV. 
QTf\
WILLIAM VAN NORDBN, PRINT. 
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
 Thk present Edition of The  Philosophy of
 Sleep is  so different from  its  predecessor, that it
 may almost be regarded as a new treatise.   The
 work has been, in a great measure, re-written, the
 arrangement altered, and a great accession  made
 to the number of facts and cases: the latter, many
 of which are now published for the first time, will,
 I hope, add much to its value.   Some of them have
 occurred in my own practice; and for others,  I
 am indebted to the  kindness of several ingenious
 friends.  Notwithstanding every care, the work is
 far from being what it ought to be, and what  I
 could have wished ; but, imperfect as it is, it may,
 perhaps, stimulate some other inquirer  to investi-
 gate the subject more deeply, and thus give rise to
an abler disquisition.  So far as I know, this is the
 only treatise in which an attempt is made to  give
 a complete account of Sleep.   The subject is not 
IV
PREFACE.
 an easy one;  and, in the present state of our
 knowledge, moderate success  is probably all that
 can be looked for.

   In the first Edition, Dr. Gall's theory, that the
 brain is composed  of a  plurality of organs, each
 organ being the seat of a particular mental facul-
 ty, was  had recourse to for the purpose of explain-
 ing  the different  phenomena of Sleep; in  the
 present Edition, this doctrine is more prominently
 brought forward.  The great objection to the pre-
 vailing  metaphysical systems is, that none of their
positions can be proved  ;  and that scarcely two
 writers  agree upon any particular point.   The
disciples of Gall, on the  other hand, assume that
his system, having ascertainable facts to illustrate
it, is at all times susceptible of demonstration—
 that nothing is taken for  granted; and that the
inquirer has only to make  an  appeal to nature to
ascertain its fallacy or its  truth.   The science is
entirely one of observation : by that it must  stand
or fall,  and by that alone ought it to  be tested.
The phrenological system appears to me the only
one capable of affording  a rational and easy ex-
planation  of  all the phenomena  of mind.  It is
impossible  to account for dreaming, idiocy, spec- 
PREFACE.
V
tral illusions, monomania, and partial  genius in
any other way.  For these  reasons, and for the
much stronger  one, that  having  studied  the
science for several  years  with  a mind rather
hostile than otherwise to its  doctrines, and found
that nature invariably vindicated their  truth, I
could come to no  other conclusion than  that of
adopting them as a matter of belief, and employ-
ing them for the explanation  of phenomena which
they alone seem calculated to elucidate  satisfacto-
rily.   The system of Gall  is  gaining ground
rapidly among scientific men, both in Europe and
America.   Some of the ablest physiologists in both
quarters of the globe have admitted its accordance
with  nature;   and, at this  moment, it boasts a
greater number of proselytes  than at any previous
period of its career.  The prejudices still existing
against it, result from ignorance  of its real  cha-
racter.  As people get better acquainted with the
science, and the formidable evidence by which it
is supported, they will think differently.

  Many persons who deny the possibility of esti-
mating individual  character, with any  thing like
accuracy,  by  the shape of the head, t admit the
great phrenological principle  that the  brain  is 
VI
PREFACE.
composed of a plurality of organs.  To them, as
well as to those who go a step farther, the doctrine
laid down in the present work will appear satis-
factory.  An admission that the brain is the mate-
rial apparatus by which the mind manifests itself,
and that each mental faculty is displayed through
the medium of a particular part of the brain, is all
that is demanded in considering the philosophy of
the science.  These points are only to be ascer-
tained by an  appeal to  nature.  No man  can
wisely reject phrenology without making such an
appeal. 
CONTENTS.
              CHAPTER I.
                                         PAGE
Introduction,............    9
              CHAPTER II.
Sleep in General,   ..........   15
            CHAPTER  III.
Dreaming,.............   43
             CHAPTER  IV.
Prophetic Power of Dreams,......102
              CHAPTER V.
Nightmare,    ............122
             CHAPTER  VI.
Day mare,.............142
            CHAPTER  VII.
Sleep-Walking,   ..........145
            CHAPTER  VIII.
Sleep-Talking,...........172 
 Vlll             CONTENTS.
              CHAPTER  IX.
 Sleeplessness,...........174
              CHAPTER X.
 Drowsiness,............   183
              CHAPTER  XI.
 Protracted Sleep,..........186
             CHAPTER  XII.
 Sleep From Cold,..........192
            CHAPTER  XIII.
 Trance,    .............200
            CHAPTER  XIV.
Voluntary Waking Dreams,    ......211
             CHAPTER  XV.
Spectral Illusions,..........214
            CHAPTER  XVI.
Reverie,.............   244
           CHAPTER  XVII.
 Abstraction,............251
           CHAPTER  XVIII.
Sleep of Plants,...........263
            CHAPTER X IX.
General Management of Sleep,   .....267 
PHILOSOPHY  OF  SLEEP.
CHAPTER  I.
INTRODUCTION.
Sleep  is  the intermediate state  between wake-
fulness and death : wakefulness being regarded as
the active state of all the animal and intellectual
functions, and death as that of their total suspen-
sion.
  Sleep exists in two states ; in the complete and
incomplete.  The former is  characterized  by a
torpor of the various organs  which  compose  the
brain, and  by that of the external  senses and vol-
untary motion.  Incomplete sleep,  or dreaming, is
the active  state of one  or more of  the cerebral
organs  while the remainder are in repose :  the
senses and  the volition being either suspended or
in action according  to  the circumstances of  the
case.  Complete sleep is a temporary metaphysic-
al death, though not an organic one — the heart
and lungs  performing their offices with their  ac-
customed  regularity under the control  of  the
involuntary muscles.
         2 
10              PHILOSOPHY
   Sleep  is variously modified, as we shall  fully
explain hereafter, by health and disease.  The sleep
of health is full of tranquillity.   In such a  state
we remain for hours at a time in unbroken repose,
nature banqueting on its sweets, renewing its lost
energies, and  laying in a fresh  store for  the suc-
ceeding day.  This accomplished, slumber  van-
ishes like a vapor  before the rising sun ;  languor
has been succeeded by strength; and all the facul-
ties,  mental and corporeal, are recruited.  In this
delightful  state, man assimilates  most with that
in which Adam sprang from his Creator's hands,
fresh, buoyant, and vigorous ; rejoicing as a  racer
to run his course, with all his appetencies of enjoy-
ment on edge, and all his  feelings  and faculties
prepared for exertion.
  Reverse the picture, and we have the sleep of
disease.   It is short, feverish, and  unrefreshing,
disturbed by frightful or melancholy dreams.  The
pulse is  agitated,  and, from  nervous excitation,
there are frequent startings and  twitchings of the
muscles.   Nightmare presses  like an incarnation
of misery upon the  frame—imagination, distem-
pered by its  connexion with physical  disorder,
ranging along the gloomy confines of terror,  hold-
ing communication with hell  and the grave, and
throwing a discoloring shade over human life.
  Night  is the time for sleep; and  assuredly the
hush of  darkness as  naturally courts to repose
as meridian splendor flashes on us  the necessity
of our being up at our labor.  In fact, there exists 
OF   SLEEP.
11
a  strange, but  certain  sympathy between  the
periods of day and night, and the performance of
particular functions during these periods. That this
is  not the mere effect of custom, might be readily
demonstrated.  All nature awakes with the rising
sun.  The birds begin to sing; the bees to fly about
with murmurous delight.  The flowers which shut
under the embrace of darkness, unfold  themselves
to the light.  The cattle arise to  crop  the dewy
herbage ;  and '■ man goeth forth to his  labor until
the evening."  At  close of day, the reverse of all
this activity and motion is observed.  The songs of
the woodland choir, one after another, become hush-
ed, till at length twilight is left to silence, with her
own star and her falling dews.  Action is succeed-
ed by listlessness, energy by languor, the desire of
exertion by the inclination for repose.  Sleep, which
shuns the light, embraces  darkness, and they lie
down together under the sceptre of midnight.
   From the  position of man  in  society,  toil or
employment of some kind or other  is an  almost
necessary concomitant of his nature—being essen-
tial to healthy sleep,  and  consequently to the reno-
vation of our bodily organs and mental faculties.
But as no general rule can be laid down as to the
quality  and quantity of labor best adapted to par-
ticular temperaments, so neither can it be positive-
ly said how many hours of sleep are necessary for
the animal frame.   "When the body is in a state of
increase, as in  the advance from  infancy to boy-
hood, so much  sleep is required, that  the greater 
12
PHILOSOPHY
portion of existence may be fairly stated to be ab-
sorbed  in this way.  It  is not  mere repose from
action that  is capable  of recruiting the wasted
powers, or restoring the nervous energy.  Along
with  this is  required  that oblivion of feeling and
imagination which is  essential to, and which in a
great measure constitutes, sleep.  But if in mature
years the body is adding to its bulk by the accu-
mulation of adipose matter, a greater tendency to
somnolency occurs  than when the powers of the
absorbents and exhalents are  so  balanced  as to
prevent such accession of bulk.  It  is during the
complete equipoise of these animal functions that
health is enjoyed  in greatest perfection; for such
a state presupposes exercise,  temperance,  and  a
tone of the stomach quite equal to the  process of
digestion.
  Sleep and stupor have  been frequently treated
of by physiological writers as if the two states were
synonymous.  This is not the case.   In  both there
is insensibility; but it is easy to awake the person
from sleep, and difficult, if not impossible, to arouse
him from stupor.  The former is a necessary law
of the animal economy; the latter  is  the result of
diseased action.
  Birth and death are the Alpha  and  Omega of
existence ; and life, to use the  language of Shak-
speare, " is rounded by a sleep."
  When we contemplate  the human frame in  a
state of vigor, an  impression is made on the mind
that it is  culculated to  last forever.  One  set of 
OF SLEEP.
13
organs is laying  down  particles  and another
taking them up, with such exquisite nicety, that for
the continual momentary waste there is continual
momentary repair;  and this  is capable of going
on with the strictest equality for half a century.
  What is life ?   Those bodies are  called  living
in which an appropriation of  foreign  matter  is
going on; death is where this process is at an
end.   When we  find blood in motion, the process
of appropriation is  going on.   The circulation is
the surest sign of life.   Muscles retain irritability
for  an hour or two after circulation ceases, but
irritability is not  life.  Death is  owing to the
absence of this process of appropriation.
  Bichat has divided life into two varieties, the
organic and the  animal.  The first is common to
both vegetables and animals, the last is peculiar to
animals alone.  Organic life  applies to the  func-
tions  which nourish and sustain the  object—ani-
mal life  to those which  make it a sentient being;
which give it thought,  feeling, and  motion, and
bring it into communication with the surrounding
world. The processes of assimilation and excretion
exist  both in animals and vegetables:  the  other
vital  processes are  restricted  solely to animals.
The digestive organs,  the  kidneys, the  heart, and
the  lungs, are the  apparatus which  carry  into
effect  the organic life  of animals.   Those which
manifest animal  life are the  brain, the organs of
the  senses, and the voluntary  powers.   Sleep  is
the suspension of animal life ;  and during its con-
       2* 
14      PHILOSOPHY OF  SLEEP.

tinuance the creature is  under the influence  of
organic life alone.
  Notwithstanding  the  renovating influence  of
sleep, which apparently brings  up the lost vigor
of the frame to a particular standard, there is  a
power in animal life which leads it almost imper-
ceptibly on from infancy to  second childhood, or
that of old age.  This  power,  sleep, however
healthy, is incapable of counteracting.   The skin
wrinkles, and everywhere shows  marks  of the
ploughshare of Saturn; the adipose structure dis-
solves ; the bones become brittle ;  the  teeth decay
or drop out;  the eye loses its exquisite sensibility
to sight; the ear to  sound ; and the hair is bleach-
ed to whiteness.   These  are  accompanied with a
general decay of the intellectual  faculties ; there
is a loss of memory,  and less sensibility to emotion;
the iris hues of fancy subside to twilight; and the
sphere of thought and action is narrowed.  The
principle of decay is implanted in our  nature, and
cannot be  counteracted.   Few people, however,
die of mere decay, for death is generally accele-
rated by disease.  From sleep we awake to exertion
—from death not at all,  at least  on  this side of
time.  Methuselah  in ancient, and Thomas Parr
in modern times, ate well, digested well, and slept
well;  but  at  length they each died.  Death  is
omnivorous.   The  worm which  crawls  on the
highway and  the monarch on his couch of state,
are alike subjected to the same stern  and inexor-
able  law;  they alike become the victims  of the
universal tyrant. 
CHAPTER  II.
SLEEP IN  GENERAL.
Every animal passes some portion of its time in
sleep.  This is a rule to which there is no excep-
tion ;  although the kind of slumber and the degree
of profoundness in which it exists in the  different
classes are extremely various.  Some physiologists
lay it down as a general  rule, that the larger the
brain of an  animal the greater is the necessity for
a considerable proportion of sleep. This, however,
I suspect is not borne out by facts.  Man, for in-
stance, and  some birds, such as the sparrow, have
the largest brains in proportion to their size, and
yet it is probable that they do not sleep so much as
some other animals with much  smaller brains.
The  serpent  tribe,  unless when stimulated  by
hunger, (in  which case they will remain awake
for  days at a time waiting for  their  prey,) sleep
much more than men  or  birds, and yet their
brains are proportionally greatly  inferior in size:
the boa, after dining on a stag  or goat, will con-
tinue in profound sleep for several days.  Fishes,*

  *  As a proof that fishes sleep, Aristotle, who seems to have
paid more attention to their habits than any modern author, states, 
16
PHILOSOPHY
 indeed, whose brains are small, require little sleep ;
 but the same remark applies to birds,* which have
 large  brains, and whose slumber is neither pro-
 found nor of long  continuance.   The assertion,
 therefore,  that the quantum of sleep has any refer-
 ence to the size of the brain may be safely looked
 upon as unfounded.   That it has reference to the
 quality of the brain is more likely, for we find that
 carnivorous animals sleep more than such as  are
 herbivorous; and it is probable that the  texture,
 as well as form, of the brains of these two classes
 is materially different.   This remark, with regard
 to the causes of the various  proportions  of sleep
 required   by the  carnivorous  and herbivorous
 tribes, I throw out not  as  a matter of certainty,
 but  merely as  a surmise which  seems to  have
 considerable foundation in  truth.
  In proportion as man exceeds all other  animals
 in the excellency of his physical organization, and
 in intellectual capability, we shall find that in him

 that while in this condition they remain motionless, with the excep-
 tion of a gentle movement of the  tail —that they may  then be
 readily taken by the hand, and that, if suddenly touched, they in-
 stantly start.   The tunny, he adds, are surprised and surrounded
 by nets while asleep, which is known by their showing the white
 of their eyes.
  * The sleep of some birds is amazingly light. Such is the case
 with the goose, which is disturbed by the slightest noise, and more
 useful than any watch-dog for giving warning of danger. It was
 the cackling of the sacred geese that saved the capitol of Rome
from  the soldiers of Brennus, when the watch-dogs failed to
 discover the approach of an enemy. 
OF  SLEEP.
17
the various phenomena of sleep are exhibited  in
greater  regularity and perfection.   Sleep seems
more indispensably requisite to  man than to any
other creature, if there can be supposed  to exist
any difference where its indispensability is univer-
sal, and where every animal must, in some degree
or other, partake of it; but, as regards  man, it is
certain that he sustains any violation of  the law
ordaining regular periods of repose with less indif-
ference than the lower grades of creation—that a
certain proportion of sleep is more essential  to his
existence than theirs—that he has  less power of
enduring protracted wakefulness, or  continuing in
protracted sleep—and that he is more refreshed
by  repose and  more exhausted by the  want of it
than they.  The sleep of man, therefore, becomes
a subject of deeper interest and curiosity than that
of any other animal, both on account of the more
diversified manner in which it displays itself, and
the  superior opportunity which exists of  ascer-
taining the various phenomena, which in the  in-
ferior animals can only  be conjectured or darkly
guessed at.
  Sleep, being a natural process, takes place in
general without any very apparent  cause.  It be-
comes, as it were, a habit, into which we insensibly
fall at stated periods, as we fall into other natural
or acquired habits.  But it differs from the latter
in this, that it  cannot in any case be entirely dis-
pensed with, although by custom we may bring
ourselves to do with a much  smaller portion than 
18
PHILOSOPHY
we are usually in the practice of indulging in.  In
this respect it bears a strong analogy to the appe-
tite  for food or drink.   It has a natural tendency
to recur every twenty-four hours, and  the periods
of its accession coincide with the return of night.
  But though sleep becomes a habit  into which
we would naturally drop without  any obvious, or
very easily  discovered cause,  still we can  often
trace  the origin of our slumbers ;  and  we are all
acquaintedwitli many circumstances which either
produce or heighten them.  I shall mention a few
of these causes.
  Heat has  a strong tendency to  produce sleep.
We  often witness this in the summer  season;
sometimes in the  open air, but more frequently at
home, and above all in a crowded meeting.  In
the latter case  the soporific  tendency is  greatly
increased by the impurity of the  air.   A vitiated
atmosphere  is strongly narcotic, and  when  com-
bined with heat and monotony, is apt to induce
slumber, not less remarkable for the rapidity of its
accession than  its overpowering character.  In
such a situation, the mind in a few minutes ceases
to act, and sinks into a state of overpowering obli-
vion.  The slumber, however, not being a natural
one, and seldom  occurring at the usual period, is
generally short:  it rarely exceeds an hour; and
when the person awakes from it, so far from being
refreshed, he is unusually dull, thirsty, and fever-
ish, and finds more than common difficulty in get-
ing  his  mental powers into their usual state of
activity. 
OF  SLEEP.
19
  A heated church and a dull sermon are almost
sure to provoke sleep. There are few men whose
powers are equal to the task of opposing the joint
operation  of two  such potent  influences.   They
act on the spirit like narcotics, and the person
seems as if involved in a cloud of aconite or bella-
donna.  The heat of the church might be resisted,
but the sermon is irresistible.  Its monotony falls
in leaden accents  upon the ear, and soon subdues
the most powerful attention.  Variety, whether of
sight or sound, prevents sleep, while monotony of
all  kinds is apt to induce it.  The murmuring of
a river, the sound of  the Eolian harp, the echo of
a distant cascade, the ticking of a clock, the hum
of bees under a burning sun, and the pealing of
a remote bell, all exercise the same influence.  So
conscious  was Boerhaave of the power of mono-
tony, that in order to procure sleep for a patient,
he directed water to be placed in such a situation
as to drop continually on a brass pan. When there
is no excitement, sleep is sure to follow.   We are
all kept awake by some mental or bodily stimulus,
and when that is removed our wakefulness is at
an end.   Want of stimulus, especially in a heated
atmosphere, produces powerful effects ; but where
sufficient stimulus exists, we overcome the effects
of the heat, and keep awake in spite of it.   Thus,
in a crowded church, where a dull, inanimate
preacher would throw the congregation into a deep
slumber, such a man as  Massilon,  or Chalmers,
would keep them in  a state of keen excitement. 
20
PHILOSOPHY
He would  arrest their attention, and counteract
whatever tendency to sleep would otherwise have
existed.  In like manner, a prosing, monotonous,
long-winded acquaintance is apt to make us doze,
while another of a lively, energetic conversation
keeps us brisk and awake.   It will generally be
found that the reasoning faculties are those which
are soonest prostrated by slumber, and  the imagi-
native the least so.  A person would more readily
fall asleep if listening to a profound piece of argu-
mentation,  than to a humorous or fanciful story ;
and probably  more  have  slumbered  over the
pages of Bacon and Locke,  than  over those  of
Shakspeare and Milton.
   Cold produces sleep as well as heat, but to do so
a very low temperature is necessary, particularly
with regard to the human race ; for, when cold is
not excessive, it prevents, instead  of occasioning
slumber : in illustration of which, I may mention
the case of several unfortunate  women, who lived
thirty-four days in a small room  overwhelmed with
the snow, and who scarcely slept during the whole
of that period.  In very northern and southern la-
titudes, persons often lose their lives by lying down
in a state  of drowsiness, occasioned by intense
cold.   The winter  sleep,  or  hybernation of ani-
mals, arises from cold; but as this species of slum-
ber is of a  very peculiar  description;  I have dis-
cussed it separately in another part of the work.
   The finished gratification of  all ardent  desires
has the effect of  inducing slumber; hence, after 
OF  SLEEP,
21
any keen excitement, the mind becomes exhaust-
ed, and speedily relapses into this state.   Attention
to a single sensation has the same effect.  This has
been exemplified in the case of all kinds of mono-
tony, where there is a want  of variety to stimulate
the ideas, and  keep  them on  the alert.   " If the
mind," says Cullen, " is attached to a single sensa-
tion, it is brought very  nearly to the state of the
total absence of impression;" or,  in  other words,
to the state most closely bordering upon sleep. Re-
move those stimuli which keep it employed, and
sleep ensues at any time.
   Any thing which mechanically determines the
blood to the brain, acts in a similar manner, such
as whirling round for a great  length  of time, as-
cending a lofty mountain, or swinging to and fro.
The first and last of these actions give rise  to
much giddiness, followed by intense slumber, and
at last by death, if they be  continued very long.
By lying flat upon a millstone while performing its
evolutions, sleep is soon produced, and death, with-
out pain, would be the result, if the  experiment
were  greatly  protracted.  Apoplexy,  which  con-
sists of a turgid state  of the cerebral  vessels, pro-
duces  perhaps the most complete sleep  that  is
known, in so far that,  while it continues, it is ut-
terly impossible to waken the  individual: no sti-
mulus, however  powerful,  has any influence  in
arousing his dormant faculties.   When the circu-
lating mass in the  brain is diminished beyond a
certain extent, it has the same effect on the oppo-
                3 
22
PHILOSOPHY
site state; whence excessive loss of blood excites
sleep.
   Opium, hyoscyamus, aconite, belladonna,  and
the whole tribe of narcotics, induce sleep, partly by
a specific power which they exert on the nerves 01
the stomach, and partly by inducing an apoplectic
state of the brain.   The former effect is occasion
ed by a moderate—the latter by an over dose.
  A heavy meal, especially if the stomach is at the
same  time weak, is apt to  induce sleep.  In ordi-
nary circumstances, the nervous  energy or senso-
rial power of this viscus is sufficient to carry on
its functions; but when an excess of food is thrown
upon  it, it is then unable to furnish, from its own
resources, the powers  requisite for digestion.  In
such a case it draws upon  the whole bpdy—upon
the chest, the limbs, &c, from whence  it is sup-
plied with the sensorial power  of which it is defi-
cient ;  and is thus enabled to perform that which
by its own unassisted  means it never could have
accomplished.  But mark the consequences of such
accommodation !   Those parts, by communicating
vigor  to the stomach, become themselves debilitat-
ed in  a corresponding ratio, and get  into a  state
analogous to that from which they had extricated
this viscus.  The extremities become cold, the re-
spiration heavy and stertorous, and the brain tor-
pid.   In consequence of the torpor of the brain,
r.ieep ensues.   It had  parted with  that portion of
sensorial energy which kept it awake, and by sup-
plying another organ is itself thrown into the state 
OF SLEEP.
23
of sleep.   It is a curious fact,  that  the feeling  of
sleep is most strong while the food remains on the
stomach, shortly after the accession of the digest-
ive process, and before that operation  which con-
verts the nourishment into chyle has taken  place.
   When,  therefore, the  sensorial power is  suffi-
ciently exhausted, we naturally  fall asleep.  As
this exhaustion, however, is a gradual  process,  so
is that of slumber.   Previous to its accession, a
feeling of universal lassitude prevails, and exhibits
itself  in  yawning,* peevishness,  heaviness,  and
weakness of the eyes; indifference to surrounding
objects, and all the  characteristics of fatigue.  If
the person be seated, his head nods and droops :
the muscles become relaxed;  and, when circum-
stances admit of it, the limbs are  thrown into the
recumbent position, or that most favorable for com-
plete inaction.   The senses then become uncon-
scious of impressions,  and, one after the other, part
with sensation;  the sight first, then taste,  smell,
hearing,  and  touch, all in regular order.    The

  * We yawn before falling asleep and when we  wake ;  yawn-
ing, therefore, precedes and follows sleep.  It seems an effort of
nature to restore the just equilibrium between the  flexor  and ex-
tensor muscles. The former have a natural predominancy in the
system; and on their being fatigued, we, by an effort of the will,
or rather by a species of instinct, put the latter into action for the
purpose of redressing the balance, and poising the respective mus-
cular powers.  We do the same thing on awaking, or even on get-
ting up from a recumbent posture—the flexors in such circum-
stances having prevailed over the extensors, which were in a great
measure inert. 
24
PHILOSOPHY
brain does not all at once glide into repose : its dif-
ferent organs being successively thrown into this
state; one dropping asleep,  then another, then a
third, till the whole are locked  up in the fetters of
slumber.  This gradual process of intellectual  ob-
literation is a sort of confused dream—a mild  de-
lirium  which always  precedes  sleep.   The ideas
have no resting-place,  but float about in the con-
fused tabernacle of the mind, giving rise to images
of the most perplexing* description.  In this state
they continue for some time,  until,  as sleep  be-
comes more profound,  the brain is left to thorough
repose, and they disappear altogether.
  Sleep produces other important changes in  the
system.  The rapidity of  the circulation is dimi-
nished, and, as a natural consequence, that of res-
piration : the force  of  neither function, however,
is impaired;  but, on the contrary, rather increas-
ed. Vascular action is  diminished in the brain and
organs of volition, while digestion and absorption
all  proceed with increased energy.  The truth of
most of these propositions  it is not difficult to
establish.
   The diminished quickness of the circulation is
shown in the pulse, which is slower and fuller than
in the waking state ; that of respiration in the more
deliberate breathing which accompanies sleep.  Di-
minished action of the brain is evident from  the
abolition of its functions, as well as direct evidence.
A case is related by Blumenbach, of a person who
had been trepanned, and whose brain was observ- 
OF SLEEP.
25
ed to sink when he was asleep, and swell out when
he was awake.  As  for the lessened vascular ac-
tion in the voluntary powers, this is rendered ob-
vious  by the lower temperature on the surface
which takes place during the slumbering state.
Moreover, in low typhus,  cynanche maligna, and
other affections attended with a  putrid diathesis,
the petechiae usually appear during sleep when the
general circulation is least vigorous, while the pa-
roxysms of reaction or delirium take place, for the
most part, in the morning when it  is in greater
strength and activity.
   In some individuals the stronger  and more la-
borious respiration of sleep is  made manifest by
that stertorous sound commonly denominated snor-
ing.  Stout apoplectic people—those  who snuff
much or sleep with  their  mouths open, are most
given to this habit.  It  seems  to  arise principally
from the force with  which the air is drawn into
the lungs in sleep.  The respiratory  muscles be-
ing less easily excited during this state do not act
so readily, and the air is consequently admitted in-
to the chest with some degree of effort.  This,
combined with the  relaxed state of the fauces,
gives rise to the stertorous noise.  Snuffing,  by ob-
structing  the nasal passages and thus rendering
breathing more difficult, has the same effect; con-
sequently snuffers are very often great snorers.
The less rapidly the blood is propelled through the
lungs,  the slower is the respiration, and the louder
the stertor becomes.  Apoplexy, by  impairing the
               3* 
26
PHILOSOPHY
sensibility of the respiratory organs, and thus re-
ducing the frequency of breathing, produces snor-
ing to a great extent;  and all cerebral congestions
have, to a greater or lesser degree, the same effect.
  That sleep increases absorption is shown in the
disappearance or diminution of many  swellings,
especially oedema of the extremities, which often
disappears in the night and recurs in the daytime,
even when the patient keeps his bed, a proof that
its disappearance does not always depend on the
position of the body: that it increases  digestion,
and, as a natural consequence, nutrition, is ren-
dered probable by many circumstances: hence it
is the period in which the regeneration of the body
chiefly takes place.  Were there even no augment-
ation given  to  the assimilative function,  as is
maintained by Broussais and some other physiolo-
gists, it is clear that the body would be  more tho-
roughly nourished than when awake, for all those
actions which exhaust it in the latter condition are
quiescent, and it remains in a state  of rest, silently
accumulating power, without expending any.
  Sleep lessens all the secretions, with one excep-
tion—that  of the  skin.  The urinary, salivary,
and bronchial discharges, the secretions from the
nose, eyes, and ears, are all formed  less copiously
than in the waking state.   The  same rule  holds
with regard to other secretions—hence diarrhoea,
menorrhagia, &c, are checked during the intervals
of slumber.
   From the diminished vascular action going on 
OF SLEEP.
27
upon the surface, we would be apt to expect a de-
crease of perspiration, but the reverse is the case.
Sleep relaxes the  cutaneous vessels, and they se-
crete more copiously than in the waking state.  Ac-
cording to  Sanctorius,  a person sleeping some
hours undisturbed, will  perspire insensibly twice
as much as one awake.  This tendency of sleep to
produce perspiration is strikingly exhibited in dis-
eases of debility; whence the nocturnal  sweats so
prevailing and so destructive in all cachectic affec-
tions.   Sanctorius  farther states, that the insen-
sible perspiration is not  only more abundant, but
less acrimonious during sleep than in the waking
state ;  that, if diminished during the day, the suc-
ceeding sleep is disturbed and broken, and that the
diminution in  consequence of too  short a sleep,
disposes to fever, unless the equilibrium is esta-
blished, on  the following day, by a more copious
perspiration.
   Sleep produces peculiar effects upon the organs
of vision.  A priori, we  might expect that, during
this state, the  pupil  would be largely  dilated in
consequence of the  light  being shut  out.   On
opening the eyelids cautiously it is seen  to be con-
tracted ; it then quivers with an irregular motion,
as if disposed to dilate, but at length  ceases to
move, and  remains in a contracted state till the
person awakes.   This  fact I  have often verified
by  inspecting the eyes of children.  Sleep also
 communicates to these organs a great accession of
 sensibility, so  much  so, that  they  are  extremely 
28
PHILOSOPHY
 dazzled by a clear light.  This, it is true, happens
 on coming out of a dark into  a light room,  or
 opening our eyes upon the sunshine even when
 we are awake, but the  effect is  much stronger
 when we have previously been in deep slumber.
   Sleep may be natural or diseased—the former
 arising from such causes as exhaust the sensorial
 power,  such as fatigue, pain, or protracted  anxiety
 of mind; the latter from cerebral congestion, such
 as apoplexy or plethora. The great distinction be-
 tween these varieties is,  that the one can be broken
 by moderate  stimuli,  while the  other  requires
 either excessive stimuli, or the removal of the par-
 ticular cause which gave rise to it.
   During complete sleep no sensation whatever is
 experienced by the  individual:  he neither feels
 pain,  hunger,  thirst, nor  the ordinary desires  of
 nature.   He may be awakened to a sense  of such
 feelings, but during perfect repose he has no con-
 sciousness  whatever of  their existence—if they
 can indeed be  said  to  exist where they are not
 felt.   For the same  reason, we may touch him
 without his feeling it;  neither is  he  sensible  to
 sounds,  to light,  or  to  odors.   When,  however,
 the slumber is not very profound, he may hear
 music or conversation, and have a sense of pain,
 hunger, and thirst; and, although not awakened
 by such circumstances,  may recollect  them after-
 wards.  These impressions, caught by the  senses,
 often  give  rise  to the most extraordinary  mental
 combinations,  and form the groundwork  of the
most elaborate dreams. 
OF  SLEEP.
29
  I am of opinion that we rarely pass the whole
of any one night in a state of perfect slumber.
My, reason for  this supposition is, that we  very
seldom remain during the whole of that period in
the position in which we fall asleep.  This change
of posture must have been occasioned by some
emotion, however obscure, affecting the mind, and
through it the organs of volition, whereas in com-
plete sleep we experience  no emotion whatever.
  The position usually assumed in sleep has been
mentioned; but sleep may ensue in any posture of
the body; persons fall asleep on horseback, and
continue riding in this state for a long time with-
out being awakened.  Horses sometimes sleep for
hours in the standing posture; and the circum-
stance of somnambulism shows  that the same
thing may occur in the human race.
  Some animals, such as the hare, sleep with their
eyes open ; and I have known similar instances in
the human subject.   But the organ is dead to the
ordinary stimulus of light, and sees no more than
if completely shut.
  Animals which prey by night,  such  as  the cat,
hyena, <fcc, pass the greater part of their  time in
sleep;  while  those  that do not,  continue longer
awake than asleep.  The latter slumber part of
the night and continue awake so long as  the sun
continues  above the horizon.   The  propensity of
the former to sleep in the daytime seems to  pro-
ceed from the structure of their eyes; as they see
much better in darkness than in light, and conse- 
30
PHILOSOPHY
quently pass in slumber that period in which their
vision is of least avail to them.   It is a very curi-
ous fact, however, that these animals, when kept
in captivity, reverse the order of their nature, and
remain awake by day while they sleep by night.
This fact has  been ascertained in the menagerie
at Paris.  In  such cases  I  apprehend that some
corresponding change  must take  place in  the
structure  of the eyes, assimilating them to  those
of animals which naturally sleep by night.
  M. Castel observes,* that the greater part of  an-
imals sleep longer in winter  than in  summer.   It
is precisely on account of perspiration  that in the
first  of these seasons sleep is more necessary than
in the second.   In winter,  the want of perspiration
during day is furnished in sleep; in summer, the
diurnal  sweat  supplies that of the night, and ren-
ders  much sleep less necessary.   In other words,
during summer  the  perspiration is so much  ex-
cited by atmospheric temperature, that a shorter
time is sufficient to give issue to the fluids which
have to be expelled by this means.  For the same
reason, the inhabitants of  very cold climates sleep
more than those who live in the warmer latitudes.
   The  profoundness of sleep differs greatly  in
different individuals.   The  repose of some is ex-
tremely deep;  that  of others quite the  reverse.
One  will scarcely obey the roar of a cannon;  an-
other will start at the chirping of a cricket or  the
faintest  dazzling  of the   moonbeams.   Heavy-

            * " Journal Complementaire." 
OF  SLEEP.
31
minded, phlegmatic people generally belong to
the former class; the irritable,  the nervous, and
the hypochondriac to the latter, although we shall
at times find the cases reversed with regard to the
nature of sleep enjoyed by these different temper-
aments.  Man is almost the only animal  in whom
much variety is to be found in this respect.   The
lower grades are distinguished by a certain char-
acter, so far as  their  slumber is concerned, and
this character runs through the whole race: thus,
all  hares,  cats, &c, are light sleepers;  all bears,
turtles, badgers, &c, are the reverse.  In man, the
varieties are infinite.   Much of this depends upon
the age and temperament of the individual, and
much upon custom.
  The  profoundness of sleep differs  also during
the same night.   For the first four or five hours,
the slumber is much heavier than towards morn-
ing.  The cause of such difference is  obvious; for
we go  to bed  exhausted by previous fatigue, and
consequently enjoy sound  repose, but, in the
course of a few hours, the necessity for this grad-
ually abates, and the  slumber naturally becomes
lighter.
  That sleep from which we are easily  roused is
the healthiest: very profound slumber partakes of
the nature of apoplexy.
  On being suddenly awakened from a  profound
sleep our ideas  are exceedingly confused ; and it
is sometime before we can be made to comprehend
what is said to us.  For some moments, we neither 
52
PHILOSOPHY
see, nor hear, nor think with our usual distinct-
ness,  and are, in fact,  in a state  of  temporary
reverie.
  When there is  a necessity for our getting up at
a certain hour, the anxiety of mind thus produced
not only prevents the sleep from being very  pro-
found, but retards its accession ;  and even after it
does take place,  we very seldom oversleep  our-
selves, and  are  almost  sure to  be awake at, or
before, the stipulated time.
  Shortly after  falling  asleep, we often awake
with a sudden start, having the  mind  filled with
painful impressions;  although  we often find it
impossible  to say  to what  subject  they refer.
Some persons do this regularly every night,  and
there  can be no doubt that it proceeds from  the
mind  being  tortured by some distressing vision;
which, however, has faded away without  leaving
behind  it any feeling,  save  one of undefinable
melancholy.   There are  some persons who  are
sure to be aroused in this startling and painful
manner if they happen to fall asleep in the position
in which they at first lay down, who nevertheless
escape if they turn  themselves once or twice be-
fore falling into repose.   This fact we  must  take
as we find it:  any explanation as to its proximate
cause seems  quite impracticable.
  Disease exercises a   powerful influence upon
sleep.  All affections attended  with acute  pain
prevent it, in consequence of the undue accumula-
tion which they occasion of sensorial power.  This 
OF SLEEP.
33
is especially the case  where there is much active
determination of blood to the head, as in phrenetic
affections, and fevers in general.
  Sleep is always much disturbed in hydrothorax;
and almost every disease affects it,  more or less;
some  preventing it altogether, some limiting the
natural proportion, some inducing fearful dreams,
and all acting with a power proportioned to the di-
rect or indirect influence which they exercise upon
the sensorium.
  From the increased irritability of the frame and
relaxed state of the cutaneous vessels during sleep,
the system at that time is peculiarly apt to be acted
upon  by all  impressions, especially of cold ; and
those who fall asleep exposed to a current of air are
far more apt to feel the consequences thereof than
if they were broad awake.  By a law of nature the
sensibility of the system is increased by any sus-
pension of the mental  or voluntary powers, for the
same reason that it is diminished, while these pow-
ers resume their action.   In  drunkenness, for in-
stance, where the mind is vehemently excited, we
are far less  susceptible  of cold  than in  a state  of
sobriety.
   Sleep is much modified by  habit.   Thus, an old
artillery-man often enjoys tranquil repose, while the
cannon are  thundering around him; an engineer
has been known to fall asleep  within  a boiler, while
his fellows were beating it on the outside with their
ponderous hammers ;  and the repose of a miller is
nowise incommoded  by the  noise of his mill.
                4 
34
PHILOSOPHY
Sound ceases to be a stimulus to such men, and
what would  have proved an inexpressible annoy-
ance to others, is by them altogether unheeded.  It
is common for carriers to sleep on horseback, and
coachmen on their coaches.  During the battle of
the Nile, some boys were so exhausted, that they
fell asleep on the deck amid the deafening thunder
of that dreadful  engagement.  Nay, silence itself
may become a stimulus, while sound ceases to be
so.  Thus, a miller being very ill,  his  mill was
stopped that he might not be disturbed by its noise;
but this so far from inducing sleep, prevented it
altogether ; and it did not take place till the mill
was set a-going again.  For the same reason, the
manager of some vast iron-works, who slept close to
them  amid the incessant din of hammers, forges,
and blast furnaces, would awake if there was any
cessation of the noise during the night.   To carry
the illustration still farther, it has  been noticed,
that a person who falls asleep near  a church, the
bell of which is ringing, may hear the sound during
the whole of his slumber, and be nevertheless
aroused by its sudden cessation.  Here  the sleep
must have been  imperfect,  otherwise he  would
have been insensible to the sound: the noise of the
bell was no stimulus; it was its cessation which,
by breaking the monotony, became so, and caused
the sleeper to awake.
  The effects of habit may be illustrated in various
ways.  "If a person, for instance, is accustomed to
go to rest exactly at nine o'clock in the  evening, 
OF SLEEP.
35
and to rise again at six in the morning, though the
time of going to sleep be occasionally protracted till
twelve, he will yet awake at his usual hour of six;
or, if his sleep be continued by darkness, quietude,
or other  causes, till the day be farther advanced,
the desire of sleep will return in the evening  at
nine."
   Persons who are  much in the habit of having
their repose broken, seldom sleep either long  or
profoundly, however much they may be left undis-
turbed.  This is shown in the cases of soldiers and
seamen, nurses, mothers, and keepers.
   Seamen and soldiers on duty can, from habit,
sleep when they will, and wake when  they will.
The Emperor Napoleon was a striking instance of
this fact.   Captain Barclay, when  performing his
extraordinary feat of walking a mile an hour for a
thousand successive hours, obtained at last such
a mastery over himself, that he fell asleep the in-
stant he lay down.  Some  persons  cannot  sleep
from home, or on a different bed from their usual
one : some cannot  sleep on a hard, others on a soft
bed.  A low pillow prevents sleep in some, a high
one in others.   The faculty of remaining asleep
for a great length of time, is possessed by some in-
dividuals.  Such was the case with Q,uin, the cele-
brated  player, who could slumber for twenty-four
hours  successively—with Elizabeth Orvin, who
spent three-fourths of her life in sleep—with Eliz-
abeth Perkins, who slept for a week or a fortnight
at a time—with Mary Lyall, who did the same for 
36
PHILOSOPHY
six successive weeks—and with many others, more
or less  remarkable.  In Bowyer's life of Beattie, a
curious anecdote is related of Dr. Reid, viz., that
he could take as much food and immediately after-
wards  as  much sleep  as were sufficient  for two
days.
  A phenomenon of an  opposite character is also
sometimes observed, for there are individuals who
can subsist upon a surprisingly small portion of
sleep.  The celebrated General Elliot was an in-
stance  of this kind: he never slept more than four
hours out of the twenty-four.  In all other respects
he was strikingly abstinent; his  food consisting
wholly of bread, water, and vegetables.   In a letter
communicated to Sir John Sinclair, by John Gor-
don, Esq. of Swiney, Caithness, mention is made of
a person, named James  Mackay, of Skerray, who
died in Strathnaver in the year 1797, aged ninety-
one : he only slept, on an average, four hours in
the twenty-four, and was a remarkably robust and
healthy man.  Frederick the Great, of Prussia, and
the illustrious surgeon, John Hunter, only slept
five hours in the same period ; and the sleep of the
active-minded is always much less than that of the
listless and  indolent.   The  celebrated  French
General Pichegru, informed Sir Gilbert Blane, that
during a whole year's campaigns, he had not above
one hour's sleep in the twenty-four.   I  know a lady
who never sleeps above half an hour at a time, and
the whole period of whose sleep does not exceed
three or  four hours  in  the twenty-four; and yet 
OF SLEEP.
37
 she is in the enjoyment of excellent health.  Gooch
 gives an instance of a man who slept only for fif-
 teen  minutes out of the twenty-four  hours, and
 even this was only a kind of dozing, and not a per-
 fect sleep: notwithstanding which, he enjoyed good
 health, and  reached his seventy-third  year.   I
 strongly suspect there  must be some  mistake  in
 this case, for it is  not conceivable that human
 nature could  subsist upon  such a limited portion
 of repose.  Instances have been related of persons
 who never slept; but these must be regarded  as
 purely fabulous.
   The period of life modifies sleep  materially.
 When a man is about his grand climateric, or a
 few years beyond it, he slumbers less than at any
 former period of life ; but very young children al-
 ways sleep away the most  of their time.   At this
 early period, the  nerves being extremely sensitive
 and unaccustomed  to impressions,  become easily
 fatigued.   As the children get older, the  brain be-
 sides becoming habituated to impressions, acquires
 an accession of sensorial power, which tends to keep
 it longer awake.  For the first two or three years,
 children sleep more than once in the twenty-four
 hours.  The state of the foetus has been denomi-
nated, by some writers,  a continued sleep, but the
propriety of this definition  may  be doubted;  for
 the mind having never yet manifested itself, and
 the voluntary organs never having been exercised,
 can hardly be said to exist in slumber, a condition
which supposes a previous waking state of the
                      4* 
38
PHILOSOPHY
 functions.  Middle-aged persons who lead an ac-
 tive life, seldom sleep above eight or nine hours in
 the twenty-four, however much longer they may
 lie in bed ;  while a  rich, lazy, and gormandizing
 citizen  will sleep  twelve or thirteen hours at a
 time.
   Sleep is greatly modified in old  people.   They
 usually slumber little, and not at  all profoundly.
 Sometimes,  however, when they get into a state of
 dotage,  in consequence  of extreme  old age,  the
 phenomena of  childhood once  more appear, and
 they pass the greater part of their time in  sleep.
 The repose  of the aged is most apt  to  take place
 immediately after  taking food,  while  they often
 solicit it in  vain at that period  at which, during
 the former years of their lives,  they  had been ac-
 customed to enjoy it.  The celebrated de Moivre
 slept twenty hours  out of the  twenty-four, and
 Thomas Parr latterly slept away by far the greater
 part of his existence.
   Those who eat heartily, and have strong diges-
 tive powers, usually  sleep much.   The great por-
 tion of sleep required by infants is owing, in part,
 to the prodigious activity of their digestive powers.
 The majority of animals sleep  after eating, and
 man has a strong  tendency to do the same tiling,
 especially when  oppressed  with  heat.   In  the
summer  season, a  strong inclination is often felt,
to sleep  after dinner, when the weather  is very
 warm. 
OF  SLEEP.
39
  A heavy meal, which produces no uneasy feel-
ing while the person is awake, will  often do so if
he fall asleep.   According to Dr. Darwin, this pro-
ceeds from the sensorial actions being increased,
when the volition is suspended.  The digestion
from this circumstance goes on with increased ra-
pidity.  "Heat is  produced in  the  system  faster
than it  is expended; and, operating on the  sensi-
tive  actions, carries them beyond the limitations of
pleasure, producing,  as is common in such  cases,
increased frequency of pulse."  In this case, incom-
plete sleep is supposed, for, when the  slumber is
perfect,  no sensation whatever, either painful or
the reverse, can be experienced.
  In recovering from  long protracted illness, ac-
companied with great want of  rest, we generally
sleep much—far  more,  indeed, than  during the
most perfect health.  This seems to be a provision
of nature for restoring the vigor which had been
lost during disease, and bringing back the body to
its former state.  So completely does this appear
to be the case, that as soon as  a thorough restora-
tion  to health takes  place,  the portion of sleep di-
minishes till it is brought to the standard at which
it originally stood before the accession  of illness.
  After  continuing a certain time asleep, we awake,
stretch ourselves, open our eyes, rub them, and
yawn several times.   At the moment of awaking,
there is  some confusion of  ideas, but this immedi-
ately wears away.   The  mental faculties  from 
40
PHILOSOPHY
being in utter torpor,  begin to act one after the
other ;* the senses do the same.  At last, the mind,
the senses, and the locomotion being completely re-
stored, what are  our sensations 7   Instead  of the
listlessness, lassitude, and general  fatigue experi-
enced on lying down, we feel vigorous and refresh-
ed.  The  body is  stronger,  the thoughts clearer
and more composed ; we think coolly, clearly, ra-
tionally, and can often comprehend with ease what
baffled us on the previous night.
   One or two other points remain to be noticed.
On awaking, the eyes are painfully affected by the
light, but this shortly wears away, and we then
feel them stronger than when we went to bed. The
muscular power, also, for a few seconds, is affect-
ed.  We  totter when  we get up;  and  if we lay
hold of any thing, the  hand  lacks its wonted
strength.   This, however, as the current of ner-
vous energy is restored throughout the muscles,
immediately disappears ; and we straightway pos-
sess redoubled vigor.   On examining the urine,
we find that it is higher in its color than when we

  * " In the gradual progress from intense sleep, when there can
be no dream, to the moment of perfect vigilance, see what occurs.
The first cerebral organ that awakes enters into the train of think-
ing connected with its faculty : some kind of dream is the result;
as organ after organ awakes, the dream becomes more vivid ; and
as the number of active organs increases, so does the complication
of dreams ;  and if all the internal organs are awake, the man is
still asleep until his awakening senses bring him into direct com-
munication with the world."
                 CarmichaeVs Memoir of Spurzheim, p. 92. 
OF  SLEEP.
41
lay down.   The saliva is more viscid, the phlegm
harder and tougher, the eyes glutinous, and the
nostrils dry.   If we betake ourselves to the scale,
we find that our weight has diminished in conse-
quence of the nocturnal perspirations;  while, by
subjecting our stature to measurement, we shall
see that we are taller by  nearly an inch than on
the preceding night.  This fact was correctly as-
certained in a great variety  of instances  by Mr.
Wasse, Rector of Aynho in Northumberland ; and
is sufficiently  accounted  for by the intervertebral
cartilages recovering  their  elasticity,  in  conse-
quence of the bodily weight, being taken off them
during the recumbent posture of sleep.
   Such are the leading phenomena of sleep.  With
regard to the  purposes which it serves in the eco-
nomy, these  are too obvious to require much de-
tail.  Its main object is to restore the strength ex-
pended during wakefulness; to recruit the body
by promoting  nutrition and giving rest to the mus-
cles ;  and  to  renovate the mind by the  repose
which it affords the brain.  Action is necessarily
followed by  exhaustion  ; sleep by checking the
one restrains the other, and keeps the animal ma-
chine in due vigor.   Mr.  Carmichael supposes
sleep to be the period when  assimilation goes on
in the  brain.  In this  respect,  I believe that the
brain is not differently situated  from the rest of the
body.  There, as elsewhere, the assimilative pro-
cess proceeds  both  in  the slumbering and in the
waking state ; but that  it is  only  at work in the 
 42*      PHILOSOPHY  OF  SLEEP.

 brain during sleep analogy forbids us to admit. So
 long as circulation continues, a deposition of mat-
 ter is going on; and circulation, we all know, is
 at work in the brain as in other organs, whether
 we be asleep or awake.  According to Richerand,
 one of the great purposes served by sleep, is to di-
 minish the activity of the circulation, which a state
 of wakefulness has the invariable effect of increas-
 ing.   " The  exciting causes," he  observes, " to
 which our organs are subject during the day, tend
 progressively to increase their action.  The throb-
 bings of the heart, for instance, are  more frequent
 at night than  in the  morning; and this action,
 gradually accelerated, would soon  be carried  to
 such a degree of activity as to be inconsistent with
 life, if its velocity were not moderated at intervals
 by the recurrence of sleep."
  To detail  the  beneficent  purposes served by
 sleep in the cure of diseases, as well as  in health,
 would be a work of supererogation.   They are felt
 and recognised by mankind as so indispensable to
strength, to happiness, and to  life  itself, that he
who dispenses with that portion of repose required
by the wants of nature, is in reality  curtailing the
duration of his own existence. 
CHAPTER  III.
                   DREAMING.


In perfect sleep, as we have elsewhere stated, there
is a quiescence of all the organs which compose
the brain ;  but when, in consequence of some in-
ward excitement, one organ or more  continues
awake,  while the remainder are in repose, a state
of incomplete sleep is the result, and we have the
phenomena of dreaming.  If, for instance, any ir-
ritation, such as  pain,  fever, drunkenness, or a
heavy meal, should throw the perceptive  organs
into a state  of action while the reflecting ones con-
tinue asleep, we have  a  consciousness  of objects,
colors, or sounds being presented to us, just as if
the former organs were actually stimulated by hav-
ing such impressions communicated to them by the
external senses ;* while in consequence of the re-
pose of  the reflecting organs, we are unable to rec-
tify  the illusions, and conceive that  the  scenes
passing  before us, or the sounds that we  hear, have

  * This internal stimulation of particular organs without the con-
currence of outward impressions by the senses, is more fully stated
under the head of Spectral Illusions. 
44
PHILOSOPHY
a real existence.  This want of mutual co-opera-
tion between  the different  organs  of the  brain
accounts for the disjointed nature, the absurdities,
and incoherencies of dreams.
  Many other  doctrines have been started by phi-
losophers,  but  I am  not aware of any which can
lay claim  even to plausibility; some, indeed, are
so chimerical,  and so totally unsupported by evi-
dence, that it is difficult to conceive how they ever
entered  into the imaginations  of their founders.
Baxter,  for instance, in his " Treatise on  the Im-
mortality  of the Soul," endeavors to show that
dreams are produced by the agency of some spirit-
ual beings, who either amuse, or employ themselves
seriously, in engaging mankind  in all those ima-
ginary transactions with which they are employed
in dreaming.  The theory of Democritus and Lu-
cretius is equally whimsical.  They accounted for
dreams by supposing that spectres, and simulacra
of corporeal things constantly emitted from them,
and floating up and down in the air, come and as-
sault the soul in sleep.  The most prevailing doc-
trine is that of  the Cartesians, who supposed that
the mind was continually active in sleep; in other
words, that during  this  state we  were  always
dreaming.    Hazlitt,  in  his  "Round Table," has
taken the  same view of the subject,  and  alleges,
that if a person is awakened at any given time and
asked what he  has been dreaming about, he will
at once be recalled to a train of associations with
which his mind had  been busied previously.   Un- 
OF SLEEP.
45
fortunately for this  theory, it is not sustained by
facts ; experiments made on purpose having shown
that, though in some few instances, the individual
had  such a consciousness of dreaming as is de-
scribed, yet in the great majority he  had no con-
sciousness of any thing of the kind.  The doctrine,
therefore,  so far  as  direct  evidence is concerned,
must fall to the ground ; and yet, unsupported as
it is either by proof or analogy,  this is the fashion-
able hypothesis  of the  schools, and the  one most
in vogue among  our best metaphysical writers.
   There is a strong analogy  between dreaming
and insanity.  Dr. Abercrombie defines the differ-
ence between the two states to be, that in  the latter
the erroneous impression, being permanent, affects
the conduct; whereas  in dreaming, no  influence
on the conduct is produced,  because  the vision is
dissipated on  awaking.  This definition  is nearly,
but not wholly correct; for in somnambulism and
sleep-talking, the conduct is influenced by the pre-
vailing dream.   Dr. Rush has, with great shrewd-
ness, remarked, that a dream may be considered as
a transient paroxysm of delirium, and delirium as
a permanent dream.
   Man is not the only animal subject to dreaming.
We have every reason to believe  that many of the
lower  animals do the same.  Horses neigh  and
rear, and dogs bark and growl in their sleep.  Prob-
ably, at such times,  the remembrance of  the chase
or the combat was passing through the  minds of
these creatures;  and  they also not  unfrequently
           5 
4G
PHILOSOPHY
manifest signs of fear, joy, playfulness, and almost
every other passion.*  Ruminating animals, such
as the sheep and cow, dream less; but even they
are sometimes so affected, especially at the period
of rearing their young.  The parrot is said to
dream, and I should suppose some other birds do
the same.   Indeed the more intellectual the animal
is, the more likely it is to be subject to dreaming.
Whether fishes dream it is impossible to conjecture :
nor can it be guessed, with any thing like certain-
ty, at what point in the  scale of animal intellect,
the capability of dreaming ceases, although it is
very certain there is such a point.   I apprehend
that dreaming is a much more  general law than is
commonly supposed, and that many animals dream
which are never suspected of doing so.
  Some men are said never to dream, and others
only when their  health is disordered : Dr. Beattie
mentions  a case of  the  latter description.  For
many years before his death, Dr. Reid had no con-
sciousness of ever having dreamed; and Mr. Locke
takes notice of a person who never  did so till his
twenty-sixth  year,  when he began  to  dream  in
consequence of  having  had a fever.   It  is not
impossible, however, but  that,  in these  cases,  the
individuals may have had dreams from the same

      * " The stag-hounds, weary with the chase,
        Lay stretched upon the rushy floor,
      And urged in dreams the forest race
        From Teviot-stone to Eskdale moor."
                      Lay of the Last Minstrel. 
OF  SLEEP.
47
age as other people, and under the same circum-
stances, although probably they were of so vague
a nature, as to have soon faded away  from the
memory.
  Dreams occur more frequently in the morning
than in the early part of the night;  a proof that
the sleep is much more profound in the latter pe-
riod than in the former.  Towards morning, the
faculties, being refreshed by sleep, are more  dis-
posed to enter into activity: and this explains why,
as we approach the hours of waking, our dreams
are more fresh and vivid.   Owing to  the compa-
ratively  active state  of the  faculties, morning
dreams  are the  more rational—whence the  old
adage, that such dreams are true.
  Children dream almost from their birth; and if
we may judge from what, on many occasions, they
endure during sleep, we must suppose that the
visions which haunt their young minds are often
of a very frightful kind.   Children, from  many
causes, are more apt to have dreams of terror than
adults.  In the first place, they are  peculiarly sub-
ject to various diseases, such as teething, convul-
sions, and  bowel  complaints, those fertile sources
of mental terror in sleep;  and, in the second place,
their minds are exceedingly susceptible of dread in
all its forms, and prone to be acted on by it, what-
ever shape it  assumes.  Many of the dreams ex-
perienced at this early period, leave an indelible
impression upon the mind.  They are remembered
in after-years with feelings of pain ; and, blending 
48
PHILOSOPHY'
with the more delightful reminiscences of childhood,
demonstrate that  this era,  which we are apt to
consider one varied scene of sunshine and happi-
ness, had,  as well  as future life, its shadows of
melancholy, and was not  untinged  with hues of
sorrow and care.   The sleep of infancy,  there-
fore, is far from being that ideal state of felicity
which is commonly supposed.  It is haunted with
its own terrors, even more than that of adults;
and, if many of the visions which  people  it are
equally delightful, there can be little doubt  that it
is also tortured  by dreams of a more painful cha-
racter than often fall to the share of after-life.
  In health, when the mind is at ease, we seldom
dream ;  and when we do so our visions are  gener-
ally of a pleasing character.  In disease, especially
of the brain, liver, and stomach, dreams  are both
common and of a very distressing kind.
  Some writers imagine, that as we grow older,
our dreams become less absurd  and inconsistent,
but this is extremely doubtful.  Probably, as we
advance in life, we are less troubled with  these
phenomena than at the period of youth, when im-
agination is full of activity, and the mind peculiarly
liable to impressions of every kind ; but when they
do take place, we shall find them equally prepos-
terous,  unphilosophical,  and  crude,  with  those
which haunted our  early  years.   Old  people
dream  more,  however,  than the  middle-aged,
owing doubtless to the more broken and disturbed
nature of their  repose. 
                 OP  SLEEP.               49

   I believe that dreams are uniformly the resusci-
 tation or re-embodiment of thoughts which have
 formerly, in  some  shape  or other, occupied the
 mind.  They are old ideas revived either in an
 entire state, or heterogeneously mingled together.
 I  doubt if it be possible for a  person to have, in
 a dream, any idea whose elements did not, in some
 form, strike him  at a  previous period.  If these
 break loose from their connecting chain, and be-
 come jumbled together incoherently, as is often
 the case, they give  rise to absurd combinations;
 but  the  elements  still  subsist, and only  mani-
 fest themselves in a new and unconnected shape.
 As this is an  important  point, and one which has
 never been properly insisted upon, I shall illus-
 trate  it by an example.   I lately dreamed that I
 walked upon the banks of the great canal in the
 neighborhood of Glasgow.   On the side opposite
 to that on which I  was, and within a few feet of
 the water, stood the splendid portico of  the Royal
 Exchange.  A gentleman,  whom  I knew, was
 standing upon one  of the  steps, and we spoke to
 each other. I then lifted a large stone, and poised
 it in my hand, Avhen he said that he was certain
 I could  not throw it to a  certain  spot  which he
 pointed out.  I made the attempt, and fell short of
the mark.  At this  moment, a  well known friend
came up, whom I knew to  excel  at putting the
stone; but, strange  to say, he had lost both his
legs, and walked upon wooden substitutes.   This
struck me as  exceedingly curious; for my impres-
                   5* 
50              PHILOSOPHY
sion was that he had only lost one leg, and had
but a single  wooden one.  At my desire  he took
up the stone, and, without difficulty, threw it be-
yond the point indicated by the gentleman upon
the opposite  side of the canal.  The absurdity of
this  dream  is extremely  glaring;  and  yet, on
strictly analyzing it, I  find it to be wholly com-
posed of ideas which passed through my mind on
the previous day, assuming a new and ridiculous
arrangement.  I can compare it to nothing  but to
cross readings in the newspapers, or  to that well
known amusement which consists  in putting  a
number of sentences, each written on a  separate
piece of paper, into a hat, shaking the  whole, then
taking them  out one by one as they come,  and see-
ing what kind of medley the heterogeneous com-
pound  will make, when thus fortuitously put to-
gether.  For instance, I had, on the  above day,
taken a walk to the  canal, along with a friend.
On returning from  it, I pointed out  to him  a spot
where a new road was forming, and where, a few
days before,  one of the workmen had been over-
whelmed by a quantity of rubbish falling upon
him, which fairly chopped off one of his legs, and
so much damaged the other  that it  was  feared
amputation would be necessary.  Near this very
spot there is  a park, in which, about a month pre-
viously, I practised throwing the stone.  On pass-
ing the Exchange on my way home,  I expressed
regret at the lowness of its situation, and remark-
ed what a fine effect the portico would have were 
OF  SLEEP.
51
it placed upon more elevated ground.  Such were
the previous circumstances, and* let. us see how
they bear upon the dream.   In the first place, the
canal appeared before  me.   2. Its situation is  an
elevated one.   3. The portico  of the  exchange,
occurring to my mind as  being placed too low,
became associated with the elevation of the canal,
and I placed it close by on a similar altitude.  4.
The gentleman I had been  walking with, was the
same whom, in the dream, I saw  standing upon
the steps of the portico.  5.  Having related to him
the story of the man who lost one limb, and had
a chance of losing another, this idea brings before
me a friend with a  brace  of wooden  legs, who,
moreover, appears in connexion with putting the
stone, as I know him  to excel  at that exercise.
There is  only one other element in the  dream
which the preceding events will not account for,
and that is, the surprise at  the individual referred
to having more than one wooden leg.   But why
should  he  have even  one, seeing that in  reality
he  is limbed like other people 7  This also, I can
account for.   Some years ago he slightly  injured
his knee while leaping  a ditch, and I remember of
jocularly advising him  to get it cut off.  I am par-
ticular  in  illustrating  this point with regard to
dreams, for I hold, that if it were possible  to ana-
lyze them  all, they would invariably be found to
stand in the same relation  to the waking state as
the above  specimen.   The  more diversified and
incongruous the  character of a dream, and the 
52
PHILOSOPHY
 more remote from the period of its occurrence the
 circumstances which suggest it, the more difficult
 does  its analysis  become;  and, in point of fact,
 this process may be impossible, so totally are the
 elements of the dream often dissevered from their
 original source, and so  ludicrously huddled  toge-
 ther.   This subject shall be  more fully demon-
 strated in speaking of the remote causes of dreams.
   Dreams generally arise without any assignable
 cause, but sometimes we can very readily discover
 their  origin.  Whatever has  much interested us
 during  the  day, is  apt to  resolve  itself into a
 dream ; and this will generally be pleasurable, or
 the reverse, according to the  nature of the  excit-
 ing cause.   If, for instance, our reading  or con-
 versation be of horrible  subjects, such as spectres,
 murders, or conflagrations, they will appear before
 us magnified and  heightened in our dreams.  Or
 if we have been previously sailing upon a rough
 sea, we are apt to suppose  ourselves undergoing
 the perils  of shipwreck.  Pleasurable sensations
during the day are also  apt to assume a still more
 pleasurable  aspect in dreams.   In like  manner,
 if we have a longing for any thing, we are apt to
 suppose that we possess it.  Even objects altoge-
ther unattainable  are placed  within  our reach:
 we achieve impossibilities, and triumph with ease
 over the invincible laws of nature.
  A disordered state of the stomach and liver will
often produce dreams.   Persons of bad digestion,
especially   hypochondriacs,  are  harassed  with 
OF  SLEEP.
53
visions  of  the  most frightful  nature.  This fact
was well known to the celebrated  Mrs. Radcliffe,
who, for the purpose of filling her sleep with those
phantoms of horror  which she has so  forcibly
embodied  in the  "Mysteries  of Udolpho," and
" Romance of the Forest," is said to have  supped
upon  the  most indigestible  substances;  while
Dryden and Fuseli, with  the opposite view of
obtaining  splendid  dreams, are reported to  have
eaten raw flesh.  Diseases of the chest, where the
breathing is impeded, also give rise to  horrible
visions, and constitute  the frequent causes  of that
most frightful modification of dreaming—night-
mare.
  The  usual intoxicating agents have   all the
power of exciting dreams.  The  most exquisite
visions, as  well as the most frightful,  are perhaps
those  occasioned by narcotics.   These differences
depend on the dose and the particular state of the
system at the time of taking it.   Dreams also may
arise from the  deprivation of customary stimuli,
such  as spirits, or supper before  going  to bed.
More  frequently, however, they originate from in-
dulging in such excitations.
  A change of bed will sometimes induce dreams;
and, generally speaking, they are more apt to occur
in a strange bed than in the one to which we are
accustomed.
  Dreams often arise from the impressions made
upon the senses during sleep.   Dr. Beattie speaks 
54
PHILOSOPHY
of a man  on whom any kind of dream could  be
induced, by  his friends gently speaking in his pres-
ence upon the particular subject which they wished
him to dream about.   I have often tried this experi-
ment upon  persons asleep, and  more  than once
with a like  result.  I apprehend,  that  when this
takes place,  the slumber must have been very im-
perfect.  With regard to the  possibility of dreams
being produced by bodily impressions, Dr. Gregory
relates that  having occasion to apply  a bottle of
hot water to his feet when he went  to bed,  he
dreamed that he was making a journey to the top
of Mount  Etna, and that he found the heat  of the
ground almost insufferable.  Another person hav-
ing a blister applied to his head, imagined that he
was scalped  by a party of Indians; while a  friend
of mine happening to sleep in damp sheets, dreamed
that he was  dragged through a stream.   A parox-
ysm of gout during sleep, has given rise to the per-
son supposing himself under the power of the Inqui-
sition, and undergoing the torments of the rack.
The bladder is sometimes emptied during sleep, from
the dreaming idea being directed (in consequence
of the unpleasant fullness of the viscus) to this
particular want of nature.  These results are not
uniform, but such is the path in which particular
bodily states are  apt to lead the imagination; and
dreams, occuring in  these states, will more  fre,
quently possess a character analogous to them than
to any other —modified, of course, by the strength
of the individual cause, and fertility of  the fancy. 
OF SLEEP.
59
   Some curious experiments in regard to this point,
 were made by M.  Giron de Buzareingues,  which
 seem to establish the practicability of a person de-
 termining at will the nature  of  his  dreams.   By
 leaving his knees uncovered, he  dreamed that he
 travelled during night in adilligence: travellers, he
 observes,  being aware  that  in a coach it  is  the
 knees that get cold during the night.  On another
 occasion, having left the posterior part of his head
 uncovered, he dreamed that he was present  at a
 religious ceremony performed in the open air.   It
 was the custom of  the country in which he lived to
 have  the head  constantly covered, except on par-
 ticular occasions, such as the above.   On awaking,
 he felt the back of his neck cold, as he had often
 experienced during the real scenes, the representa-
 tion of which had been conjured up  by his fancy.
 Having repeated this experiment at the end of sev-
 eral days, to assure himself that the result was  not
the effect of chance,  the second vision turned out
precisely  the same  as the first.  Even without
 making experiments, we have frequent evidence of
similar facts; thus, if the clothes chance to fall off
 us, we are  liable to suppose that we are parading
 the streets in a state of nakedness, and  feel  all  the
shame and inconvenience which such a condition
 would in reality produce.   We see crowds of peo-
ple following after us and mocking our nudity;  and
we wander  from place to place, seeking a  refuge
under this ideal  misfortune.  Fancy,  in  truth,
heightens every circumstance, and inspires us with 
56
PHILOSOPHY
greater vexation than we would feel if actually la-
boring under such an annoyance.  The streets in
which we wander are depicted with the force of re-
ality; we see their windings, their avenues, their
dwelling-places, with intense truth.   Even the in-
habitants who follow us are exposed to view in all
their  various dresses and  endless diversities of
countenance.   Sometimes we behold  our intimate
friends gazing upon us with indifference, or tortur-
ing with annoying impertinence.  Sometimes we
see multitudes whom we never beheld before;  and
each individual is exposed so vividly, that we could
describe or even paint his aspect.
  In like manner, if we lie  awry, or if our feet slip
over the side of  the bed, we  often imagine ourselves
standing upon the brink of a  fearful precipice, or
falling from its  beetling summit into  the abyss be-
neath.*  If the  rain or  hail patter against our win-
dow, we have often the  idea of a hundred cataracts
pouring from the rocks;  if the wind howl without,
we are suddenly wrapt up in a thunderstorm, with
all its terrible associations;  if the head happen to
slip under the pillow, a huge rock  is hanging over
us, and ready to crush  us  beneath its ponderous
bulk.   Should the heat of  the body chance to be

  * Dr. Currie, in allusion to the visions of the hypochondriac ob-
serves, that if he dream of falling into the sea, he awakes just as
the waters close over him, and is sensible of the precise gurgling
sound which those experience who actually sink under water.  In
falling from heights, during  dreams, we always awake before
reaching the ground. 
OF SLEEP.
57
increased  by febrile irritation or the temperature
of the room, we may suppose  ourselves basking
under  the fiery sun of Africa; or if,  from any
circumstance,  we  labor under  a chill,  we may
then  be  careering and  foundering  among the
icebergs of  the pole, while  the  morse and the
famished  bear are  prowling  around  us,  and
claiming us  for their prey.   Dr. Beattie informs us,
that once,  after riding thirty miles in a high wind,
he passed  the night in visions terrible  beyond de-
scription.   The  extent, in  short,  to which the
mind is capable of  being carried in such cases,  is
almost incredible.   Stupendous  events arise from
the most insignificant causes — so completely ,does
sleep magnify and distort every  thing  placed
within its influence.  The province of dreams  is
one  of intense  exaggeration—exaggeration be.
yond even  the wildest conceptions  of  Oriental
romance.
  A smoky  chamber, for instance, has given rise
to the idea of a city in flames.  The conflagrations
of Rome and  Moscow may then pass in terrific
splendor before the dreamer's fancy.  He may see
Nero standing afar off, surrounded by his lictors
and guards, gazing upon the imperial city wrapt
in flames: or the  sanguinary fight of Borodino,
followed by the burning of the ancient capital  of
Russia, may be presented before him  with all the
intenseness  of reality. Under these circumstances,
his whole being may undergo a change.   He is no
longer a denizen of his native country, but of that
            6 
58
PHILOSOPHY
land to which his visions have transported him.
All the events of his own existence fade away;
and he becomes a native of Rome or Russia, gaz-
ing upon the appalling spectacle.
  On the other hand, the mind may be filled with
imagery equally exaggerated, but of a more pleas-
ing character.  The sound of a flute in the neigh-
borhood may invoke a thousand beautiful and de-
lightful associations.   The air is,  perhaps, filled
with the tones of harps, and all other varieties of
music—nay,  the performers themselves are visi-
ble ;  and while the cause of this strange scene is
one trivial instrument, we may be regaled with a
rich and melodious concert.  For the same reason
a flower being applied to the nostrils may, by af-
fecting the  sense of smell, excite powerfully the
imagination, and give the dreamer the idea of
walking in  a garden.
  There is  one fact connected with dreams which
is  highly remarkable.   When we are suddenly
awaked from a profound slumber by a loud knock
at, or by the rapid opening of, the door, a train of
actions which it would take hours, or days, or even
weeks to accomplish, sometimes passes through the
mind.  Time, in fact, seems to be in a great mea-
sure annihilated.  An extensive period is reduced,
as it were, to a single point, or rather a single point
is made to embrace an extensive period.  In  one
instant, we pass  through many adventures, see
many  strange sights, and hear  many  strange
sounds.  If we are awaked by a loud knock, we
have perhaps the idea of a tumult passing before 
OF  SLEEP.
59
us, and know all the characters engaged in it—
their aspects, and even their very names.  If the
door open violently,  the flood-gates of a canal may
appear to be expanding, and we may see  the indi-
viduals employed in the process,  and hear their
conversation, which  may seem an hour in length.
If a light be brought into the room, the notion of
the house being in flames perhaps invades us, and
we are witnesses to the whole conflagration from
its commencement till it be  finally extinguished.
The thoughts  which arise in such situations are
endless, and assume  an infinite variety of aspects.
The whole, indeed, constitutes one of the strang-
est phenomena of the  human mind, and calls to
recollection the story of the Eastern monarch, who,
on dipping his head into  the magician's water-pail.
fancied he had  travelled for  years in various na-
tions, although he was only immersed for a single
instant.  This curious psychological fact, though
occurring under somewhat different circumstances,
has  not  escaped the notice of Mr. De Quincey,
better  known  as the " English  Opium-Eater."
" The sense of space," says he, " and, in  the end,
the sense of time were  both powerfully  affected.
Buildings, landscapes, &c,  were exhibited in pro-
portions so vast as the bodily eye  is  not fitted to
receive.  Space swelled,  and was amplified  to  an
extent of unutterable infinity.  This, however, did
not disturb me so much as the expansion  of time.
I sometimes seemed to  have lived for seventy or a
hundred years in one night; nay, sometimes had 
60
PHILOSOPHY
feelings representative of a millennium passed m
that time, or, however, of a duration far beyond
the limits of any human  experience."  It is more
easy to state the fact of this apparent expansion of
time in dreams than to give any theory which will
satisfactorily account for it.  I believe that, when-
ever it occurs, the dream has abounded in events
and circumstances which, had they occurred in re-
ality, would  have required a long period for their
accomplishment.   For instance, I lately dreamed
that I made  a voyage to India—remained  some
days in Calcutta—then took ship for Egypt, where
I visited the  cataracts of the Nile, and the  Pyra-
mids : and, to crown the whole, had the honor of
an interview with Mehemet Ali, Cleopatra, and the
Sultan Saladin.  All this was the work of  a sin-
gle night, probably of a single hour, or even a few
minutes ; and yet it  appeared to occupy  many
months.
   I must also mention another circumstance of a
somewhat similar kind, which, though  it occur in
the waking condition, is produced by the peculiar
effect of previous sleep upon  the mind.   Thus,
when we awake in a melancholy mood, the result
probably of some distressing  dream, the remem-
brance  of all our former actions, especially those
of an evil character, often rushes upon us as from
a dark and troubled sea.*  They do not appear in-

   * Something similar occurs in drowning.  Persons recovered
from this state have mentioned that, in the course of a single mi-
nute, almost every event of their life has been brought to their re*
collection, 
OF  SLEEP.
61
dividually, one by one, but come linked together
in a close phalanx, as if to take the conscience by
storm, and crush it beneath their imposing front.
The whole span of our existence, from childhood
downwards, sends them  on;  oblivion opens its
gulphs and impels them forwards; and the mind
is robed in a cloud of wretchedness, without one
ray of hope to brighten up its gloom.  In common
circumstances, we possess no such power of group-
ing so instantaneously the most distant and proxi-
mate events of life: the spell of memory is invok-
ed to call  them successively from the past;  and
they glide before us like shadows, more or less dis-
tinct according to their remoteness, or the force of
their impress upon the  mind.  But in the case of
which I speak, they start abruptly forth from the
bosom of time, and  overwhelm the spirit with  a
crowd of most sad and appalling reminiscences.
In the crucible of our distorted imagination, every
thing is exaggerated  and invested  with a blacker
gloom than belongs to it;  we see, at one  glance,
down the whole vista of time ; and  each event of
our life is written there in gloomy and distressing
characters.  Hence the mental  depression occur-
ring under these  circumstances, and even the re-
morse  which  falls, like  bitter  and unrefreshing
dews, upon the heart.
  We  have seldom  any idea of past events in
dreams; if such  are called forth, they generally
seem  to be present and  in the process of actual
occurrence.   We  may dream of Alexander  the
                      6* 
62
PHILOSOPHY
great, but it  is as of a person who is co-existent
with ourselves.
  Dreams being produced by the active state of
such organs as are dissociated  from, or  have not
sympathised in, the general  slumber,  partake of
the character of those whose powers are in greatest
vigor,  or  farthest  removed  from the  somnolent
state.   A  person's  natural character, therefore, or
his pursuits in life, by strengthening one faculty,
make it less susceptible, than such as are weaker,
of being overcome  by complete sleep;  or, if it be
overcome, it awakes more rapidly from its dormant
state,  and  exhibits  its  proper  characteristics  in
dreams.   Thus, the miser dreams  of wealth, the
lover of his mistress, the musician of melody, the
philosopher of science, the merchant of trade, and
the debtor of duns  and bailiffs.  In  like manner, a
choleric man is  often passionate  in his  sleep; a
vicious man's mind is filled with  wicked actions:
a virtuous man's  with  deeds of benevolence; a
humorist's with  ludicrous  ideas.   Pugnacious
people often fight on such occasions, and  do them-
selves  serious injury by striking against  the posts
of the bed; while  persons addicted to lying, fre-
quently dream of exercising their favorite vocation.
  For such reasons persons who  have  a strong
passion for music often dream of singing and com-
posing melodies; and the ideas  of some of our
finest pieces are said to  have been communicated
to the musician in his sleep.   Tartini, a celebrated
violin player, is said to have composed his famous 
OF  SLEEP.
63
DeviVs Sonata from the inspiration of a dream, in
which the Devil appeared to him and challenged
him  to a trial of  skill upon his  own fiddle.  A
mathematician,  in like manner, is often  engaged
in the solution of problems, and has his brain full
of Newton, Euler, Euclid, and Laplace:  while a
poet is occupied in writing verses, or  in deliberat-
ing upon the strains of such bards as  are most fa-
miliar to his spirit;  it was thus  in a dream that
Mr. Coleridge composed  his splendid  fragment of
Kubla Khan.*  To speak phrenologically: if the

  * The following is the account he himself gives of the circum-
stance : — "In the summer of the year 1797, the author, then in
ill health, had retired to a lonely farm-house between Porlock and
Linton, on the Exmoor confines of Somerset and Devonshire. In
consequence of a slight indisposition, an anodyne had been pre-
scribed, from the effects of which  he fell asleep in his chair at the
moment that he was reading the following sentence, or words of
the same substance, in 'Purchas's Pilgrimage:' — 'Here the
Khan Kubla commanded a palace to be built, and a stately garden
thereunto.   And thus ten  miles of fertile ground were enclosed
with a wall.'  The author continued for about three hours in a pro-
found sleep, at least of the external senses, during which time he
had the most vivid confidence, that  he could not have composed
less than from two to three hundred lines;  if that indeed can be
called composition in which all the images rose up before him as
things, with a parallel production of the correspondent expressions,
without any sensation or consciousness of effort.   On awaking, he
appeared to himself to have a distinct recollection of the whole:
and taking his pen, ink, and paper instantly and eagerly wrote
down the lines that are here preserved. At this  moment he was
unfortunately called out by a person on business from Porlock, and
detained by him above an hour;  and on his return to his room,
found, to his no small surprise and mortification, that  though he
still retained some vague and dim recollection of the general pur- 
64
PHILOSOPHY
 organ of^size be large, then material images more
 than sounds or abstractions possess the mind, and
 every thing  may  be magnified  to unnatural di-
 mensions ;  if color be fully developed, whatever is
 presented to the mental eye is brilliant and gaudy,
 and the person has probably the idea of rich paint-
 ings, shining flowers, or varied landscapes ; should
 locality predominate, he is carried away to distant
 lands, and beholds more extraordinary sights than
 Cook, Ross, or Franklin ever described.  An ex-
 cess of cautiousness  will inspire him with terror ;
 an excess of self-esteem cause him to be placed in
 dignified  situations ; while imitation may render
 him a mimic  or a player; language, a wrangler
 or philologist; secretiveness, a deceiver; acquisitive-
 ness, a thief.   Occasionally, indeed, the reverse is
 the case, and those trains of thought in which we
 mostly indulge are seldon or never the subjects of
 our dreams.   Some authors even assert that when
 the mind  has  been strongly impressed with any
 peculiar  ideas, such  are less likely  to  occur in
 dreams than their opposites ; but this is taking the
 exception for  the general rule, and is directly at
variance with  both experience  and analogy.  In
fact, whatever propensities or talents are-  strongest
in the mind of the individual, will, in most cases,
manifest themselves  with  greatest readiness and

port of the vision  ; yet, with the exception of some eight or ten
scattered lines and images, all the rest had passed away like the
images on the surface of a stream into which a stone had been
cast, but alas \ without the after restoration of the latter." 
OF SLEEP.
65
force in dreams; and where a faculty is very weak
it will  scarcely manifest itself at all.  Thus, one
person  who has large tune and small causality
will indulge in music, but seldom in ascertaining
the nature of cause and effect; while another, with
a contrary disposition of organs, may  attempt to
reason  upon  abstract truths, while music will
rarely intrude into the temple of his thoughts.  It
is but fair to state,  however, that the compositions,
the reasonings and the poems which we concoct
in sleep, though occasionally superior  to those of
our waking hours,* are generally of a very absurd
description ; and, how admirable soever they may
have appeared, their futility is abundantly evident
when we awake.   To use the words of Dr. Parr,
" In dreams we seem  to reason, to argue, to com-
pose ; and in ail these circumstances, during sleep,
we are highly gratified, and think that we  excel.
If, however, we  remember our dreams, our reason-
ings we find to be weak, our arguments we find to
be inconclusive, and our compositions trifling and
absurd."  The truth of these remarks is undenia-
ble ; but the very circumstance of a man's dreams
turning habitually upon   a particular  subject—
however ridiculously  he may meditate thereupon
— is a strong presumption that that subject  is  the

 *  Such was the case with  Cabanis, who often, during dreams,
saw clearly into the bearings of political events which had baffled
him when awake ; and  with Condorcet, who, when engaged in
some deep and complicated calculations, was frequently obliged to
leave them in an unfinished state, and retire to rest, when the re-
sults to which they led were at once unfolded in his dreams. 
66
PHILOSOPHY
 one which most frequently engrosses  his faculties
 in  the waking state ; in a word, that the power
 most energetic in the latter condition  is that also
 most active in dreams.
  Dreams  are sometimes useful in affording prog-
 nostics of the probable termination of several dis-
 eases.  Violent and impetuous dreams occurring
 in fevers generally indicate approaching delirium;
 those  of a gloomy,  terrific  nature  give strong
 grounds to apprehend danger; while dreams of a
 pleasant cast maybe looked upon as harbingers of
 approaching recovery.  The visions, indeed, which
 occur in a state of fever are highly distressing; the
 mind  is vehemently hurried on from one  train of
 ideas  to another, and participates in  the painful
 activity of the system.  Those generated by hypo-
 chondria or indigestion are equally afflicting, but
 more confined to one unpleasant idea—the intellect
being overpowered, as it were, under the pressure
 of a ponderous load, from which it experiences an
 utter  incapacity to relieve  itself.  The febrile
 dream has  a fiery, volatile, fugitive character : the
 other partakes of the nature of nightmare, in which
 the  faculties seem frozen to torpor, by the presence
 of a loathsome and  indolent fiend.
  Other diseases and feelings besides fever pive a
 character to dreams.  The dropsical subject often
 has the idea of fountains, and rivers, and seas, in
 his  sleep; jaundice  tinges the objects  beheld  with
 its own  yellow and sickly hue;  hunger  induces
 dreams of eating agreeable food;  an attack of in- 
OF  SLEEP.
67
flammation disposes us to see  all things of the
color of blood; excessive  thirst presents us with
visions of dried up streams, burning sand-plains,
and immitigable heat;  a bad taste in the mouth,
with every thing bitter and nauseous in the vege-
table world.
  If, from any  cause, we chance to be relieved
from  the physical  suffering   occasioning  such
dreams, the dreams themselves also wear away,
or are succeeded by others of a more pleasing de-
scription.  Thus, if perspiration succeed to fever-
ish heat, the person who, during the continuance
of the latter, fancied himself on the brink of a vol-
cano, or broiled  beneath an African  sun, is trans-
ported to some refreshing  stream,  and enjoys pre-
cisely the pleasure which such a transition would
produce did it actually take place.
  Some authors imagine that we  never dream  of
objects which we have not seen ; but the absurdity
of this notion is so glaring as to carry its own re-
futation along with it.   I  have a thousand times
dreamed of such objects.
  When a person has  a  strong desire to see any
place or object which he has never seen before, he
is apt to dream about it; while, as soon as his
desire is gratified, he often ceases so  to dream.   I
remember of hearing a great deal of the beauty of
Rouen Cathedral, and  in one form or other it was
constantly presented  before  my  imagination  in
dreams ;  but having at last seen the cathedral  I
never again dreamed about it.  This  is not the 
68
PHILOSOPHY
invariable result of a gratified wish; but it hap-
pens so often that it may be considered a general
rule.
  Sometimes we awake from dreams in a pleasing
at other  times in  a melancholy mood,  without
being able to recollect them.  They  leave a plea-
surable or disagreeable impression upon the mind,
according doubtless to their nature; and yet we
cannot properly remember what we were dreaming
about. Sometimes, though baffled at the time, we
can recall them afterwards, but this  seldom hap-
pens.
  It often happens  that the dreamer, under the in-
fluence of a frightful  vision, leaps from his bed and
calls aloud in a paroxysm of terror.   This is very
frequently the  case with children and persons of
weak nerves ;  but  it may happen even with the
strongest minded.  There is something peculiarly
horrible and paralyzing in the terror of sleep.  It
lays the  energies of the  soul  prostrate  before it,
crushes them to the earth as beneath the weight of
an  enormous  vampyre,  and equalizes for a time
the courage  of the hero and the child.  No firm-
ness of mind can at all times withstand  the influ-
ence of these deadly terrors.  The person awakes
panic-struck from some hideous vision ;  and even
after reason  returns and convinces him of the un-
real nature  of his apprehensions, the panic for
some time continues, his heart throbs violently, he
is covered with cold perspiration, and hides his
head beneath the bed-clothes, afraid to look around 
OF  SLEEP.
69
 him, lest some dreadful  object of alarm  should
 start up before his affrighted vision.  Courage and
 philosophy are frequently opposed in vain to these
 appalling terrors.   The latter dreads what it dis-
 believes ;  and spectral forms, sepulchral  voices,
 and all the other horrid superstitions of sleep arise
 to vindicate their  power over that mind,  which,
 under the fancied protection of reason and science,
 conceived itself shielded from all such attacks, but
 which, in the  hour of trial,  often  sinks beneath
 their influence as completely  as the ignorant and
 unreflecting hind,  who never employed  a thought
 as to the real nature of these fantastic and illusive
 sources of terror.  The alarm of a frightful dream
 is sometimes so overpowering, that  persons under
 the  impression thus generated, of being pursued
 by some  imminent danger, have actually leaped
 out of the window to the great danger  and even
 loss of their lives.  In the 9th volume of the " Phi-
 losophical Transactions of the Royal Society  of
 London," a curious case is given by Archdeacon
 Squire, of a person who, after having been dumb
 for years, recovered the use of his speech by means
 of a dream of this description : " One day, in the
 year 1741, he  got very much  in liquor, so much
 so, that on his return home at night to  the Devi-
 zes, he fell from his horse three or four times, and
 was at last taken up by a neighbor, and put to bed
 in a house  on the  road.  He soon fell  asleep;
 when, dreaming that he was falling into a furnace
of boiling wort, it put him into so great an  agony
              7 
70
PHILOSOPHY
 of fright, that, struggling with  all his might to
 call out for help, he actually did call out aloud, and
 recovered the use of his tongue that moment, as
 effectually as he ever had it in his life, without the
 least hoarseness or alteration  in the old sound of
 his voice."
  There have  been instances where the terror of
 a frightful dream has been so great as even to pro-
 duce insanity.  Many years ago, a woman in the
 West Highlands, in consequence of a dream of this
 kind,  after being newly brought to bed, became de-
 ranged, and soon  after  made her escape to the
 mountains, where for seven years, she herded with
 the deer, and  became so fleet that the  shepherds
 and others, by whom she was occasionally  seen,
 could never arrest her.  At the end of this  term, a
 very severe storm brought her and her associates
 to the valley,  when she was  surrounded, caught,
 and conveyed  to her husband, by whom she was
 cordially  received  and  treated with the  utmost
 kindness.  In  the course of three months, she re-
gained her reason, and had  afterwards  several
 children.  When caught, her body is said to have
been covered with hair, thus giving a color to the
story of Orson and other wild men of the wood.
  Instances have not been wanting where, under
the panic of a frightful  vision, persons  have act-
ually committed murder.  They awake from such
a dream—they see some person standing in the
room, whom they mistake for an assassin, or dread-
ful apparition:  driven to desperation by terror, they 
                 OF SL E E P.               71

 seize the first weapon that occurs, and inflict a
 fatal wound upon the object of their alarm.   Hoff-
 bauer, in his Treatise on Legal Medicine, relates
 a case of this kind.   Although he does not state
 that the circumstances which occasioned the panic
 was a previous dream of terror, I do not doubt that
 such, in  reality, must have  been  the  case.  " A
 report,"  says he, "of the murder committed  by
 Bernard  Schidmaizig was made by the Criminal
 College of Silesia.  Schidmaizig awoke suddenly
 at midnight: at the moment of awaking, he beheld
 a frightful phantom  (at  least his  imagination so
 depicted  it) standing near him, (in consequence of
 the heat  of the weather he slept in an open coach-
 house).  Fear, and the  obscurity of the night,
 prevented him from  recognising any  thing dis-
 tinctly, and  the object which struck  his vision
 appeared to him an actual spectre.   In a tremulous
 tone, he  twice called out, who goes there ?—he
 received  no answer, and  imagined that the appa-
 rition was  approaching him.  Frightened out of
 his judgment, he sprung from his bed, seized a
 hatchet which he generally kept close by him, and
 with this weapon assaulted the imaginary spectre.
 To see the apparition, to  call out who goes there ?
and to seize the hatchet were the work of a moment:
he had not an instant for reflection, and with one
blow the phantom was felled to the ground.  Schid-
 maizig uttered  a  deep  groan.   This, and the
noise occasioned by the fall of the phantom, com-
pletely restored him to his senses ; and all at  once 
72
PHILOSOPHY
the idea flashed across his mind that he must have
struck down his wife, who slept in the same coach-
house.  Falling instantly upon his knees, he raised
the head of the wounded person, saw the wound
which he had made, and the blood that  flowed
from it; and in a voice full of anguish exclaimed
Susannah, Susannah,  come to yourself! He then
called his eldest daughter, aged eight years, ordered
her to see if her mother  was recovering,  and to
inform her grandmother  that he had  killed her.
In fact, it was his unhappy wife who received the
blow, and she died the next day."*
  The passion of horror is more frequently felt in
dreams than at any other period.  Horror is in-
tense dread, produced by some unknown or super-
latively disgusting object.   The visions of sleep,
therefore, being frequently undefined,  and of the
most revolting description, are apt to produce this
emotion,  as they are  to occasion simple  fear.
Under its influence, we may suppose that fiends are
lowering upon us ; that dismal voices, as from the
bottomless pit, or from the tomb, are floating around

  * This case is highly important in a legal point of view ;  and to
punish a man for acting similarly in such a state would be as un-
just as to inflict punishment for deeds committed under the influ-
ence of  insanity or somnambulism.  " This man," as Hoffbauer
properly remarks, " did not enjoy the free use of his senses :  he
knew not what he saw : he  believed  that he was repulsing  an
unlooked-for attack. He  soon recognized the place where he
usually slept:  it was natural that he should seize the hatchet since
he had taken the precaution to place it beside him ; but the idea of
his wife and the possibility  of killing her were the last things that
occurred to him." 
OF  SLEEP.
73
 us; that we are haunted  by apparitions;  or that
 serpents, scorpions and demons are our bed-fellows.
 Such  sensations  are strongly  akin  to those of
 nightmare;  but  between this complaint and a
 mere dream of terror, there is a considerable differ-
 ence.  In incubus,  the  individual feels as if his
 powers of volition were  totally paralyzed ;  and as
 if he were altogether unable to move a limb in his
 own behalf, or utter a cry expressive of his agony.
 When these feelings exist, we  may consider the
 case to be one of nightmare:  when  they do not,
 and when,  notwithstanding  his terror, he seems
 to himself to possess unrestrained muscular motion,
 to run with ease, breathe freely, and enjoy the full
 capability  of exertion, it must  be  regarded  as a
 simple dream.
   Dr. Elliotson  has  remarked,  with great acute-
 ness, that dreams, in which the perceptive faculties
 alone are  concerned, are more incoherent,  and
 subject to  more  rapid transitions than  those  in
 which one or more of the organs of the feelings are
 also in a state of activity.  " Thus, in our dreams,
 we may walk on the brink of a precipice, or see
 ourselves doomed to immediate destruction by the
 weapon of a foe, or the fury of a tempestuous sea
 and  yet  feel not the slightest  emotion of fear,
though, during the perfect activity of the brain, we
may be naturally disposed to the strong manifes-
tation of this feeling; again we may see the most
extraordinary  object  or  event without  surprise,
perform the most ruthless crime without compunc-
                  7* 
74
PHILOSOPHY
tion, and see what, in our waking hours, would
cause us unmitigated grief, without the smallest
feeling of sorrow."
  Persons are to be found, who, when they speak
much during sleep, are unable to remember their
dreams on awaking, yet recollect them perfectly if
they do not speak.   This fact is not very easily
accounted for.   Probably when we are silent, the
mind is more  directed upon  the subject of  the
dream, and not so likely  to be distracted from it.
There is perhaps another  explanation.  When we
dream of speaking, or actually speak, the necessity
of using language infers  the exercise of some de-
gree of reason ; and, thus the incongruities of the
dream being diminished, its nature becomes  less
striking, and consequently less  likely to be remem-
bered.  Though we  often  dream of  performing
impossibilities,  we seldom  imagine  that  we  are
relating them to others.
  When we dream of visible objects, the sensibility
of the eyes  is diminished in a most  remarkable
manner; and  on opening  them, they are much
less  dazzled by the light than if we awoke from
a slumber altogether unvisited by such  dreams.
A fact equally curious  is  noticed  by Dr.  Darwin,
in his "Zoonomia,"—"If we sleep in the day-
time, and endeavour to  see  some object in  our
dreams,  the light is exceedingly painful to  our
eyes ; and, after repeated struggles, we lament in
our  sleep that we cannot see  it.  In this case, I
apprehend, the eyelid is in  some measure opened 
OF  SLEEP.
75
by  the  vehemence of our  sensations;  and  the
iris being dilated, shows as great, or greater sensi-
bility than in our waking hours."
  There are some persons to whom the objects of
their  dreams  are always represented in a soft,
mellow lustre,  similar to  twilight.   They never
seem to behold any thing in  the broad glare of
sunshine ; and, in general, the atmosphere of our
vision is less brilliant than that through which we
are accustomed to see things while awake.
  The  most vivid  dreams are  certainly those
which have reference  to sight.  With regard to
hearing, they  are less distinctly impressed upon
the mind, and still more feebly as regards smell, or
taste.  Indeed, some authors are of opinion that
we never dream of sounds,  unless when a sound
takes place to provoke the dream: and the same
with regard to smell and taste; but  this doctrine
is  against  analogy, and  unsupported by proof.
There  are,  beyond doubt,  certain  parts  of the
brain which take cognizance of tastes, odors, and
sounds, for the same reason  that there are others
which recognise  forms, dimensions, and  colors.
As the organs of the  three  latter sensations are
capable of inward  excitement, without any com-
munication, by means of the senses, with  the
externa] world, it is no more  than analogical to
infer that, with the three  former, the same thing
may take place.  In fever, although the  individ-
ual  is ever so well protected  against the  excite-
ment of external sounds, the internal organ  is often 
76
PHILOSOPH Y
violently stimulated, and he  is  harassed with
tumultuous  noises.   For  such  reasons,  it  is
evident that there may be in dreams a conscious-
ness of sounds, of tastes, and of odors, where such
have no real existence from without.
  Dreams  are  sometimes  exceedingly obscure,
and float like faint clouds over the  spirit.  We
can then resolve them into nothing like shape or
consistence, but have an idea of our minds being
filled with dim, impalpable imagery, which is  so
feebly impressed upon the tablet of memory, that
we  are unable  to  embody  it  in language,  or
communicate its likeness to others.
  At other times, the objects of sleep are stamped
with almost supernatural energy.  The dead, or
the  absent, whose  appearance  to  our  waking
faculties  had become faint  and obscure,  are
depicted with intense truth and reality; and even
their voices, which had become like the echo of a
forgotten song, are recalled from the depths of obli-
vion, and speak to us as in former times.  Dreams,
therefore, have the  power of brightening up the
dim regions of the past, and presenting them with
a force which  the  mere  effects of unassisted
remembrance could never have accomplished in
our waking hours.
  This property of reviving past images, is one of
the most remarkable possessed by sleep.  It even
goes the length, in some cases, of recalling circum-
stances which had  been  entirely forgotten, and
presenting  them to  the mind with more than the 
OF SLEEP.
77
force of their original impression.  This I conceive
to depend upon a particular  part of the brain —
that, for instance, which refers to the memory of the
event—being  preternaturally excited ; hence for-
gotten tongues are sometimes brought back to the
memory in dreams, owing doubtless to some pecu-
liar excitement of the organ of  Language.  The
dreamer sometimes  converses  in  a language of
which he has no knowledge whatever when he
awakes, but with  which he  must  at  one period
have been acquainted.  Phenomena of a  similar
kind occasionally occur in madness, delirium, or
intoxication, all of which states have an analogy
to dreaming.  It is  not uncommon, for instance,
to witness in the insane an  unexpected and aston-
ishing resuscitation  of knowledge—an  intimacy
with events and languages of which they were
entirely ignorant in the sound state of their minds.
In like manner, in the  delirium attendant  upon
fevers, people  sometimes speak in a tongue* they

  * A girl was seized with a dangerous fever, and, in the deliri-
ous paroxysm accompanying it, was observed to speak in a strange
language which, for some time, no one could understand. At
last it was  ascertained to  be Welsh—a tongue she was wholly
ignorant of at the time she was  taken ill,  and of which she
could not speak a single syllable after her recovery. For  some time
the circumstance was unaccountable, till, on inquiry, it  was found
she was a native of Wales, and had  been familiar with the lan-
guage of that country in her childhood, but had wholly forgotten
it afterwards.  During the delirium of fever, the  obliterated im-
pressions of infancy were brought to her mind, and continued to
operate there so long as she remained under the mental excitation 
78
PHILOSOPHY
know nothing of in health ;  and in drunkenness
events are brought to the memory which desert it
in a state of sobriety.*   Analogous peculiarities
occur in dreams.   Forgotten facts are  restored to
the mind.   Sometimes those adhere to  it and are
remembered when we awake : at other times—as
can  be proved in cases of sleep-talking—they
vanish  with  the  dream  which called them into
existence, and are recollected no more.
  I believe  that the dreams of the aged, like their
memory, relate  chiefly to the events of early life,
and less to  those of more recent occurrence.  My
friend, Dr. Cumin, has mentioned to me the case
of one of his  patients, a  middle-aged man, whose
visions assumed this character in consequence of
severe mental anxiety.   Owing to misfortunes in
trade,  his mind had been greatly depressed:  he
lost  his appetite,  became restless, nervous, and
dejected; such sleep as  he  had  was  filled with
incessant dreams, which at first were  entirely of
events  connected  with the earliest period  of  his
life, so far as he  recollected it, and never by any

occasioned by the disease, but no longer ; for so soon as the state
of mind which  recalled these impressions was  removed, they also
disappeared, and she was as ignorant of Welsh as before she was
taken ill.
  * Mr. Combe  mentions the case of an Irish porter to a ware-
house, who, in one of his drunken fits, left a parcel at the wrons
house, and when sober could not recollect what he had done with
it; but the next time he got drunk, he recollected where he had
left, it, and went and recovered it. 
OF  SLEEP.
79
chance of late events.  In proportion  as  he reco-
vered from this  state, the dreams changed their
character, and referred to circumstances farther on
in life; and so regular was the progression, that,
with the march of his recovery, so was the onward
march of his dreams.  During the worst period of
his illness, he dreamed of occurrences which hap-
pened in boyhood :  no sooner was convalescence
established than  his visions had reference to man-
hood ;  and  on  complete recovery they  were of
those recent circumstances  which  had thrown
him  into  bad health.  In this curious  case,  one
lateral half of the  head was  much warmer than
the other.   This was so remarkable as to attract
the notice of the barber who shaved it.
   One of the most  remarkable phenomena of
dreams is the  absence of surprise.  This, indeed,
is not invariable, as every one must  occasionally
have felt the sensation of surprise, and been not a
little  puzzled  in his visions  to  account for the
phenomena which  present themselves ; but, as a
general rule, its absence is so exceedingly com-
mon, that, when surprise does occur, it is looked
upon as an event  out of the  common order,  and
remarked accordingly.  Scarcely any event, how-
ever incredible, impossible, or absurd, gives  rise to
this  sensation.  We  see  circumstances  at utter
variance with the  laws  of nature, and  yet their
discordancy, impracticability,  and oddness, seldom
strike us  as at all out of  the  usual course of
things.  This is one of the strongest proofs that 
80              PHILOSOPHY
 can be alleged in support of the dormant condition
 of the reflecting faculties.  Had these powers been
 awake, and in full  activity,  they would have
 pointed out the erroneous nature of the  impres-
 sions conjured into existence by fancy : and shown
 us truly that  the visions  passing  before us were
 merely the chimeras of excited imagination—the
 airy phantoms of imperfect sleep.
   In visions  of  the  dead, we have a  striking
 instance of the absence of surprise.  We  almost
 never wonder at beholding individuals whom we
 yet know, in our dreams, to have even been buried
 for years. We see them among us, and hear them
 talk,  and associate  with  them on the footing of
 fond  companionship.   Still the circumstance sel-
 dom strikes us with wonder, nor do we attempt to
 account for it.  They still  seem alive  as when
 they were on  earth, only all their qualities, whe-
 ther good or  bad, are exaggerated by sleep.  If
 we hated them while in life, our animosity is now
 exaggerated to a double  degree.  If we loved
 them, our affection becomes more passionate and
 intense  than ever.   Under these  circumstances,
many scenes of most exquisite pleasure often take
place.  The slumberer supposes himself enjoying
the communionship of those who were dearer to
him than life, and has far more intense delight
than he could  have experienced, had these  indivi-
duals been in reality alive, and at his side.
" I hear thy voice in dreams
  Upon me softly call, 
OF  SLEEP.
81
          Like echo of the mountain streams
            In sportive waterfall:
          I see thy form, as when
            Thou wert a living thing,
          And blossomed in the eyes of men
            Like any flower of spring."

  Nor is the passion of love, when experienced in
dreams, less vivid than any other emotion, or the
sensations to which it gives rise less  pleasurable.
I do not here allude to the passion in its physical
sense, but to that more moral and intellectual feel-
ing, the result of deep sensibility and attachment.
Men who never loved before, have  conceived a
deep affection to some  particular woman in their
dreams, which, continuing to operate upon them
after they awoke,  has  actually  terminated in  a
sincere and  lasting fondness for the object of their
visionary love.  Men, again, who actually are in
love, dream more frequently of this subject than
of any thing  else—fancying  themselves  in  the
society of their  mistresses, and enjoying a happi-
ness more exquisite than is compatible with the
waking state—a happiness, in short, little removed
from celestial.   Such feelings are not confined to
men; they pervade the female breast with equal
intensity; and the young maiden, stretched upon
the couch of sleep, may have her spirit  filled with
the image of her  lover, while her  whole  being
swims in the ecstacies of impassioned, yet virtuous
attachment.  At other  times,  this pure passion
may, in both sexes, be  blended with one of a
              8 
82             PHILOSOPHY
 grosser character;  which  also  may acquire  an
 increase of pleasurable sensation:  to  such  an
 extent is every circumstance, whether of delight
 or suffering, exaggerated by sleep.
  For the same reason that the lover dreams of
 love,  does  the newly married woman dream of
 children.  They, especially if she have a natural
 fondness for them—if she herself be pregnant, or
 possess an ardent longing for offspring—are often
 the subject of her sleeping thoughts; and she con-
 ceives herself to be encircled  by them, and expe-
 riencing intense pleasure in their innocent society.
 Men who are very fond of children often experi-
ence the same sensations; and both men and women
 who are naturally indifferent in this respect, seldom
dream about them,  and never with any feelings of
peculiar delight.
  During the actual process  of any particular
 dream, we are never conscious that we are  really
 dreaming : but it sometimes happens that a second
 dream takes place, during which we have a con-
sciousness, or a suspicion, that the events which took
place in the first dream were merely visionary, and
not real.  People, for instance, sometimes  fancy
in sleep, that they have acquired wealth: this may
be called the first dream ; and during its progress
they never for a moment doubt the reality of their
impressions ;  but a  second one supervenes upon
 this, and they then  begin to wonder whether their
 riches be real or  imaginary—in other words, they
 try to ascertain whether they had been previously 
OF  SLEEP.
83
dreaming or not.  But even in the second dream
we are unconscious of dreaming.  We still seem
to ourselves to be broad awake—a proof that in
dreams we are never aware of being asleep.  This
unconsciousness of being asleep during the dream-
ing state, is referrible to the quiescent condition of
the reasoning powers.  The mind is wholly subject
to the sceptre of other faculties ;  and whatever
emotions or images they invoke, seem to be real,
for want of a controlling power to point out their
true character.

         " You stood before me like a thought,
          A dream remembered in a dream."

  Those troubled with deafness do not hear dis-
tinctly such sounds as they conceive to be uttered
during sleep.  Dr. Darwin speaks of a gentleman
who, for thirty years, had entirely lost his hearing,
and who in his dreams never  seemed to converse
with any person except by the fingers or in writ-
ing : he never had the impression of hearing them
speak.   In like manner, a  blind  man  seldom
dreams of visible objects, and never if he has been
blind from his birth.  Dr. Blacklock, indeed, who
became blind in  early infancy, may seem  an ex-
ception to  this rule.   While asleep, he was con-
scious of a sense which he did not possess in the
waking state, and which bears some analogy to
sight.  He imagined that he was united to objects
by a sort of distant contact, which was effected by 
84
PHILOSOPHY
threads or strings passing from their bodies to his
own.
  The illusion of dreams is much more complete
than  that of the most exquisite plays.   We pass.
in a second of time, from one  country to another;
and persons who lived in the most different  ages
of the world are brought together in strange and
incongruous confusion.  It is not uncommon to
see, at the same moment, Robert the Bruce, Julius
Caesar, and  Marlborough  in  close conversation.
Nothing, in short, however  monstrous, incredible,
or impossible, seems  absurd.   Equally striking
examples of illusion occur when the person awakes
from a dream, and imagines that he hears voices
or beholds persons  in  the room beside him.   In
the  first cases we are convinced, on  awaking, of
the  deceptive nature of our visions, from the utter
impossibility  of their  occurrence ;  they  are  at
variance  with natural laws; and a single effort of
reason is  sufficient to point  out their  absolute
futility.   But when the circumstances which seem
to take place are not in themselves conceived  im-
possible, however  unlikely they may be, it is often
a matter of the utmost difficulty for us  to be con-
vinced of their real character.  On  awaking, we
are  seldom aware that, when  they took place, we
labored under a dream.  Such is their deceptive
nature, and  such  the vividness with which they
appear to strike our senses, that we imagine them
real; and accordingly often start up in a paroxysm
of terror, having the idea that our chamber is in- 
OF  SLEEP.
85
 vaded by thieves, that strange  voices are calling
 upon  us,  or that we are haunted by the dead.
 When there is no way of confuting these impres-
 sions,  they often remain ineradicably fixed in the
 mind, and are regarded as actual events, instead
 of the mere chimeras of sleep.  This is particularly
 the case with the weak-minded  and superstitious,
 whose  feelings are always  stronger  than  their
 judgments; hence the thousand stories of ghosts
 and warnings with  which  the imaginations of
 these persons are haunted—hence the frequent
 occurrence of nocturnal screaming and  terror in
 children, whose reflecting faculties are naturally
 too weak to correct the impressions of dreams, and
 point out  their  true nature—hence the painful
 illusions occurring even to persons of strong intel-
 lect, when they  are debilitated  by watchfulness,
 long-continued mental suffering, or protracted dis-
 ease.   These impressions often  arise without any
 apparent  cause:  at other times, the most  trivial
 circumstances will produce them.   A voice, for
 instance, in a neighboring street, may seem to pro-
 ceed from our own apartment, and may assume a
 character of the most appalling description; while
 the tread of footsteps, or the knocking of a hammer
 over-head, may resolve itself into a frightful figure
stalking before us.
   "I know," says Mr. Waller, "a gentleman, who
 is  living at this moment a needless slave to terror,
 which  arises from a circumstance  which admits
easily of explanation.   He was  lying in his  bed
                      8* 
86
PHILOSOPHY
with his wife, and, as he supposed, quite awake,
when he felt distinctly the impression of some per-
son's hand upon his right shoulder, which created
such a degree of alarm that he dared not to move
himself in bed, and indeed  could not, if he had
possessed the courage.  It was  some time before
he had it in his power to  awake his wife, and
communicate to her the subject of his terror.  The
shoulder which had felt  the  impression  of the
hand, continued to feel benumbed and uncomfort-
able for some time.   It had  been uncovered, and,
most probably, the cold to which it was exposed
was the cause of the phenomenon."*
  An attack of dreaming illusion, not, however,
accompanied with any unpleasant feeling, occur
red  to myself lately.  I had fallen accidentally
asleep upon an  arm-chair, and  was  suddenly
awaked by hearing, as I supposed, two of my bro-
thers talking and laughing at  the  door  of the
room, which stood wide  open.   The  impressions
were so forcible, that I could not believe them fal-
lacious, yet I ascertained that they were so entire-
ly ;  for my brothers had  gone  to the country an
hour before, and  did not return for  a  couple  of
hours afterwards.
   There are few dreams involving many circum-
 stances, which are, from beginning to end, perfect-
 ly philosophical and harmonious : there is usually
 some absurd violation of the laws of  consistency,
* Wallers " Treatise on the Incubus or Nightmare." 
OF  SLEEP.
87
a want of congruity, a deficiency in the due rela-
tions of cause and effect, and  a string of conclu-
sions altogether unwarranted by the premises.  Mr.
Hood, in his " Whims and Oddities," gives a curi-
ous illustration of the above facts.  " It occurred,"
says he,  " when I was on the eve of marriage, a
season when, if lovers sleep sparingly, they dream
profusely.  A very brief slumber sufficed to carry
me, in the night  coach, to  Bogner.  It  had been
concerted between  Honoria and myself that  we
should pass the  honey-moon at some such  place
upon the coast.   The purpose of my solitary jour-
ney was  to procure an appropriate dwelling, and
which, we had agreed upon, should be a little plea-
sant house, with  an indispensable look-out  upon
the sea.  I chose one accordingly, a pretty  villa,
with  bow windows, and a prospect  delightfully
marine.   The ocean murmur sounded incessantly
from the beach.  A decent elderly body, in decay-
ed sables, undertook on her part to  promote  the
comfort of the  occupants by  every suitable atten-
tion, and, as she  assured me,  at a very reasonable
rate.   So far the nocturnal faculty had served me
truly : a day dream could not have proceeded more
orderly: but, alas! just here, when  the dwelling
was selected, the sea-view  was  secured, the rent
agreed upon,  when every thing was  plausible,
consistent, and rational, the incoherent fancy crept
in, and confounded all—by  marrying me to the
old woman of the house !"
   There are  no limits to the extravagancies of 
88
PHILOSOPHY
 those visions sometimes called into birth by the
 vivid exercise  of the imagination.   Contrasted
 with them, the wildest fictions of Rabelais, Arios
 to, or  Dante,  sink into absolute  probabilities.  I
 remember of dreaming on one occasion that I pos-
 sessed ubiquity, twenty resemblances of myself ap-
 pearing in as many different  places, in the  same
 room;  and each being so thoroughly possessed by
 my own mind,  that I could not ascertain which of
 them was myself, and which my double, &c.  On
 this occasion, fancy so far travelled  into the re-
 gions of absurdity, that I conceived myself riding
 upon my own back—one of the resemblances be-
 ing  mounted upon another,  and both animated
 with the soul  appertaining to myself, in such a
 manner that I knew not whether I was the carrier
 or the carried.  At another time, I dreamed that I
 was converted into a mighty pillar of stone, which
 reared its head  in the midst of a desert, where it
 stood for  ages, till  generation  after  generation
 melted away before it.  Even in this state, though
 unconscious of possessing any organs of sense, or
 being else than a mass of lifeless stone, I saw eve-
 ry object around—the mountains growing  bald
 with age—the forest trees drooping in decay ; and
 I heard  whatever sounds nature is in the custom
of producing, such as the  thunder-peal breaking
over my naked  head, the winds howling past me,
or the ceaseless murmur of streams.  At last I also
waxed old, and began to crumble into dust, while
the moss  and  ivy  accumulated upon me,  and 
OF  SLEEP.
80
stamped me with the aspect of hoar antiquity. The
first of these visions  may have arisen from read-
ing Hoffman's " Devil's Elixir," where there is an
account of a man who supposed he had a double,
or, in other words, was both himself and not him-
self ;  and the second had perhaps its origin  in the
Heathen Mythology, a subject to which I am ex-
tremely partial, and which abounds in stories of
metamorphosis.
  Such dreams as occur in a state of drunkenness
are remarkable for their extravagance.  Exagger-
ation beyond limits is a very general attendant up-
on them; and  they are  usually of a more airy
and fugitive character than those proceeding from
almost any other source.   The person seems as if
he possessed unusual lightness, and could mount
into the air, or float upon the clouds, while  every
object around him reels and staggers with emotion.
But of all dreams, there are none which, for unli-
mited wildness, equal those produced by narcotics.
An eminent artist, under the influence of opium,
fancied the ghastly figures in Holbein's " Dance of
Death" to  become vivified—each  grim skeleton
being endowed with life and motion, and dancing
and  grinning  with  an aspect of hideous reality.
The "English Opium Eater," in his " Confessions,''
has given a great variety of eloquent and appall-
ing descriptions of the effects  produced by this
drug upon the imagination during sleep.  Listen
to one of them: —
  " Southern Asia is, and  has been for thousands 
90
PHILOSOPHY
of years, the part of the earth most swarming with
human life;  the great officina gentium.  Man is a
weed in those regions.  The vast empires, also,
into which the enormous population  of Asia  has
always been  cast, give a farther sublimity to the
feelings associated with all Oriental names or ima-
ges.   In China, over and above  what it  has in
common with the rest of Southern Asia, I am  ter-
rified by the modes of life, by the manners, and the
barrier of utter abhorrence and want of sympathy
placed between us  by feelings deeper than I  can
analyze. I could sooner live with lunatics or brute
animals.  All this, and much more than I can  say,
or have time to say, the reader must enter into be-
fore he can comprehend the  unimaginable horror
which these dreams  of Oriental imagery and my-
thological tortures  impressed upon me.  Under the
connecting feeling of tropical heat and vertical sun-
lights, I brought together all creatures, birds, beasts,
reptiles, all trees and plants,  usages and appearan-
ces, that are found in all tropical  regions, and as-
sembled them together in China or Indostan.  From
kindred feelings I soon brought Egypt and all her
gods under the same law.  I was  stared at, hooted
at, grinned  at, chattered at,  by monkeys, by paro-
quets, by cockatoos.   I ran into pagodas : and was
fixed for centuries at the summit, or in the secret
rooms; I was the idol;  I was the priest; I was wor-
shipped; I was sacrificed.  I  fled from the wrath of
Brama through all the forests of Asia: Vishnu hat-
ed me: Seeva laid  in wait for me.   I came sudden- 
                  OFSLEEP.              gj

lyupon Isis and  Osiris: I had done a deed,  they
said, which the ibis  and the crocodile trembled at.
I was buried for a thousand years, in stone coffins,
with mummies and spinxes, in narrow chambers]
at the heart of eternal pyramids.  I was kissed, with
cancerous kisses, by crocodiles, and laid confound-
ed with all unutterable slimy things, amongst reeds
and Nilotic mud."
  Again:  " Hitherto the human face  had mixed
often in my dreams, but not  so despotically, nor
with any special power of tormenting.  But now
that which I have called the tyranny of the hu-
man face  began to unfold itself.   Perhaps some
part of my London life might be answerable for
this.   Be  that as it may, now  it was that, upon
the rocking waters  of the ocean, the human face
began  to  appear ;  the sea appeared paved with
innumerable faces, upturned to the heavens: faces
imploring, wrathful, despairing, surged upwards
by thousands, by myriads, by  generations, by cen-
turies :—my  agitation  was  infinite—my  mind
tossed and surged with the ocean."
  I have already spoken of the analogy subsisting
between dreaming  and insanity,  and shall  now
mention a circumstance which occurs in  both
states, and points out a very marked similitude of
mental condition.   The same thing also occasion-
ally, or rather frequently, takes place in drunken-
ness, which is, to all intents and purposes, a tem-
porary paroxysm of madness.  It often  happens,
for instance, that such  objects or persons as we 
92             PHILOSOPHY

have seen before  and are  familiar with, become
utterly changed in dreams, and bear not the slight-
est resemblance to their real aspect.   It  might be
thought that such a circumstance would so com-
pletely annihilate  their identity as to  prevent us
from believing them  to be  what, by  us, they are
conceived; but such  is not the case.  We never
doubt that the particular object or person presented
to our eyes appears in its true character.  In illus-
tration of this fact, I  may mention, that I lately
visited the magnificent palace of Versailles  in a
dream, but that deserted abode of kings stood not
before me as  when I have gazed upon it broad
awake ; it was not only magnified beyond even its
stupendous dimensions, and its countless splendors
immeasurably increased, but the very aspect  itself
of the mighty  pile was changed ; and instead of
stretching  its  huge Corinthian  front along the
entire breadth of an elaborate and richly fantastic
garden, adorned to profusion with alcoves, foun-
tains, waterfalls,  statues, and terraces, it  stood
alone in  a boundless wilderness—an  immense
architectural creation of the Gothic ages, with a
hundred spires and ten thousand minarets sprout-
ing up, and piercing with their pointed pinnacles
the sky.   The  whole was  as different as possible
from the  reality,  but  this never once occurred to
my mind; and, while gazing upon the visionary
fabric, I never doubted for an  instant that it  then
appeared  as  it had ever done, and  was in  no
degree different from what  I had often previously
beheld. 
                 OFSLEEP.               93

   Another dream I shall  relate  in illustration of
this point.   It  was  related to  me by a  young
lady, and, independent of its illustrative value, is
well worthy of being preserved  as a specimen of
fine imagination. — "I dreamed," said she, "that
I stood  alone upon the  brink of a dreadful preci-
pice, at the bottom of which rolled  a great river.
While gazing awe-struck upon the gulph below,
some one from behind laid a hand upon my shoul-
der, and, on looking  back, I saw a tall, venerable
figure  with  a long, flowing, silvery beard, and
clothed  in white garments, whom I at once knew
to be the Saviour of the  world.  ' Do you see,'
he inquired, 'the great river that washes the foun-
dation of the  rock upon which  you now  stand 7
I shall dry it up, so that not a drop of its waters
shall remain, and all the fishes that are in it shall
perish.'   He  then waved his hand, and the river
was instantly dried  up;  and I saw the  fishes
gasping and  writhing in the channel, where they
all  straightway died.  ' Now,' said he, < the river
is dried up and  the fishes are dead; but to give
you a farther testimony of my power, I shall bring
back the flood, and every  creature that was wont
to inhabit it shall live again.'  And he waved his
hand a  second time, and  the river was instantly
restored, its dry bed filled with volumes of water,
and all the dead fishes brought back unto life.  On
looking round to express to him my astonishment
at those extraordinary miracles, and to fall down
and worship him, he  was gone : and I stood by
              9 
94
PHILOSOPHY
myself upon the precipice, gazing with  astonish-
ment at the river which rolled a thousand feet be-
neath me."  In  this  fine vision, the  difference
between the aspect of Christ as he appeared in it,
and as he is represented in  the  sacred  writings,
as well  as in  paintings, did not suggest itself to
the mind of the dreamer.  He came in the guise of
an aged man, which is diametrically opposite to our
habitual impressions of his aspect.  If it be asked
what produces such differences between the reality
and  the representation, I  apprehend we must
refer it to some sudden second dream or flash of
thought breaking in upon the first, and confusing
its character.  For instance, I  have a  dream of
an immense Gothic pile, when  something about
Versailles, somehow, occurs  to my mind, and this
I immediately  associate with the object before me.
The lady has the idea of an old man in her dream,
and  the thought of  Christ  happening to come
across her at the instant, she identifies it involun-
tarily with the object of her vision.   There is yet
another explanation of the latter.   The old man
has the  power of working a great miracle; so had
Christ, and she is thus led  to confound the two
together.  She, it is true, imagines she knows the
old man at once  to be the  Saviour, without  any
previous intimation of his  miraculous gifts; but
this, very  possibly,  may be  a  mistake; and the
knowledge which she only  acquires after witness-
ing his  power, she  may, by the confusion  attend-
ant on dreams, suppose to have occurred to her in 
OF  SLEEP.
95
the first instance.  These facts, combined with the
dormant state of the reflecting faculties, which do
not rectify the erroneous impressions, render the
explanation of  such  dreams  sufficiently easy,
however puzzling, and unaccountable at first sight.
  In some cases, the illusion is not merely confined
to sleep, but extends itself to the waking state.
To illustrate this  I  may state  the following cir-
cumstance:—Some  years  ago, my impressions
concerning the aspect and  localities of Inverness,
were  strangely confused by a dream which I had
of that  town, taking so strong  a hold upon my
fancy as to be mistaken for a reality.  I had been
there  before, and was perfectly  familiar with the
appearance of the town, but this was presented in
so different a light, and with so much force by the
dream, that I, at last, became unable to say which
of the two aspects was the  real one.  Indeed, the
visionary panorama exhibited to my mind, took
the strongest hold upon it;  and I  rather felt  in-
clined to  believe that  this was  the  veritable
appearance of the town, and that the one which I
had actually beheld, was merely the  illusion of the
dream.   This uncertainty  continued for  several
years, till, being again in that quarter, I satisfied
myself on  the real state of  the case.  On this
occasion, the dream must  have occurred to my
mind  some time after it happened, and taken such
a firm hold upon it as to dethrone the reality, and
take its  place.  I remember distinctly of fancying
that the little woody hill of  Tomnachurich was in 
96
PHILOSOPHY
the centre of the town, although it stands at some
distance from it; that the principal steeple was on
the opposite side of the street to that on which it
stands; and that the great mountain of Ben-Wevis,
many miles off, was  in the  immediate neighbor-
hood.
  The power of imagination is perhaps never so
vividly displayed, as  in those dreams which haunt
the guilty mind.  When any crime of an infamous
character  has been  perpetrated,  and  when  the
person is not so utterly hardened as to be insensi-
ble  of his iniquity, the wide storehouse  of retri-
butive vengeance is opened up, and its appalling
horrors  poured  upon him.   In vain  does he
endeavour to expel the dreadful remembrance of
his  deeds, and bury  them in forgetfulness ; from
the abyss  of  slumber  they start  forth, as  the
vampyres start from their sepulchres, and hover
around him like the  furies that pursued the, foot-
steps  of  Orestes; while the voice of conscience
stuns his  ears with  murmurs of judgment and
eternity.  Such is the punishment reserved for the
guilty in sleep.  During the busy  stir of active
existence, they may contrive  to evade the memory
of their wickedness—to silence the whispers of
the "still  small  voice"  within  them, and  cheat
themselves with a semblance  of happiness;  but
when their heads are laid  upon  the  pillow, the
flimsy veil which hung between  them and crime,
melts away like an illusive vapour, and  displays
the latter in naked  and  horrid deformity.  Then, 
OF  SLEEP.
97
 in the  silence of night, the " still small voice" is
 heard like an echo from the tomb ;  then, a crowd
 of doleful  remembrances  rush in upon the crimi-
 nal,  no longer to  be  debarred from visiting the
 depths  of his spirit;  and when dreams  succeed to
 such broken and miserable repose, it.  is  only  to
 aggravate  his previous horrors, and present them
 in a character of still more  overwhelming dread.*

          " Though thy slumber may be deep,
          Yet thy spirit shall not sleep ;
          There are shades  which will not vanish,
          There are thoughts thou canst not banish ;
          By a power to thee unknown,
          Thou canst never be alone ;
          Thou art wrapt as with a shroud,
          Thou art gathered in a cloud ;
          And forever shalt  thou dwell
          In the spirit of this spell."

   * " No fiction of romance presents so awful a  picture of the ideal
tyrant as that of Caligula by Suetonius.   His palace — radiant
with purple and gold, but murder every where lurking beneath
flowers; his  smiles and  echoing laughter,  masking (yet hardly
meant to mask) his foul  treachery of heart;  his  hideous and
tumultuous dreams; his baffled sleep, and his sleepless nights,
compose the  picture of an iEschylus.  What  a master's sketch
lies in those few lines :—'Incitabatur insomnio maxime ; neque
enim  plus tribus horis nocturnis quiescebat;  ac ne his placida
quiete, at pavida miris rerum imaginibus: ut qui  inter ceteras
pelao-i quondam speciem colloquentem secum videre visus sit.
Ideoque magna parte noctis, vigilias cubandique taedio, nunc toro
residens nunc per longissimas porticus vagus, invocare identidem
atque  cxpectare lucem consueverat;'— i. e. But above all, he was
tormented with nervous irritation, by sleeplessness ; for he enjoyed
not more than three hours of nocturnal repose;  nor even these in
                           9* 
98
PHILOSOPHY
  Such are the principal phenomena of dreams;
and from them it will naturally  be deduced, that
dreaming may occur under a great variety of cir-
cumstances ; that  it may  result from the actual
state of the body or mind, previous to falling asleep;
or exist as a train of emotions which can be refer-
red to no apparent external cause.  The forms it
assumes are also as various as the causes giving
rise to it, and much more striking in their nature.
In dreams, imagination  unfolds,  most gorgeously,
the ample stores  of its  richly decorated empire;
and in proportion to the splendor of that faculty in
any individual, are the  visions which  pass before
him in sleep.   But even the most dull and passion-
less, while under the dreaming influence, frequently
enjoy a temporary inspiration :  their torpid facul-
ties are aroused  from the  benumbing spell which
hung over them  in  the  waking  state, and lighted
up with the Promethean  fire of genius and romance;
the prose of their frigid spirits is converted  into
magnificent poetry; the atmosphere around them
peopled  with new and  unheard-of imagery;  and
they walk in a region to which the proudest flights

pure, untroubled rest, but agitated by phantasmata of portentous
augury;  as, for example, upon one occasion he fancied that he
saw the sea, under some definite impersonation, conversing with
himself.  Hence it was, and from this incapacity of sleeping, and
from weariness of lying awake, that he had fallen into habits of
ranging all the night long through the palace, sometimes throwing
himself on a couch, sometimes  wandering along the vast corridors
— watching for the earliest dawn, and  anxiously invoking  its
approach."—Blackwood's Magazine, Vol. XXXIII. p. 59. 
0FSLEEP.               99
of their  limited energies could never  otherwise
have attained.
  I shall conclude this chapter with a few words
on the management of dreams.
  When dreams are of a pleasing character, no one
cares  any thing about their removal: it is only
when  they  get distressing and threaten to injure
the health of the individual, by frequent recurrence,
that this  becomes an important  object.  When
dreams assume the character  of nightmare, they
must be managed according to the methods laid
down for the cure of  that affection.   In all cases,
the condition of the  digestive organs must be at-
tended to, as any disordered state of these parts is
apt to induce visions.of a very painful character.
For this purpose, mild laxatives  may become use-
ful; and if the person is subject to heartburn, he
should use a little magnesia,  chalk, or carbonate
of soda,  occasionally.  Attention,  also,  must be
paid to the diet; and as suppers, with some people,
have a tendency to generate dreams of all kinds,
these  meals should,  in  such  cases, be  carefully
avoided.   At the same time, great care should be
taken not to brood over any  subject upon lying
down,  but to dispel, as soon as possible,  all intru-
sive ideas, especially if they are of a painful nature.
If there is any unpleasant circumstance, such as
hardness, irregularity, &c, connected with the bed,
which tends to affect sleep, and thus induce dreams,
it must be removed.   Late reading, the use of tea
or coffee shortly before going to rest, or any thing 
100
PHILOSOPHY
 which may stimulate the  brain, ought likewise to
 be avoided.
   If dreaming seems to arise from any fulness of
 the system, blooding and  low  diet will sometimes
 effect a cure.  Mr.  Stewart, the celebrated pedes-
 trian traveller, states that  he never dreamed when
 he lived exclusively upon vegetable food.   This,
 however, may not  hold  true  with every  one.
 " When  dreams arise from a diminution of cus-
 tomary  stimuli, a light supper, a draught of porter,
 a glass of wine, or a  dose of opium, generally pre-
 vent  them.  Habitual noises,  when  suspended,
 should be restored."*
   In speaking of dreams representative of danger,
 I may mention that there are instances of persons,
 who,  having determined  to remember that the
 perils seen in them are fallacious, have actually
 succeeded in doing so, while asleep ; and have thus
 escaped  the terrors which those imaginary dan-
 gers would otherwise have produced.  Haller re-
lates a case of this kind ; and Mr. Dugald Stewart
 mentions that the plan was  successfully adopted
by Dr. Reid to get rid of the distress of those fear-
ful visions by which he was frequently annoyed.
Whenever, in a dream, the Doctor supposed him-
self on the brink of a precipice,  or  any other dan-
gerous situation, it was his custom to throw himself
over, and thus destroy the illusion.  Dr. Beattie
also relates, that at one time he found himself in a
Rush's Medical Inquiries. 
OF  SLEEP.
101
dangerous situation upon the-parapet of a bridge.
Reflecting that he was not subject to pranks  of
this nature, he began to fancy that  it might be a
dream, and determined to pitch himself over, with
the conviction  that this would restore  him to his
senses, which accordingly took  place.*  I could
never  manage to carry this system inlo'effect in an
ordinary  dream of terror, but  I  have  sometimes
succeeded in  doing so during an attack of night-
mare ; and have thus very materially mitigated the
alarm   produced  by  that  distressing  sensation.
This intellectual  operation may also  be success-
fully employed to dispel the  lowness  of spirits
under  which we often awake from unpleasant vis-
ions, by teaching us  that the  depression we ex-
perience is merely the  result of some unnatural
excitement in the brain.   Indeed, all kinds of me-
lancholy, not  based upon some obvious foundation,
might  be  mitigated or dispelled  altogether, could
we only oppose our feelings with the  weapons  of
reason, and see things as they  really are, and not
as they only seem to be.

  * These facts do not controvert what is  elsewhere stated of a
person never being aware, during the actual process of a dream,
that he was dreaming.  While the above dreams were in progress,
the individuals never doubted that they were dreaming: the doubt,
and the actions consequent upon it, were after-operations. 
CHAPTER   IV.
PROPHETIC POWER  OF  DREAMS.
Dreams have been looked upon by some, as the
occasional means of giving us  an insight  into
futurity.  This opinion  is so singularly unphilo-
sophical, that I would  not have noticed it, were it
not advocated even by persons of good sense and
education.  In ancient times, it was so common
as to obtain universal belief; and the greatest men
placed as implicit faith  in  it as in any fact  of
which their  own  senses afforded  them  cogni-
zance.  That it is wholly erroneous, however, can-
not be doubted ; and any person who examines the
nature of the human mind, and the manner  in
which it operates in dreams, must be convinced,
that under no circumstances, except those of a mi-
racle, in which the ordinary laws of nature are
triumphed over, can such an event evertake place.
The  Sacred  Writings testify that miracles were
common in former times ; but I believe no man of
sane mind will contend that they ever occur in the 
         PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP.       103

present state of the world.  In judging of things
as now constituted, we must discard supernatural
influence altogether, and estimate events according
to the general laws which the Great Ruler of Na-
ture has appointed for the  guidance of the  uni-
verse.  If, in the present day, it were possible to
conceive a suspension of these laws, it  must,  as
in former ages, be in reference to some great event,
and to serve some mighty purpose connected with
the  general interests  of the human race; but if
faith is to be placed in modern miracles, we must
suppose that God suspended the above laws for the
most trivial and useless of purposes—as, for in-
stance, to intimate to  a man that his grandmother
will die on a particular day, that  a favorite mare
has broke her neck, that he has received a present
of a  brace  of game,  or  that a certain friend will
step in and take pot-luck with him on the morrow.
  At the same time,  there  can be no doubt that
many circumstances occurring in our dreams have
been actually verified; but this must be regarded
as altogether the effect of chance;  and  for one
dream which turns out to be true, at least a thou-
sand are false.   In fact,  it is  only when they are
of the former description, that we take any notice
of them;  the latter are looked upon as mere idle
vagaries, and speedily forgotten. If a man, for in-
stance, dreams  that he  has gained a law-suit in
which he is engaged,  and if this circumstance ac-
tually takes place, there  is nothing at all extraor-
dinary in the coincidence:  his mind was full of 
104
PHILOSOPHY
the subject, and, in  sleep, naturally resolved itself
into that train of ideas in which it was most deep-
ly interested.  Or if we have a friend engaged in
war, our fears for his  safety will lead us to dream
of death or captivity, and we may see him pent up
in a hostile prison-house, or lying dead upon the
battle plain.  And should these melancholy catas-
trophies ensue we call  our vision  to memory ; and,
in the excited state of mind into which  we are
thrown, are apt to consider it as a prophetic warn-
ing, indicative of disaster.  The following  is a
very good illustration  of this particular point.
  Miss M----, a young lady, a native  of Ross-
shire, was deeply in love with an officer who ac-
companied Sir John Moore in the Peninsular war.
The  constant danger to which  he was exposed,
had an evident effect upon her spirits. She became
pale and melancholy in perpetually brooding over
his fortunes ;  and, in spite of all that reason could
do, felt a certain conviction, that when she last
parted with her lover, she had parted with him for-
ever.   In vain was  every scheme tried to  dispel
from  her mind the  awful idea;  in vain were all
the sights which opulence could command, unfold-
ed before her eyes.  In the  midst of pomp and
gaiety, when  music and laughter echoed around
her, she walked as a pensive phantom, over whose
head some dreadful and mysterious influence hung.
She was brought by her  affectionate parents to
Edinburgh, and  introduced into  all the gaiety of
that metropolis, but  nothing could restore  her, or 
OF SLEEP.
105
 Danish from her mind the insupportable load which
 oppressed it.   The song and the dance were tried
 in vain :  they only aggravated  her distress,  and
 made the bitterness of despair more poignant.  In
 a surprisingly short  period, her graceful form de-
 clined into all the appalling characteristics of a fa-
 tal illness;  and she  seemed  rapidly hastening to
 the grave, when a dream confirmed the horrors
 she had long  anticipated, and gave the finishing
 stroke to her  sorrows.  One night,  after falling
 asleep,  she imagined she  saw  her lover,  pale,
 bloody, and wounded in the breast,  enter  her
 apartment.  He drew  aside the curtains of the bed,
 and with a look of the utmost mildness, informed
 her that he had been slain in battle, desiring her,
 at the same time, to comfort  herself, and not take
 his death too  seriously to heart.  It is needless to
 say what influence this vision had upon a mind so
 replete with woe.  It  withered it  entirely, and the
 unfortunate girl died  a few days thereafter, but not
 without desiring her parents to note down the day
 of the month  on which it happened, and see if it
 would be confirmed, as she confidently declared it
 would.  Her anticipation was correct, for accounts
 were shortly after received that  the young man
 was slain at the battle of Corunna,  which  was
fought on the very day, on the night of which his
mistress had beheld the vision.
  This  relation, which may be confidently relied
upon, is one of the most striking examples of iden-
tity between the dreiam and the real circumstances
               10 
106
PHILOSOPHY
with which I am acquainted, but it must be looked
upon as merely accidental.  The lady's mind was
deeply interested in the fate of her lover, and full
of that  event which  she most  deeply dreaded—
his death.  The time of this occurrence, as coin-
ciding with her dream, is certainly curious; but
still there is nothing in it which can justify us in
referring it to any other origin than chance.  The
following  events, which occurred to  myself,  in
August  1821, are almost equally remarkable, and
are imputable to  the same fortuitous cause.
   I was then in Caithness, when I dreamed that
a near relation of my own, residing three hundred
miles off,  had suddenly died:  and immediately
thereafter awoke in a state of inconceivable terror,
similar to that produced by a paroxysm  of night-
mare.   The  same day,  happening to be writing
home, I mentioned the circumstance in a half-jest-
ing, half-earnest way.   To tell the truth, I was
afraid to be serious, lest  I should  be laughed at
for putting any faith  in dreams.  However, in the
interval between writing and receiving an answer,
I remained in a state of most unpleasant suspense.
I felt a presentiment that something dreadful had
happened, or would happen ;  and although I could
not help blaming myself for a childish  weakness
in so feeling, I was unable to get rid of the pain-
ful idea which had taken such rooted  possession
of my mind.  Three days after sending away the
letter, what was my astonishment when I received
one written  the day subsequent to mine, and stat- 
OF SLEEP.
107
ing that the relative of whom I had dreamed, had
been struck with a fatal shock  of palsy the day
before—viz. the  very day on  the  morning  of
which I had beheld the appearance in my dream!
My friends received my letter two days after send-
ing their own away, and were naturally astonish-
ed at the circumstance.  I  may state that my re-
lation was in perfect health before the fatal event
took place.  It came upon him like a thunderbolt,
at a period when no one could have the slightest
anticipation of danger.
  The following case will interest the reader, both
on its own account, and from the remarkable co-
incidence between the dream and the succeeding
calamity ; but, like all other instances of the kind,
this also must be referred to chance.
  "Being in company  the other day, when  the
conversation turned upon  dreams, I related one,
which, as it happened to my own father, I can an-
swer for the perfect truth  of it.   About the year
1731, my father, Mr. D. of  K----, in the County
of Cumberland, came to Edinburgh to attend the
classes, having the advantage of an uncle in the
regiment then in the Castle, and remained under
the protection of his  uncle and aunt,  Major and
Mrs. Griffiths, during the winter.  When spring
arrived, Mr. D. and three or four young gentlemen
from England, (his intimates,) made  parties to vi-
sit  all the  neighboring places  about Edinburgh,
Roslin, Arthur's Seat, Craig-Millar, &c, &c.  Com-
ing home one evening from some of  those places, 
108
PHILOSOPHY
 Mr. D. said, ' We have made a party to go a-fish-
 ing to Inch-Keith  to-morrow, if the morning is
 fine, and have bespoke our boat;  we  shall be off
 at six ;'  no objection being  made, they separated
 for the night.
   " Mrs.  Griffiths, had not been long asleep, till she
 screamed out in the most violent agitated manner,
 The boat is sinking; save, oh, save them !'  The
 Major awaked her, and said, ' Were you uneasy
 about the fishing party ?' ' Oh no,' said she, ' I had
 not once  thought of it.'  She then composed her-
 self, and  soon fell asleep  again : in about an  hour,
 she cried out in a dreadful fright,  ' I see the boat is
going down.'  The Major again awoke her, and
she said,  ' It has been owing to the other dream I
had ; for  I feel no uneasiness about it.'  After some
conversation,  they both  fell sound asleep, but no
rest could be obtained for her ; in the most extreme
agony, she again screamed, ' They are gone ;  the
boat is sunk!'  When the Major  awakened her,
she said,  l Now I cannot rest: Mr.  D. must not go,
for I feel, should he go,  I would be  miserable till
his return; the thoughts of it  would almost  kill
me.'
  " She instantly arose,  threw  on her wrapping-
gown, went to  his bed-side, for his room was next
 their own,  and with great difficulty she  got  his
 promise to  remain  at home.  ' But what am I to
say to my young friends whom I was to  meet at
 Leith at six o'clock?  ' With great truth you may
 say your aunt is ill, for I am so at present; consider^ 
OF  SLEEP.
109
you are an only son,  under our" protection, and
should any thing happen to you, it would be my
death.'  Mr.  D. immediately wrote a note to his
friends, saying he was prevented from joining them,
and sent his servant with it to Leith.  The morn-
ing came in most beautifully, and continued so till
three o'clock, when a violent storm arose, and in
an instant the boat, and all that were in it, went to
the bottom, and were never heard of, nor was any
part of it ever seen."*
   Equally singular is the following case, from the
" Memoirs of Lady Fanshawe."
   " My mother being sick to death of a fever, three
months after I was born, which was the occasion she
gave me suck no longer, her friends and servants
thought  to all outward appearance she was  dead,
and so lay almost two days and a night; but Dr.
Winston coming to comfort my father, went into
my mother's  room, and looking earnestly on her
face, said, ' She  was so handsome, and now looks
so lovely, I cannot think she is dead;' and sud-
denly took a lancet out of his pocket, and with it
cut the sole of her foot, which bled.   Upon this, he
immediately caused her to be laid upon the bed
again, and to be rubbed, and such means, as she
came to life, and opening her eyes, saw two of her
kinswomen stand by her, my Lady Knollys and
my Lady Russell, both with great  wide sleeves, as
the fashion then was,  and said, ' Did not  you

    * "Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine," vol. xix. p. 73.
                  10* 
110
PHILOSOPHY
promise me fifteen years, and are you come again f
which  they not understanding, persuaded her to
keep her  spirits quiet in  that  great  weakness
wherein she then was; but some hours after, she
desired my father and  Dr. Howlsworth might be
left alone with her, to whom she said, 'I  will ac-
quaint  you, that during the time of my trance I
was in great quiet, but in a place I could neither
distinguish nor describe ;  but the sense of leaving
my girl, who is dearer to me than all my children,
remained  a trouble upon  my spirits.  Suddenly I
saw two by me, clothed in long white  garments,
and methought I fell down upon my face upon the
dust;  and they asked why I was so troubled
in so great happiness.  I replied, O let me have
the same grant given to Hezekiah, that I may live
fifteen  years to see my  daughter  a woman: to
which they answered, It is done: and then, at that
instant, I awoke out of my trance !' and Dr. Howls-
worth  did there affirm,  that  that day  she died
made just fifteen years  from that time."
   A sufficiently striking  instance of such coinci-
dence  occurs in the case  of Dr. Donne, the meta-
physical poet; but I believe that,  in this  case, it
was a spectral illusion  rather  than a common
dream.  Two days after  he had arrived in Paris,
he was left alone in a room where  he had been
dining with Sir Robert Drury  and a few compan-
 ions.  " Sir Robert returned about an hour after-
 wards.  He found his friend in a state of ecstacy,
 and so altered in his countenance> that he could 
OF  SLEEP.
HI
not look upon  him without  amazement.  The
Doctor was not able for some time to answer the
question, what had befallen him?—but after a
long and perplexed pause, at last said,  ' I have seen
a dreadful vision  since I saw  you;  I have seen
my dear wife pass twice by me through this room,
with her hair hanging about her shoulders, and a
dead child in her arms.   This I have seen since I
saw you.'   To which Sir Robert answered, ' Sure,
Sir, you have slept since I went out; and this is
the result of some melancholy dream,  which I de-
sire you to forget, for you are now awake.'  Donne
replied, ' I cannot  be more sure that I now live,
than that I have not slept since I saw you ; and
am as sure that at her second appearing she stopped,
looked me in the face and vanished.'"*   It is cer-
tainly very curious that Mrs. Donne, who was then
in England, was at this  time sick in bed, and had
been delivered of a dead child, on the  same day,
and about the same hour, that the vision occurred.
There were distressing circumstances in the mar-
riage of Dr. Donne which account for his  mind
being strongly impressed with the image of his
wife, to whom he was exceedingly attached; but
these do not render the coincidence above related
less remarkable.
   I do not doubt that the apparition of Julius
Csesar, which appeared to Brutus, and declared it
would meet  him at Philippi, was either a dream
* Hibbert's Philosophy of Apparitions, p. 354. 
112
PHILOSOPHY
 or a spectral illusion—probably the latter.  Brutus,
 in  all likelihood, had  some idea that the battle
 which was to decide his fate would be fought at
 Philippi: probably it was a good military position,
 which he had fixed upon as a fit place to  make a
 final stand;  and he had done enough to Caesar to
 account for his own mind being painfully and con-
 stantly  engrossed with the image of the  assassi-
 nated Dictator.  Hence the verification  of this
 supposed warning — hence the easy explanation
 of a supposed supernatural event.
  At Newark-upon-Trent, a curious custom, found-
 ed upon the preservation of Alderman Clay and
 his family by a dream, has prevailed since the days
 of  Cromwell.  On the 11th March, every year,
 penny loaves  are  given  away to any one  who
 chooses to appear at the town hall and apply for
 them, in commemoration of the  alderman's  deli-
 verance, during the siege of Newark  by the parlia-
 mentary forces.  This gentleman, by  will,  dated
 11th  December, 1694, gave  to  the mayor and
 aldermen  one hundred pounds, the  interest  of
 which was  to be given to the  vicar  yearly, on
 condition  of his preaching an  annual  sermon.
 Another hundred pounds were also appropriated for
the behoof of the poor, in the way above men-
tioned.  The origin of this bequest is singular.
 During  the  bombardment of  Newark by Oliver
 Cromwell's forces,  the  alderman dreamed  three
 nights successively that his house had taken fire,
 which produced such a vivid impression upon his 
OF SLEEP.
113
 mind, that he and his family left it; and in a few
 days  the circumstances of his vision actually took
 place, by the house  being  burned down by the
 besiegers.
   Dr. Abercrombie relates the case of a gentleman
 in Edinburgh, who was affected with an aneurism
 of the popliteal artery, for  which he was under
 the care of  two eminent  surgeons.  About two
 days  before the  time appointed for the  operation,
 his wife  dreamed that a change had taken place
 in the disease, in consequence of which an opera-
 tion would not be  required.   " On examining the
 tumor in the morning, the gentleman  was asto-
 nished to  find  that  the  pulsation had entirely
 ceased;  and, in short, this  turned  out to be a
 spontaneous  cure.   To persons not professional,
 it may be right to mention that the cure of popli-
 teal aneurism, without an operation, is a very un-
 common occurrence, not happening, perhaps, in
 one out of numerous instances, and never to be
 looked upon as  probable in any individual case.
 It is likely, however, that the lady had heard of
 the possibility of such a termination, and that her
 anxiety had  very naturally  embodied this  into a
dream: the fulfilment of it, at the very time when
 the event took place, is certainly a very remarkable
 coincidence."*
  Persons are said to have had the period of their

 * Abercrombie'a Inquiries concerning the Intellectual Powers,
 p. 282,  1st edit. 
114
PHILOSOPHY
own death pointed out to them in dreams.  I have
often heard the case of the late Mr. M. of D----
related in support of this statement.  It is certainly
worth telling, not on account of any supernatural
character belonging to it, but simply from the ex-
traordinary  coincidence  between the dream and
the subsequent event.  This gentleman dreamed
one night that he was out riding, when he stopped
at an inn on the road side for refreshment, where
he  saw several people whom he had known some
years before,  but who  were all dead.  He was
received kindly by them, and desired to  sit down
and drink, which he accordingly did.  On quitting
this strange company, they exacted a promise from
him that he would visit them that day six weeks.
This he promised faithfully to do; and, bidding
them farewell, he rode  homewards.  Such was
the substance of  his dream, which he related in a
jocular  way to his friends, but thought no  more
about it, for  he was a person  above all  kind of
superstition.   The event, however, was certainly
curious  enough,  as well as melancholy; for on
that very day six weeks on which he had engaged
to meet  his friends  at the  inn, he was killed in
attempting to spring his horse  over a five-barred
gate.  The famous case of Lord Lyttleton* is also

  * " Of late it has been said and published, that the unfortunate
nobleman had previously determined to take poison, and of course,
had it in his own power to ascertain the execution of the prediction
It was, no doubt, singular that a man, who meditated his exitfrom
the world, should have chosen to play such a trick upon his friends. 
OF SLEEP.
115
 cited as an example of a similar kind, but with less
 show of reason, for this case is now very generally
 supposed to be an imposition ; and so will almost
 every other of the same kind, if narrowly investi-
 gated.  At the same time, I do not mean to doubt
 that such an event, foretold in a dream, may oc-
 casionally come to pass; but  I would refer  the
 whole to  fortuitous   coincidence.  Men  dream,
 every now and then, that they will die on a cer-
 tain day, yet how seldom do we see those predic-
 tions fulfilled by the result!  In very delicate peo-
 ple, indeed, such a visionary communication, by
 acting fatally upon the mind,  might be the means
 of occasioning its own fulfilment.  In such cases, it
 has been customary for the friends of the individual
 to put back the  clock an hour or two, so as to let
 the fatal period pass by without his being aware of
 it;  and as soon as it was fairly passed, to inform
him of the circumstance, and laugh him out of his
 apprehension.
  There is another way in which the apparent
fulfilment of a dream may be brought about.  A
good illustration in point is given by Mr. Combe.
 The subject of it was one Scott, executed in 1823,
at Jedburg, for murder.   " It  is stated  in his life,
that,  some years before  the  fatal  event, he had
dreamed that he had committed a murder, and

But it is still more credible that a whimsical man should do so wild
a thing, than that a messenger should be sent from the dead, to tell
a libertine at what precise hour he should expire."  ScoWs Letters
on Demonology, p. 361. 
516
PHILOSOPHY
 was greatly impressed with  the idea.  He  fre-
 quently spoke of it, and recurred to it as something
 ominous, till at last it was realized.   The organ of
 Destructiveness was large  in his head,  and so
 active that he was an enthusiast in poaching, and
 prone to outrage and violence  in his habitual con-
 duct.   This activity  of the  organ might  take
 place during sleep, and  then it would  inspire his
 mind with destructive feelings, and  the dream of
 murder would be the  consequence.  From  the
 great natural  strength of the  propensity, he pro-
 bably may  have felt,  when  awake, an  inward
 tendency to this crime ; and, joining this and the
 dream  together, we can  easily  account  for  the
 strong impression left by the latter on his mind."*
  One method  in which death may appear to be
 foretold is, by  the accession  of frightful  visions
 immediately before the fatal illnesses.  This, how-
ever, goes  for nothing in the way  of argument,.
for  it was the state of the system shortly  before
the  attack of disease which induced  such dreams.
According to Silimachus, the epidemic fever which
prevailed at Rome was ushered in  by attacks of
nightmare ;  and Sylvius Deleboe, who describes
the  epidemic which  raged  at Leyden in  1669,
states, that previous to each paroxysm of the fever,
 the  patient fell asleep, and suffered a  severe attack
of nightmare.   The  vulgar  belief, therefore, that
unpleasant dreams are ominous of death,  is not
* Combe's System of Phrenology, p. 511,3d edit. 
OF  SLEEP.
117
destitute of foundation;  but the  cause  why they
should be so is  perfectly natural.  It is the inci-
pient disease which produces the  dreams, and the
fatal  event  which often  follows, is a  natural
consequence of that disease.
  It is undoubtedly owing to the faculty possessed
by  sleep, of renewing long-forgotten ideas, that
persons  have had  important facts communicated
to them in dreams.  There have been  instances,
for  example, where valuable documents, sums  of
money,  &c,  have been concealed,  and  where
either the person who secreted them, or he who
had the  place of their  concealment communicated
to him, may have forgotten every thing therewith
connected.  He may then torture his mind in vain,
during  the waking state, to recollect the event;
and it may be  brought to his remembrance,  at
once, in a dream.  In such cases, an  apparition is
generally  the  medium through which  the  seem-
ingly mysterious  knowledge  is  communicated.
The imagination conjures up some phantom that
discloses the  secret;  which circumstance, pro-
ceeding, in reality, from  a simple operation of the
mind, is straightway converted  into something
supernatural, and invested  with all the attributes
of wonder and awe.   When such spectral  forms
appear,  and  communicate some fact which  turns
out to be founded on truth, the person is not always
aware that  the  whole occurred  in a dream, but
often fancies that  he  was broad  awake when the
apparition appeared to him and communicated the
         n 
118
PHILOSOPHY
 particular intelligence.  When we hear, therefore,
 of hidden treasures, wills, &c, being disclosed in
 such a manner, we are not  always to scout the
 report as false.  The spectre divulging the intelli-
 gence was  certainly the  mere  chimera  of the
 dreamer's brain, but the facts revealed, apparently
 by  this phantom,  may, from the above  circum-
 stance,  be  substantially  true.   The  following
 curious case is strikingly in point, and is given by
 Sir Walter Scott in his notes  to the new edition of
 " The Antiquary."
  " Mr. R----d  of Bowland, a gentleman of
 landed property in the Vale of Gala, was prosecuted
 for  a very considerable sum, the accumulated ar-
 rears of tiend, (or tithe,) for which he was said to
 be indebted to a  noble family, the  titulars (lay
 impropriators  of the tithes.)   Mr. R----d was
strongly impressed with the belief that  his father
had, by a  form of  process  peculiar to the law of
Scotland, purchased  these lands from  the titular,
and, therefore, that  the present prosecution was
groundless.   But  after  an  industrious   search
among his father's  papers, an investigation of the
public records, and  a  careful inquiry among all
persons who had transacted law business for his
father, no evidence could be recovered to  support
his  defence.  The period was now near at hand
when he conceived the loss of his lawsuit to be
inevitable, and he  had formed  the determination
to ride to Edinburgh next day, and make the best
bargain he could in the way of compromise.   He 
OF  SLEEP.
119
went to bed with this resolution, and, with all the
circumstances of the case floating upon his mind,
had a dream to the following purpose.  His father,
who had been many years dead, appeared to him,
he thought, and asked  him why he was disturbed
in his mind.   In dreams, men are not surprised at
such apparitions.  Mr. R----d thought  that  he
informed  his  father of the cause of his  distress,
adding, that the payment of a considerable sum of
money was the more unpleasant to him, because
he had a strong consciousness that it was not due,
though he was unable to recover any evidence in
support of his belief.  ' You are  right, my son,'
replied the paternal shade ; ' I did acquire right to
these tiends, for  payment of which you are now
prosecuted.  The papers relating to the transaction
are in  the hands of Mr.  ------, a writer, (or
attorney,) who is  now retired  from professional
business, and resides at Inveresk, near Edinburgh.
He was a person whom I employed on that occa-
sion for a particular reason, but who never on any
other occasion transacted business on my account.
It is very possible,' pursued the vision, ( that Mr.
------may have forgotten a matter which is now
of a very old date;  but you may call it to his
recollection by this  token, that when I came  to
pay his account, there was difficulty in getting
change for a Portugal piece of gold, and we were
forced to drink out the  balance at a tavern.'
  "Mr. R----d awoke in the morning with all
the words of the vision imprinted on his mind, and 
120
PHILOSOPHY
thought it worth while to walk across the country
to Iveresk, instead of going straight to Edinburgh.
When he came there, he waited on the gentleman
mentioned in the dream, a very old man.  With-
out saying anything of the vision, he inquired
whether he remembered having conducted such a
matter for his diseased father.   The old gentleman
could not at first  bring  the circumstance to his
recollection, but on mention of the Portugal piece
of gold, the whole returned upon his memory;  he
made an immediate search for the papers, and  re-
covered them—so that Mr.  R—— d carried  to
Edinburgh the documents necessary to gain the
cause which he was on the verge of losing.
   " The author has often  heard this story told  by
persons who had the best access to know the facts,
who were not likely themselves to be deceived, and
were certainly incapable of deception.  He cannot,
therefore, refuse to give it credit,  however extraor-
dinary the circumstances  may appear.   The cir-
cumstantial character  of the information given in
the dream, takes it out of the general class of im-
pressions of the kind, which are occasioned by the
fortuitous coincidence of  actual  events with our
sleeping  thoughts.  On the other hand, few will
suppose that  the laws of  nature were suspended,
and a special communication from the dead to the
living permitted, for the  purpose  of saving Mr.
R----d  a certain number of hundred  pounds.
The author's  theory is, that the dream  was only
the recapitulation of information which Mr. R----d 
                 OF S L E E P.               121

had  really received from his father while in  life,
but which  at first he merely recalled as  a general
impression that the claim was settled.   It  is not
uncommon  for persons to recover, during sleep,
the thread  of ideas which they have lost during
their  waking hours.  It may be added, that  this
remarkable circumstance was  attended  with  bad
consequences to Mr. R----d; whose health  and
spirits were afterwards  impaired, by the attention
which he thought himself obliged  to pay to the
visions of the night."  This result is a melancholy
proof of the effect  sometimes produced  by igno-
rance of natural laws.   Had  Mr.  R----d been
acquainted with the nature of the brain, and of the
manner in which  it is  affected in sleep, the cir-
cumstance above related would have given him no
annoyance.   He would have traced the  whole
chain of events to their true  source; but, being
ignorant of this, he became the victim of supersti-
tion, and his life was rendered miserable.

                      n* 
CHAPTER  V.
NIGHTMARE.
Nightmare  may  be defined  a painful dream,
accompanied with difficult respiratory action, and
a torpor in the powers of volition.  The reflecting
organs are generally more or less awake; and,
in this  respect, nightmare  differs  from simple
dreaming, where they are mostly quiescent.
  This  affection, the Ephialtes of the  Greeks,
and  Incubus of the  Romans, is one of the most
distressing to  which human  nature  is  subject.
Imagination cannot conceive the horrors it fre-
quently gives rise to, or language describe them in
adequate terms.  They are a thousand  times more
frightful than the  visions conjured  up by necro-
mancy or diablere; and far transcend every thing
in history or romance, from the fable of the writh-
ing and asp-encircled Laocoon to Dante's appalling
picture of Ugolino and  his famished offspring, or
the hidden tortures  of  the  Spanish  Inquisition.
The whole mind, during the paroxysm, is wrought
up to a pitch of unutterable despair:  a  spell is laid
upon the faculties, which freezes them into inac- 
PHILOSOPHY  OF SLEEP.      123
tion; and the wretched victim feels as if pent alive
in  his coffin, or overpowered by resistless and
immitigable pressure.
  The modifications which  nightmare  assumes
are infinite; but  one  passion  is  almost  never
absent—that of utter and incomprehensible dread.
Sometimes the sufferer is buried beneath  over-
whelming  rocks, which crush him on all  sides,
but still leave him with a miserable consciousness
of his situation.   Sometimes he is involved in the
coils of a horrid, slimy monster, whose eyes  have
the phosphorescent glare of the  sepulchre, and
whose breath is poisonous as the marsh of Lerna.
Every thing horrible, disgusting, or terrific in the
physical or moral world, is brought before him in
fearful array; he is hissed at by serpents, tortured
by  demons, stunned  by the  hollow  voices and
cold touch of apparitions.   A mighty stone is laid
upon his breast, and crushes him to the ground
in helpless agony: mad bulls and tigers pursue
his palsied footsteps:  the unearthly shrieks and
gibberish of hags, witches, and fiends float around
him.   In whatever situation he may be placed, he
feels superlatively wretched :  he is Ixion working
for ages  at his wheel: he is Sisyphus rolling his
eternal stone : he is stretched upon the iron bed of
Procrustes : he is prostrated by inevitable destiny
beneath  the  approaching wheels of the car of
Juggernaut.  At  one moment, he may have the
consciousness of a malignant demon being at his
side: then to shun the sight of so appalling an 
124
PHILOSOPHY
object, he will close his eyes, but still the fearful
being  makes  its presence known;   for  its  icy
breath is felt diffusing itself over  his visage, and
he knows that he is  face  to  face with a fiend.
Then, if he look up, he beholds horrid eyes glaring
upon him, and an  aspect of hell grinning at him
with even more than hellish malice.   Or,  he may
have the idea of a monstrous  hag squatted upon
his breast—mute, motionless, and  malignant; an
incarnation of the  Evil Spirit—whose intolerable
weight crushes the breath  out of his body, and
whose fixed, deadly, incessant stare petrifies him
with  horror  and  makes his  very existence  in-
sufferable.
  In every instance, there is a sense of oppression
and  helplessness;  and the  extent  to which these
are carried, varies according to the violence of the
paroxysm.   The individual never  feels  himself a
free  agent; on the contrary he is spell-bound by
some enchantment, and  remains  an  unresisting
victim for malice to work its will  upon.  He  can
neither breathe, nor  walk,  nor  run,  with  his
wonted facility.  If pursued  by  any  imminent
danger, he can hardly drag one  limb after  an-
other ;  if  engaged  in  combat,   his blows  are
utterly ineffective ; if involved in the fangs of any
animal, or in the grasp of an enemy, extrication is
impossible.  He struggles,  he pants, he toils, but
it is  all in vain: his muscles are rebels to the will,
and  refuse to  obey its calls.  In no case is there
a sense  of complete  freedom:  the  benumbing 
OF SLEEP.
125
 stupor never departs  from him;  and  his whole
 being is locked up in  one mighty spasm.  Some-
 times he is forcing himself through an aperture
 too small for the reception of his body, and is there
 arrested and tortured by the pangs of suffocation
 produced by the pressure to which he is exposed;
 or he loses his way in a narrow labyrinth, and
 gets  involved  in  its contracted and inextricable
 mazes;  or  he is  entombed  alive  in a  sepulchre,
 beside the mouldering dead.  There is, in most
 cases, an intense reality in all that he sees,  or
 hears, or feels.  The aspects of the hideous phan-
 toms which  harass his imagination are bold and
 defined; the sounds which  greet his ear  appall-
 ingly distinct; and when any  dimness or confu-
 sion  of imagery  does  prevail,  it  is of  the most
 fearful  kind,  leaving  nothing but  dreary  and
 miserable impressions behind it.
  Much of the horror experienced in nightmare
 will depend upon the natural activity of the ima-
 gination, upon the condition of the body, and up-
 on the  state of mental exertion before  going  to
 sleep.  If, for instance, we have been engaged  in
 the perusal  of  such works as "The Monk," "The
 Mysteries of Udolpho," or "Satan's Invisible World
 Discovered ;" and if an attack of nightmare should
 supervene,  it will be  aggravated into  sevenfold
 horror by the spectral  phantoms with  which our
minds have been thereby filled.  We will enter into
all the fearful mysteries of these writings, which,
 instead of being mitigated by slumber, acquire an 
126
PHILOSOPHY
intensity which they never could have possessed in
the waking  state.   The  apparitions of murdered
victims, like the form of Banquo, which wrung the
guilty conscience of Macbeth, will stalk before us ;
we are surrounded by sheeted ghosts, which glare
upon us with their cold sepulchral eyes; our habi-
tation is among the vaults of ancient cathedrals, or
among the dungeons of  ruined  monasteries, and
our companions are the dead.
  At other times, an association of  ludicrous im-
ages passes through the mind:  every thing becomes
incongruous ridiculous, and absurd.   But even in
the midst of such preposterous fancies, the passion
of mirth is  never for  one moment excited: the
same blank despair, the same  freezing inertia, the
same stifling tortures, still harass us; and so far
from being amused by the laughable drama enact-
ing before us, we behold it with sensations of un-
defined horror and disgust.
  In general, during an attack,  the person has the
consciousness of an utter inability to express his
horror by cries.  He feels that his voice is half
choked by impending suffocation,  and  that any
exertion of it, farther than a deep sigh or groan, is
impossible.  Sometimes, however, he conceives that
he is bellowing with prodigious energy, and  won-
ders that  the household  are  not alarmed by his
noise.  But this is an illusion: those outcries which
he  fancies himself uttering,  are merely  obscure
moans, forced  with difficulty and pain from the
stifled penetralia of his bosom. 
OF SLEEP.
127
   Nightmare takes place under various circumstan-
 ces.  Sometimes, from a state of perfect sleep, we
 glide into it, and feel ourselves unconciously over-
 taken  by its attendant horrors: at other times, we
 experience it  stealing upon us like a  thief, at a
 period when we are all but awake, and aware of its
 approach.  We have then  our  senses  about  us,
 only, perhaps a little  deadened and confused by
 incipient slumber; and we feel the gradual advance
 of the fiend, without arousing ourselves, and scar-
 ing  him away, although we appear to possess  the
 full  ability of doing so.   Some  persons, immedi-
 ately previous  to  an  attack,  have sensations of
 vertigo and ringing in the ears.
  At one time, nightmare  melts into  unbroken
 sleep or  pleasing dreams; and we  awake in  the
 morning with merely  the remembrance of having
 had one of its attacks; at  another, it arouses us by
 its violence, and we start out of it with a  convul-
 sive shudder.  At  the moment of  throwing  off
 the fit, we seem to turn round upon the side with
 a mighty effort, as if from beneath the pressure of
 a superincumbent weight;  and,  the  more tho-
 roughly  to awake ourselves, we generally kick
 violently, beat the breast, rise up in bed, and cry
 out once or twice.   As soon as we are able to ex-
 ercise the voice or voluntary muscles with freedom,
 the paroxysm is at an end; but for some time after,
we experience extreme terror, and often cold shiv-
ering, while the heart  throbs violently, and  the res-
piration is hurried.  These two latter circumstan- 
128
PHILOSOPHY
 ces are doubted by Dr. Darwin, but I am convinc-
 ed of their existence,  both from what I have ex-
 perienced  in  my own person, and from what I
 have been told by others: indeed, anology would
 irresistibly lead us to conclude  that they must
 exist; and whoever carefully investigates the sub-
 ject, will find that they do almost universally.
   An  opinion prevails, that during  incubus  the
 person is always upon  his back ;  and the circum-
 stance of  his usually feeling as if in that posture,
 together  with the relief which he experiences on
 turning round upon his side,  are certainly strong
 presumptions in favor of its accuracy.  The sensa-
 tions, however, which occur, in this state, are falla-
 cious in the highest degree.  We have seldom any
 evidence either that he was on his back,  or that he
 turned round  at all.   The fact, that he supposed
 himself in the above position during the fit, and
 the other fact, that, on  recovering from it, he was
lying on his side, may have produced the illusion;
 and, where he never moved a single muscle, he
 may conceive that he turned round after a prodi-
gious effort.  I have had an attack of this disor-
der while sitting in an  arm-chair, or with my head
leaning against a table.  In fact, these are the most
likely positions to bring it on, the lungs being then
more completely compressed than in almost any
other posture.  I have  also had it most  distinctly
while lying on the side, and I know  many cases of
a similar description in others.  Although, there-
fore, nightmare may take place more frequently 
OF  SLEEP.
129
upon the back than  upon the side, the opinion
that it occurs only in the former of these postures,
is altogether  incorrect;  and where we are  much
addicted to its  attacks, no  posture whatever will
protect us.
  Persons not particularly subject to incubus, feel
no inconvenience, save temporary terror or fatigue,
from any occasional attack which they may have ;
but those with whom it  is habitual, are apt to ex-
perience a certain degree of giddiness, ringing in
the ears, tension of the  forehead, flashing of light
before the eyes, and  other symptoms of cerebral
congestion.  A bad taste in the mouth,  and more or
less fulness about the pit of the stomach, are some-
times experienced after an attack.
  The illusions which occur, are perhaps the most
extraordinary phenomena of nightmare ;  and so
strongly are they often impressed upon the mind,
that, even on awaking, we find it impossible not to
believe  them real.  We may, for example, be sen-
sible of knockings at the door of our apartment,
hear familiar voices calling upon us, and see indi-
viduals passing through the chamber.   In many
cases, no arguments, no efforts of the  understand-
ing will convince us that these are merely the chi-
meras of sleep.   We regard them as  events of
actual occurrence, and will  not be persuaded to
the contrary.   With some, such a belief has gone
down to the grave:  and others have maintained
it strenuously  for years, till a recurrence  of the
illusions, under  circumstances  which  rendered
          12 
13o            PHILOSOPHY

their real existence impossible, has shown them
that  the whole  was  a dream.   Many  a good
ghost story has had its source  in the illusions of
nightmare.
  The  following case  related by  Mr. Waller,
gives a good idea of the strength of such illusive
feelings.
  " In the month of February, 1814,1 was living
in the same house with a young gentleman,  the
son of a peer of  the United Kingdom, who was at
that  time under my care, in a very alarming state
of health ;  and who had been, for several days, in
a state of violent delirium.  The close attention
which his case required from me, together with a
degree of personal attachment to him, had render-
ed me extremely anxious about him; and as my
usual hours of sleep suffered a great  degree of in-
terruption from the attendance given to him, I was,
from that cause alone, rendered more than usually
liable to the attacks of nightmare,  which conse-
quently intruded itself every night upon my slum-
bers. The young gentleman in question, from the
violence of his delirium, was with great difficulty
kept in  bed ;  and had once or twice  eluded the vi-
gilance  of  his attendants, and jumped out of bed;
an accident of which  I was every moment dread-
ing a repetition.  I awoke from my sleep  one morn-
ing about four o'clock—at least it appeared to me
that I  awoke—and heard distinctly the voice of
this  young gentleman, who  seemed to be coming
hastily up the stairs leading to  my apartment^ call- 
OF  SLEEP.
131
 ing me by name, in the manner he was accustom-
 ed to do in his delirium; and immediately after, I
 saw him standing by my bedside, holding the cur-
 tains open, expressing all that wildness in his  looks
 which accompanies violent delirium. At the  same
 moment, I heard the voices  of his two attendants
 coming up the stairs in  search of him, who like-
 wise  came into the room and  took  him away.
 During  all this scene I was  attempting to speak,
 but could not articulate ; I thought, however, that
 I succeeded in attempting to  get out of bed, and
 assisting his attendants in removing him out of the
 room ; after which, I returned to bed, and instant-
 ly fell asleep.  When I waited upon my patient in
 the morning, I was not a little surprised to find that
 he was asleep; and was utterly confounded on be-
 ng told that he had been so all night; and as this
 was the first sleep he had enjoyed for three or four
 days, the attendants were very minute in detailing
 the whole particulars of it.  Although this account
 appeared inconsistent with what I conceived  I had
 seen,  and with  what I concluded they knew as
 well as  myself, I did not, for some time, perceive
 the error into which I had been led, till I observed
 that some of my questions and remarks were not
 intelligible ; then I began to suspect the true source
of the error, which I should never have discovered
had not experience rendered these hallucinations
familiar to me.   But the whole of this transaction
had so  much consistency and probability in it,
fhat I might, under different circumstances, have 
132
PHILOSOPHY
remained forever ignorant of having been impos-
ed upon in this instance, by my senses."*
  During nightmare, the deepness of the  slumber
varies much at different times.  Sometimes we are
in a state closely approximating upon perfect sleep ;
at other times we are almost completely awake ;
and it will be remarked, that the more awake we
are, the greater is the violence of the paroxysm.
I have experienced the affection stealing upon me
while in perfect possession of my faculties, and
have undergone the greatest tortures, being haunt-
ed by spectres, hags, and every sort of phantom —
having, at the same time, a full consciousness that
I was laboring under incubus, and that all the ter-
rifying objects around  me were  the  creations of
my own brain.  This shows that the judgment  is
often  only very partially affected, and proves also
that nightmare is not merely a disagreeable dream,
but a painful  bodily affection.   Were  it  nothing
more  than the former, we could rarely possess a
knowledge of our condition ; for, in simple visions,
the reflecting organs are almost uniformly quies-
cent, and we scarcely ever, for  a moment, doubt
the reality of our impressions.  In nightmare, this
is  often,  perhaps  generally, the case; but we fre-
quently meet with instances, in which, during the
worst periods of the fit, consciousness remains al-
most unimpaired.
  There are great differences in the duration  of
the paroxysm, and also in the facility with which
* Waller's Treatise. 
OF SLEEP.
133
it is broken.  I know not of any method by which
the period to which it extends can be estimated,
for the sufferer has no data to go by, and time, as
in all modifications of dreaming, is subjected to the
most capricious  laws—an actual  minute often
appearing  to  embrace  a  whole hour.  Of this
point, therefore, we must  be  contented to  remain
in ignorance; but it may be conceived that the at-
tack  will be as various in its duration, as in the
characters  which  it assumes—in one  case being
ten times as long as  in another.  With  regard to
the breaking of the fit, the differences are equally
great. At one time, the slightest  agitation  of the
body, the opening  of the chamber door, or calling
softly to  the sufferer, will arouse him; at another,
he requires to be shaken violently, and called upon
long and loudly, before he is released.
  Some  people are much more prone to incubus
than others.  Those whose digestion is healthy,
whose minds are at  ease, and  who go supperless
to bed, will seldom be troubled with it.   Those,
again, who keep late hours, study hard, eat heavy
suppers, and are subject to bile, acid, or hypochon-
dria, are almost sure to be more or less its victims.
There are  particular kinds of food, which  pretty
constantly lead to the same result, such as  cheese,
cucumbers, almonds, and whatever  is hard to be
digested.  Hildesheim, in  his " De Affectibus Ca-
pitis," justly  remarks,  that "he  who  wishes to
know what nightmare is, let  him  eat chestnuts
           12* 
134
PHILOSOPHY
before going to sleep, and drink feculent wine after
them."
  Certain diseases, also, are apt to induce it, such
as  asthma,  hydrothorax, angina  pectoris, and
other varieties of dyspnoea.  Men are more subject
to it than women, probably from their stomachs
being more frequently disordered by intemperance,
and their  minds more  closely occupied.  Sailors,
owing to the hard and indigestible nature of their
food, are very frequently  its victims;  and it is a
general remark  that it  oftener occurs  at sea than
on  shore.  It seems probable that  much of the
superstitious belief of these  men, in apparitions,
proceeds from  the  phantoms which  nightmare
calls into existence.   Unmarried women are more
annoyed by it than  those who are married ; and
the latter, when pregnant, have it oftener than at
other times. Persons who were extremely subject
to the complaint in their youth, sometimes get rid
of it when they reach the age of puberty, owing,
probably, to some change in the constitution which
occurs  at this period.
  There have  been different opinions with  re-
gard to the  proximate  cause  of incubus, and au-
thors have generally looked upon it as  involved in
considerable obscurity.  An  impeded  circulation
of blood in the pulmonary arteries, compression of
the diaphragm by a full stomach, and torpor of the
intercostal muscles, are all mentioned as  contri-
buting wholly, or partially, to the event.  I am of
opinion that either of these states may cause night- 
OF  SLEEP.
135
mare, but that, in most cases, they are all co m-
bined.   Any thing, in  fact, which impedes respi-
ration, may give rise to the disorder, whether it be
asthma, hydrothorax, distended stomach, muscular
torpor,  or  external  compression.  The   causes,
then, are various, but it will be found that, what-
ever they may be, their ultimate operation is upon
the lungs.
  We have already seen that, in ordinary sleep,
particular states of the body are apt to  induce
visions:  it is, therefore, easily conceivable that  a
sense of suffocation, such as occurs in nightmare,
may give birth to all the horrid phantoms seen in
that distemper.  The physical suffering in such a
case, exalts the imagination  to its utmost pitch :
fills it with spectres and chimeras ; and plants an
immovable weight or malignant fiend upon the
bosom to crush  us  into agony.   Let us see how
such physical suffering is brought about.
  Any disordered state of the stomach may pro-
duce it.   First. — This organ may be so  distend-
ed with  food or wind  as  to press upon the dia-
phragm, lessen the  dimensions  of the  chest,
obstruct the movements of the heart, and thereby
impede   respiration.   Circumstances  like  these
alone are sufficient to produce nightmare; and the
cause from the first is purely mechanical.
  Secondly. — The state of the stomach may call
forth incubus by means more circuitous  or indi-
rect.  In this case, the viscus is unequal to the task
imposed upon it of digesting the food, either from 
136
PHILOSOPHY
 an unusual  quantity  being  thrown upon it, from
 the food being of an indigestible  nature,  or from
 actual weakness.   Here the sensorial power latent
 in this organ, is  insufficient to carry  it through
 with its operations, and it is  obliged to draw upon
 the rest of the body—upon the brain, the respira-
 tory muscles, (fee, for the supply of which it is
 deficient.  The muscles of respiration, in giving
 their portion, reduce themselves to a state of tem-
 porary debility, and do not retain a sufficient share
 to execute their own actions with due vigor.  The
 pectorals, the intercostals, and the diaphragm be-
 come  thus paralyzed; and,  the chest  not being
 sufficiently dilated for  perfect breathing, a feeling
 of suffocation inevitably ensues.  In like manner,
 the muscles of volition, rendered inert by the sub-
 traction of their quota of sensorial power, are un-
 able to exercise their functions, and remain, during
 the  paroxysm,  in a state of immovable  torpor.
 This unequal distribution of  nervous energy con-
 tinues till, by producing some excessive uneasiness,
 it stimulates the will to a violent effort, and breaks
 the fit; and so soon as this takes place, the balance
 becomes redressed,  and the sensorial equilibrium
 restored.
  Physical suffering of that kind which impedes
 breathing, may also be occasioned by many other
 causes—by pneumonia, by empyema, by aneurism
 of the aorta, by laryngitis, by croup, by external
pressure; and,  accordingly,  either of these may
give rise to nightmare.  If we chance to lie down 
OF  SLEEP.
137
with a pillow or heavy cloak upon  the breast, or
to sleep with the body bent forward, and the head
supported upon a table, as already mentioned, we
may be  seized with it; and, in truth, whatever,
either directly or indirectly, acts upon the respira-
tory muscles, and impedes their operation, is pretty
sure to bring it on.  Even a weak or disordered
stomach,  in which there is no food, by attracting
to itself a portion of their sensorial power to aid its
own inadequacies, may induce  it.  The disorder,
therefore, takes place under various circumstances
—either by direct pressure upon the lungs, as in
distended stomach,  or hydrothorax; or by partial
torpor of the stomach or muscles of respiration,
owing to a deficiency of nervous energy.  These
physical impediments coexisting with, or giving
rise to a distempered state of the brain, sufficiently
account for the horrors of nightmare.
   Why are hard students, deep thinkers, and hypo-
chondriacs unusually subject to incubus?  The
cause is  obvious.   Such individuals have often a
bad digestion : their stomachs are subject to acidity,
and other functional derangements, and therefore,
peculiarly apt  to generate the  complaint.  The
sedentary life, and habits of intellectual or melan-
choly reflection in which they indulge, have a ten-
dency not merely to disturb the digestive apparatus,
but to act upon the whole cerebral system: hence,
they are far more liable to dreams of every kind
than other people,  in so  far as  their minds  are
more intently employed; and when, in sleep, they 
138
PHILOSOPHY
'  are pained by any physical endurance, the activity
  of their mental powers will naturally associate the
  most horrible ideas with such  suffering, and pro-
  duce incubus, and all its frightful accompaniments.
    Nightmare is sometimes attended with danger,
  when it becomes habitual.  It  may then give rise
  to  apoplexy, and destroy life; or, in very nervous
  subjects, may  occasion  epileptic  and  hysterical
  affections, which prove extremely harassing.  Ac-
  cording to  Coelius Aurelianus, many people die of
  this complaint.   Probably  some of those who are
  found dead in bed have lost  their lives in a fit of
  incubus, the circumstance being imputed to some
  other cause.  Nightmare is  thus, in some cases
  dangerous : and in all, when it becomes habitual,
  is such a source of misery, that sleep, instead of
  being courted as a period of blissful repose, is looked
  upon with horror, as the appointed season of inex-
  pressible suffering and dread.   It becomes, on this
  account, a matter of importance to contrive some
  method for preventing the attacks of so distressful
  a malady.   The cause, whatever it may be, must,
  if practicable, be removed, and the symptoms thence
  arising will naturally disappear.  If the disorder
  proceed from heavy suppers, or indigestible food,
  these things ought to  be given  up, and the person
  should either go supperless to bed, or with such a
  light meal  as will not hurt his  digestion.  Salted
  provisions  of all kinds must be  abandoned, nor
  should he taste any thing which will lie  heavily
  upon the stomach, or run into fermentation.  For 
OF SLEEP.
139
this reason,  nuts, cucumbers, cheese, ham,  and
fruits are all prejudicial.  If he be subject to heart-
burn,  flatulence, and other dyspeptic symptoms,
he should make use of occasional doses of magne-
sia, or carbonate of potash or soda.   I have known
a tea-spoonful of either of the two latter, or  three
times that quantity of the former, taken before step-
ping into bed, prevent an attack, where, from the
previous state of the stomach, I am convinced it
would have taken place, had those medicines  not
been used.   Great attention  must be paid to  the
state of the bowels.  For  this purpose,  the colo-
cynth, the compound rhubarb, or the  common
aloetic pill, should be made use of, in doses of one,
two, or three, according  to circumstances, till the
digestive organs are brought into proper play.
The common blue pill,  used with proper caution,
is  also an  excellent medicine.  In all cases,  the
patient should take  abundant exercise, shun late
hours, or too much study, and keep his mind in as
cheerful a state as possible. The bed he lies on ought
to be hard,  and the pillow not very high.   When
the attacks are frequent, and extremely severe, Dr.
Darwin recommends that an alarm clock might be
hung up in the room, so  that the repose may be
interrupted at short  intervals.  It  is a good plan
to  have another person to sleep in  the same bed,
who might arouse him from the paroxysm ; and he
should be directed to lie as little as possible upon
the back.
   These points  comprehend the principal treat- 
140
PHILOSOPHY
ment, and when persevered in, will rarely fail to
mitigate or remove the disease.  Sometimes, how-
ever, owing to certain peculiarities of constitution,
it may be necessary to  adopt a different  plan, or
combine  other means along with the above : thus,
Whytt, who was subject to nightmare, could only
insure himself against an attack, by taking a small
glassful  of brandy, just before going to bed ; and
some individuals find that a light supper prevents
the fit, while it is sure to occur if no supper at all
be taken.  But these are rare exceptions to the
general rule, and, when  they do  occur, must be
treated in that manner which experience proves
most effectual, without being bound too nicely by
the ordinary modes of cure.   Blood-letting, which
some  writers recommend,  is  useless  or  hurtful,
except in cases where  there is reason to suppose
that  the affection is  brought on by  plethora.
With  regard to the other causes of nightmare,
such  as asthma, hydrothorax, &c, these must be
treated on  general principles, and it, as one of
their symptoms, will depart  so soon  as  they are
removed.
   Some persons recommend opium for the cure of
nightmare, but this medicine I should think more
likely to aggravate than relieve  the complaint.
The late Dr. Polydori, author of " The Vampyre,"
and  of  an "Essay on  Positive  Pleasure,"  was
much subject to incubus, and in the habit of using
opium for its removal.  One morning he was found
 dead, and on  a table  beside him  stood a glass, 
OF SLEEP.
141
which had  evidently contained laudanum  and
water.  From this, it was supposed he had killed
himself by his own treatment;  but whether the
quantity of laudanum taken by him would have
destroyed  life  in  ordinary  circumstances,  has
never been ascertained.
13 
CHAPTER  VI.
                   DAYMARE.


I have strong doubts as to the propriety of con-
sidering this  affection in any way different from
the incubus,  or  nightmare.   It seems merely a
modification of the latter, only accompanied by no
aberration of the judgment.   The person endures
precisely many of the same  feelings, such as dif-
ficult respiration, torpor of the voluntary  muscles,
deep sighing, extreme terror,  and inability to speak.
The only difference which seems to exist between
the two  states is, that,  in daymare, the reason
is alvmys unclouded—whereas in incubus it is
generally more or less disturbed.
   Dr.  Mason Good, in  his " Study of Medicine,"
takes notice of a case, recorded by Forestus, " that
returned periodically every third day, like  an inter-
mittent fever.  The patient was a girl, nine years
of age, and at these times was  suddenly attacked
with great terror, a constriction of both the lower
and upper belly, with urgent difficulty of breath-
ing.  Her eyes continued open, and were perma-
nently continued to one spot; with her hands she 
        PHILOSOPHY  OF SLEEP.      143

forcibly grasped hold  of  things, that she might
breathe the more easily.  When spoken to, she re-
turned no  answer.  In the meantime, the mind
seemed to  be collected;  she was without sleep ;
sighed repeatedly; the abdomen was elevated, the
thorax  still violently contracted, and oppressed
with  laborious  respiration  and  heavy  panting:
she was incapable of utterance."
   During the intensely  hot summer of 1825,  I
experienced an attack of daymare.   Immediately
after dining, I threw myself on my back upon  a
sofa, and, before I was  aware, was seized with dif-
ficult respiration, extreme dread, and utter incapa-
bility of motion  or speech.   I could neither move
nor cry, while the breath came from my chest in
broken  and suffocating paroxysms.   During all
this time, I was  perfectly awake : I saw the light
glaring in at the windows in broad sultry streams;
I felt  the intense heat of the day pervading my
frame ; and heard distinctly the different noises in
the street, and even the ticking of my own watch,
which I had placed on the cushion beside me.  I
had,  at the same time, the consciousness of  flies
buzzing around, and settling with annoying perti-
nacity upon my  face.  During the whole fit, judg-
ment was never  for a moment suspended.  I felt
assured that I labored under a species of incubus.
I even endeavored to reason myself out of the feel-
ing of dread  which  filled my mind, and longed
with  insufferable ardor for  some one to open the
door, and dissolve the spell which bound me in its 
144      PHILOSOPHY  OF  SLEEP.

fetters.  The fit did not continue above five  min
utes: by degrees I recovered the use of speech and
motion: and as soon as they were so far  restored
as to enable me to call out and move my limbs, it
wore insensibly away.
  Upon the whole, I consider daymare  and night-
mare  identical.  They proceed from  the same
causes, and must be treated in a  similar manner. 
CHAPTER  VII
SLEEP-WALKING
 In simple dreaming, as I have already stated, some
 of the cerebral organs are awake, while others con-
 tinue in the  quiescence  of sleep.  Such,  also,  is
 the case in somnambulism, but with this addition,
 that the dream is of so forcible a nature as to sti-
 mulate into  action the muscular  system  as  well
 as, in most cases, one or  more of the organs of the
 senses.  If we dream that we are walking,  and
 the vision possesses  such a degree  of vividness
 and exciting  energy as to arouse  the muscles of
 locomotion, we naturally get up and walk.  Should
 we dream that we hear or see, and the impression
 be so vivid as to stimulate the eyes and ears, or,
 more properly speaking,  those  parts of the brain
 which take cognizance of sights and sounds, then
 we both see any objects, or hear any sounds, which
 may occur, just  as  if we were  awake.  In some
 cases, the muscles only are excited, and then we
simply walk,  without either seeing or hearing. In
others, both the muscles  and organs of sight  are
stimulated, and we not only walk, but have  the
           13* 
146
PHILOSOPHY
use of our  eyes.  In a third  variety, the activity
of hearing  is added, and we both walk, and see,
and hear.   Should the  senses of smell, taste, and
touch be stimulated into activity, and  relieved
from the torpor into which  they were thrown by
sleep, we have  them also brought into  operation.
If. to all this, we add an active state of the organs
of speech, inducing us to talk, we are then brought
as nearly as the slumbering state  admits, into the
condition of perfect wakefulness.   The following
passage from Dr. Mason Good will illustrate some
of the foregoing points more fully.
   "If,"  observes he, "the external  organ of sense
thus stimulated be  that of sight, the dreamer may
perceive objects around him, and be able to dis-
tinguish them;  and if the tenor of the dreaming
ideas should as powerfully operate upon the mus-
cles of locomotion, these also may be thrown into
their accustomed state of action, and he may rise
from his bed, and make his way to whatever place
the drift of his  dream  may direct him, with per-
fect ease, and free from danger.  He will see more
or less  distinctly,  in proportion as the organ  of
sight is more or less awake : yet, from the increas-
ed exhaustion, and, of course, increased torpor of
the other organs, in  consequence of an increased
demand of sensorial power from the common
stock, to supply the action of the  sense  and mus-
cles immediately engaged, every other  sense will
probably be thrown  into a deeper sleep or torpor
than  if the whole had been quiescent.  Hence, 
OF SLEEP.
147
the ears may not be roused even by a sound that
might otherwise awake  the sleeper.   He may be
insensible not only to a slight touch, but a se-
vere shaking of the limbs; and may even cough
violently, without being  recalled from his dream.
Having accomplished the object of his visionary
pursuit, he may safely return, even over the most
dangerous precipices—for he sees them distinctly—
to his bed : and the organ of sight being now quite
exhausted, or there being no longer any occasion
for its use, it may once more associate in the ge-
neral inactivity, and  the dream take a new turn,
and consist of a new  combination of images."*
  I suspect that sleep-walking is sometimes here-
ditary, at least I have known instances which gave
countenance to such a supposition. Its victims are
generally pale, nervous, irritable persons ; and it is
remarked that they are subject, without any appa-
rent cause, to frequent attacks of cold perspiration.
Somnambulism, I have had occasion to remark, is
very common among children ; and I believe that
it more frequently affects childhood than any other
age.  In females,  it sometimes arises from ame-
norrhoea; and  any source of bodily or mental ir-
ritation  may produce it.  It is a curious, and  not
easily explained fact,  that the aged, though they
dream more than the  middle-aged, are less addict-
ed  to somnambulism and sleep-talking.  Indeed,
these phenomena are seldom noticed in old people.
  It has  been  matter of surprise to many,  that

      Good's Study of Medicine, vol. iv. p. 175> 3d edit. 
148
PHILOSOPHY
 somnambulists often get into the most dangerous
 situations without experiencing  terror.  But the
 explanation of this ought not to  be attended with
 any real difficulty; for we must reflect, that alarm
 cannot  be  felt unless we apprehend danger, and
 that the latter, however great it may be, cannot ex-
 cite emotion of any kind, so long as we are igno-
 rant of its existence.  This  is  the situation  in
 which sleep-walkers, in a great majority of cases,
 stand.   The reasoning faculties,  which point out
 the existence of danger, are generally in a state of
 complete slumber, and  unable  to produce  cor-
 responding emotions in the mind.  And even if
 danger should be perceived by a  sleep-walker and
 avoided, as is sometimes the case, his want of ter-
 ror is to be imputed to a quiescent state of the or-
 gan of Cautiousness; the sense of fear originating
 in high  excitement of this particular part of the
 brain.  That the reasoning faculties, however, are
 sometimes  only very partially suspended we have
 abundant evidence, in the  fact of the individual
 not only now and then studiously avoiding  dan-
 ger, but performing offices which  require no small
 degree of judgment.  In the higher kinds of som-
 nambulism,  so many of the organs of the brain
 are in activity, and there is  such  perfect wakeful-
ness of the external senses and locomotive powers,
that the person may almost be said to be awake.
  Somnambulism bears a closer analogy than a
 common dream to madness.  " Like madness, it is
 accompanied with muscular action, with coherent 
OF SLEEP.
149
 and incoherent conduct, and with that complete
 oblivion (in most cases) of both, which takes place
 in the worst grade of madness."*
   Somnambulists generally walk with their  eyes
 open, but these organs are, nevertheless frequently
 asleep, and do not exercise their functions.  This
 fact was well known to Shakspeare, as is apparent
 in the fearful instance of Lady Macbeth :

        " Doctor. You see her eyes are open.
         Gentleman.  Ay, but their sense is shut."

   The following is a remarkable instance in point,
 and shows that though  the power of vision was
 suspended, that of hearing  continued in full ope-
 ration.
   A female  servant  in the town of  Chelmsford,
 surprised the family, at four o'clock one morning,
 by walking down a flight of stairs in her sleep,
 and rapping  at  the, bed-room door of her master,
 who inquired what she wanted?  when,  in  her
 usual tone of voice, she requested some cotton,
 saying that she had torn her gown, but hoped that
 her mistress would forgive her:  at the same time
 bursting into tears. Her fellow-servant, with whom
 she had been conversing for some  time, observed
 her get out  of bed, and quickly followed  her,
but not before she had  related  the pitiful story.
She then returned to her room, and a light having
 been procured, she was found groping to find her
* Rush's Medical Inquiries. 
150
PHILOSOPHY
cotton-box.  Another person went to her, when,
perceiving a difference in the voice, she called out,
" That is a different voice,  that is my  mistress,"
which was not the case—thus clearly showing, that
she did not see the object  before her, although her
eyes were wide open. Upon inquiry as to what was
the matter, she only said that she wanted some cot-
ton, but  that her fellow-servant had been to her
master and mistress, making a fuss about it. It was
now thought prudent that  she should be  allowed
to remain quiet for some short time, and  she was
persuaded to lie down with  her fellow-servant, un-
til the usual  hour of rising,  thinking that she
might then awake in her accustomed manner.
This failing in effect, her mistress went up to her
room, and rather angrily desired her to get up, and
go to  her work, as it was now six o'clock;  this
she refused, telling her mistress that if she did not
please her, she might look out for another servant,
at the same time saying, that she would  not rise
up at  two o'clock, (pointing to the window,) to in-
jure her  health for any one.   For the sake of a
joke, she was told to pack up her things, and start
off immediately,  but to this she made no reply.
She rebuked her fellow-servant for not remaining
longer in bed, and shortly after this became quiet.
She was  afterwards shaken violently, and awoke.
She then rose, and seeing the cotton-box disturbed,
demanded to know why it had been meddled with,
not knowing that she alone was the cause of it.  In
the course of the day, several questions were put 
OF  SLEEP.
151
 to her in order to try her recollection, but the real
 fact of her walking, was not made known to her •
 and  she is still  quite unconscious  of what has
 transpired.
   The next case is of a  different description, and
 exhibits a dormant state of the sense  of hearing,
 while sight  appears, throughout, to have  been  in
 active operation.
   A  young man named Johns, who works  at
 Cardrew, near Redruth,  being asleep in the sump-
 house of that mine, was  observed  by two boys  to
 rise and walk to the door, against which he leaned;
 shortly after, quitting that position, he walked  to
 the engine-shaft, and safely descended to the depth
 of twenty fathoms, where  he was  found by his
 comrades soon after, with his back resting on the
 ladder.   They called to him, to apprize him of the
 perilous situation in which he was, but he did not
 hear  them, and  they were obliged to  shake him
 roughly till  he awoke, when he appeared totally
 at a loss to account for his being so situated.
  In Lodge's " Historical Portraits," there is a like-
 ness,  by Sir  Peter  Lely,  of  Lord Culpepper's
 brother, so famous as a dreamer.  In 1686, he was
 indicted at the Old Bailey, for shooting one of the
 Guards, and his horse to boot.   He pleaded som-
nambulism,  and was  acquitted  on  producing
nearly fifty witnesses, to  prove  the extraordinary
 things he did in his sleep.
  A  very curious circumstance is related of Dr,
Franklin, in the memoirs of that eminent philoso- 
152             PHILOSOPHY
pher, published by his grandson.  "I went out,"
said the Doctor, " to bathe in Martin's salt water
hot bath,  in  Southampton, and, floating on my
back, fell asleep, and slept nearly an hour, by my
watch,  without sinking or turning—a thing  I
never did before, and should hardly have thought
possible."
  A case still more extraordinary occurred  some
time ago in one of the towns on the coast of Ire-
land.  About two o'clock in the  morning, the
watchmen on the  Revenue  quay, were  much
surprised  at descrying a man disporting himself
in the water, about a hundred yards  from the
shore.   Intimation having been given  to the
Revenue boat's crew, they pushed off and suc-
ceeded in picking him up, but strange to say, he
had  no idea  whatever of his perilous situation:
and  it  was with the utmost  difficulty they could
persuade him he was not still in bed.   But the
most singular part of this novel adventure,  and
which  was afterwards ascertained, was  that the
man had  left his  house  at  twelve o'clock that
night, and walked through a difficult, and, to him,
dangerous road,  a distance of nearly two  miles,
and had actually swum one mile and a half when
he was fortunately discovered and picked up.
  Not very long ago a boy was  seen fishing  off
Brest, up to the middle in water.   On coming up
to him, he was found to be fast asleep.
  I know a gentleman  who, in consequence of
dreaming  that the  house was  broken  into  by 
OF  SLEEP.
153
 thieves, got out of bed, dropped from the window
 (fortunately a low one) into the street; and was a
 considerable distance on  his  way to  warn  the
 police, when he was discovered by one of them,
 who awoke him, and conducted him home.
   A case is related of an English clergyman who
 used to get up in the night, light his candle, write
 sermons, correct them with interlineations, and re-
 tire to bed again ; being all the time asleep.  The
 Archbishop of  Bourdeaux mentions a similar case
 of a student, who got  up to compose  a sermon
 while asleep, wrote it correctly, read it  over from
 one end to the  other, or at  least appeared to read
 it, made corrections on it, scratched out  lines, and
 substituted others, put in its place a word which
 had been omitted, composed music, wrote it accu-
 rately down, and  porformed other things  equally
 surprising.  Dr. Gall takes notice of a miller who
 was in the habit of getting up every night and at-
 tending to his usual avocations at  the  mill, then
 returning to bed: on awaking in  the morning, he
 recollected nothing of what passed  during night.
 Martinet speaks of a saddler who  was accustomed
 to rise in his sleep and work at his trade;  an d Dr.
 Pritchard of a farmer who got out of bed, dressed
 himself, saddled his horse, and rode to the market,
 being all the while asleep.  Dr. Blacklock, on one
 occasion, rose from bed, to  which he had retired
 at an early hour, came  into the  room where his
 family were assembled, conversed with them, and
afterwards entertained them with a pleasant song,
       14 
154
PHILOSOPHY
without any of them suspecting he was asleep, and
without his retaining after he awoke, the least re-
collection of what he had done.  It is a singular,
yet well authenticated fact, that in the disastrous
retreat of Sir. John Moore, many of the soldiers
fell asleep, yet continued to march along with their
comrades.
  The stories related of sleep-walkers are, indeed,
of so extraordinary a kind, that they would almost
seem  fictitious,  were they not supported by the
most incontrovertible evidence.  To  walk on the
house-top, to scale  precipices, and descend to the
bottom of frightful ravines, are common exploits
with  the somnambulist; and  he  performs them
with a facility far beyond the  power of any man
who is completely awake.   A story is told of a boy,
who dreamed that he got out of bed, and ascended
to the summit of an enormus rock,  where he found
an eagle's nest, which he brought away with him,
and placed beneath  his bed.   Now, the whole of
these  events  actually took place; and what  he
conceived, on awaking, to be a mere vision, was
proved to have had an actual existence, by the nest
being found in the precise spot where  he imagined
he had  put it, and by  the evidence of spectators
who beheld his perilous adventure.  The precipice
which he ascended, was of a nature that, must have
baffled the most expert mountaineer,  and such as,
at other times, he never could have scaled.  In this
instance, the  individual was as nearly as possible;
without actually being  so, awake.   All his bodily, 
OF  SLEEP.
155
 and almost the whole of his mental powers, appear
 to have been in full activity.  So far  as the latter
 are concerned, we  can only conceive  a partial de-
 fect of the judgment to have existed,  for that it
 was not altogether abolished is pretty evident from
 the fact of his proceeding  to work precisely as he
 would  have done, had he, in his waking hours,
 seriously  resolved to make such an attempt:  the
 defect lay in making the attempt at all; and still
 more in getting out of bed to do so in the middle
 of the night.
   Somnambulism,  as well as lunacy, sometimes
 bestows supernatural strength upon the individual.
 Mr. Dubrie, a musician in Bath, affords an instance
 of this  kind. One Sunday, while awake, he  at-
 tempted in vain to force open the window of  his
 bed-room, which chanced to be nailed down; but
 having  got up in his sleep, he repeated the  attempt
 successfully, and threw himself out, by which he
 unfortunately broke his leg.
   Sleep-walking is sometimes periodical.  Marti-
 net describes the  case of a watchmaker's appren-
 tice who had an attack of  it every fortnight.  In
 this state, though insensible to all external  impres-
 sions, he would  perform his work with his usual
 accuracy, and was always astonished, on awaking,
at the progress he had made.  The paroxysm be-
gan with a sense of heat in the epigastrium extend-
ing to the head, followed by confusion of ideas and
complete insensibility, the  eyes  remaining  open
 with a fixed and vacant stare.  This case, which 
156
PHILOSOPHY
undoubtedly originated in some diseased state of
the brain, terminated in epilepsy.  Dr. Gall relates
that he saw at Berlin a young man, sixteen years of
age, who had, from time to time, very extraordi-
nary fits.  He moved about unconsciously in bed,
and had no perception of any thing that was done
to him; at last he would jump out of bed, and
walk with rapid steps about the room, his eyes be-
ing fixed and open.  Several obstacles which were
placed by Dr. Gall in his way, he either removed
or cautiously avoided.   He then  threw himself
suddenly again  upon bed, moved about for some
time, and finished by jumping up awake,  not  a
little surprised at the number  of curious people
about him.
  The facility  with  which  somnambulists  are
awakened from the paroxysm, differs extremely in
different  cases.   One  man is  aroused  by  being
gently touched or called upon, by a flash of light,
by  stumbling in his peregrinations, or  by setting
his  foot in water.  Another remains  so  heavily
asleep, that it  is necessary  to shout  loudly,  to
shake him with violence, and  make use of other
excitations  equally powerful.   In this  condition,
when the sense of vision  chances to be dormant,
it is curious to look at his eyes.  Sometimes they
are  shut; at other times wide open; and  when
the  latter is  the  case, they are  observed  to  be
fixed and inexpressive, "without speculation," or
energy, while the pupil,  is contracted, as in  the
case of perfect sleep. 
OF  SLEEP.
157
   It is not always safe to arouse  a sleep-walker;
 and many cases of the fatal effects thence arising
 have been  detailed by authors.  Nor is it at all
 unlikely  that  a person,  even of strong nerves,
 might be violently agitated by awaking in a situ-
 ation so different from that in which he lay down.
 Among other examples, that of a young lady, who
 was addicted to this affection, may be mentioned.
 Knowing her failing, her  friends made a point of
 locking the door, and securing the  window of her
 chamber in such a manner that she could not pos-
 sibly get out.  One night, these precautions were,
 unfortunately overlooked; and, in a  paroxysm of
 somnambulism, she walked into the garden behind
 the house.  While there,  she was recognised  by
 some of the family, who were warned by the noise
 she  made on opening the door, and they followed
 and  awoke her; but such was the effect produced
 upon her nervous system, that she almost instantly
 expired.
  The remote causes of sleep-walking are so ob-
 scure, that it is seldom we  are able  to  ascertain
 them.  General irritability of frame, a nervous
 temperament, and bad digestion, will dispose to the
 affection.  Being a modification of dreaming, those
 who are much troubled with the latter will, conse-
 quently, be most prone to its attacks.  The causes.
 however, are, in a great majority of cases, so com-
pletely unknown, that any attempt to investigate
them would  be fruitless;  and we are compelled
                      14* 
158             PHILOSOPHY
to refer the complaint to some idiosyncracy of con-
stitution beyond the reach of human knowledge.
  According to the report made by  a Committee
of the  Royal Academy of Sciences in Paris, ani-
mal magnetism appears to have the power of induc-
ing a peculiar species  of  somnambulism.  The
circumstances seem so curious, that, even authen-
ticated as they are by men of undoubted integrity
and talent, it is extremely difficult to place reliance
upon them.   The person who is thrown  into the
magnetic sleep is said to acquire a new concious-
ness, and entirely to forget  all the events of his
ordinary life.  When this sleep is dissolved, he gets
into his usual state  of  feeling and recollection,
but forgets  every thing that  happened during the
sleep; being again magnetized, however,  the re-
membrance  of all that  occurred in the previous
sleep is brought back to his  mind.   In one of the
cases above related, the patient, a lady of sixty-four
years, had an  ulcerated cancer in the right breast.
She had been magnetized for the  purpose of dis-
solving the tumor, but no other effect was produc-
ed than that of throwing  her into  a species of
somnambulic sleep, in which sensibility was anni-
hilated, while her ideas retained all their clearness.
In this state, her surgeon, M. Chapelain, disposed
her to submit to an operation, the  idea of which
she rejected with  horror  when awake.  Having
formally given her consent, she undressed herself,
sat down upon a chair,  and  the diseased glands
were carefully and deliberately dissected out, the 
OF  SLEEP.
159
 patient conversing all the time and being perfectly
 insensible of pain.   On awaking, she had no con-
 sciousness whatever of having been operated upon;
 but being informed of the  circumstance, and see-
 ing  her children around her, she experienced the
 most lively emotion, which the magnetizer instant-
 ly checked by again setting her asleep. These
 facts appear startling and incredible.   I can give
 no opinion upon the subject from any thing I have
 seen myself; but the testimony of such men as
 Cloquet, Georget, and Itard, is not to be received
 lightly  on  any phisiological point; and they all
 concur  in  bearing  witness to  such facts as the
 above.  In  the  present state of  knowledge  and
 opinion, with regard to animal magnetism, and
 the sleep occasioned by it,  I shall not say more at
 present, but refer the reader to the  ample details
 contained in the Parisian Report; an able transla-
 tion  of  which into English has been made by Mr.
 Colquhoun.
   When a person is addicted  to somnambulism,
 great care should be taken to  have the door and
 windows of his sleeping apartment  secured,  so as
 to prevent the possibility of  egress, as he sometimes
 forces his way  through  the panes  of  glass: this
 should  be put out  of his power, by having the
 shutters closed, and bolted, in such a way that they
 cannot be opened without the aid of a key or screw,
 or some such instrument, which should  never be
 left in the room where he sleeps, but carried away,
while the door is secured on the  outside. Some 
160
PHILOSOPHY
 have recommended  that a tub of water should be
 put by the bedside, that, on getting out, he might
 step into it, and be awakened bythe cold; but this>
 from the suddenness of its operation, might be at-
 tended with bad consequences in very nervous and
 delicate subjects.   It is a good plan to fix a cord to
 the  bedpost, and tie the other end of  it securely
 round the person's  wrist.   This will  effectually
 prevent mischief  if he attempt to get up.  When-
 ever it can be managed, it  will  be prudent for an-
 other person to sleep along with him.   In all ca-
 ses, care should be taken not to arouse him  sud-
 denly.  This must be done as gently as possible ;
 and when he can be  conducted to bed without be-
 ing awakened at all, it is still better.  Should he be
 perceived in any dangerous situation, as on  the
 house-top, or the  brink of a  precipice,  the utmost
 caution is requisite; for, if we call loudly upon
 him, his  dread, on recovering, at finding himself
 in such a predicament, may actually occasion  him
 to fall, where,  if he had been left to himself, he
 would have escaped without injury.
  To prevent  a recurrence of somnambulism, we
 should remove, if possible, the cause which gave
 rise to it.   Thus,  if it  proceed from a  disordered
 state  of the stomach, or biliary system, we must
 employ the various medicines used in such cases.
 Plenty of exercise should be taken, and late hours
 and much study avoided. If it arises from plethora,
he must be blooded, and live low; should hysteria 
OF  SLEEP.
161
produce it, antispasmodics, such as valerian, am-
monia, assafoetida, and opium may be necessary.
  But, unfortunately,  we can  often refer  sleep-
walking to no complaint whatever.   In  this case,
all that can be done is to carry the individual as
safely as possible through the paroxysm, and pre-
vent him from injury by the means we have men-
tioned.   In many instances,  the affection  will
wear spontaneously away: in others, it  will con-
tinue in spite of every remedy, 
CHAPTER  VIII.
SLEEP-TALKING.
This closely resembles somnambulism, and pro-
ceeds  from similar  causes.   In  somnambulism,
those parts of the brain which are awake  call the
muscles of the limbs into activity; while, in sleep-
talking, it is the muscles necessary for the  produc-
tion of speech which are animated by the  waking
cerebral organs. During sleep, the organ of Lan-
guage may be active, either singly or in combina-
tion with other  parts of the brain; and of this ac-
tivity sleep-talking  is  the  result.*   If, while we

  * Among the insane, the organ just mentioned is occasionally
excited to such a degree  that even, in the waking state, the pa-
tient, however desirous, is literally unable to refrain from speaking.
Mr. W. A. F. Browne has reported two cases of this nature in the
37th No. of the Phrenological Journal.  The first is that of a wo-
man in the hospital of La Salpetriere in Paris.  Whenever she
encounters the physician  or other of the attendants,  she bursts
forth into an address which  is delivered with  incredible rapidity
and vehemence,  and is  generally an abusive or ironical declama-
tion against the tyranny, cruelty, and injustice to which she is ex-
posed.  In the midst of her harangues, however, she introduces 
         PHILOSOPHY OF  SLEEP.        163

dream  that we are conversing with some one, the
organ of Language is in such a high state of ac-
tivity as  to rouse  the  muscles  of speech,  we are
sure  to talk.   It often  happens, however, that the
cerebral parts, though sufficiently  active to make
us dream that we are speaking, are not excited so
much as to make us actually speak. We only sup-
pose  we are carrying on a conversation, while, in
reality,  we  are  completely  silent.   To  produce
sleep-talking, therefore, the brain, in some of  its
functions, must be so much awake  as to  put into
action the voluntary muscles by  which speech is
produced.
  The conversation in this  state, is  of such sub-
jects  as our thoughts are most immediately occu-
pied with ; and its consistency or incongruity de-
pends upon  that  of the prevailing ideas — being
sometimes perfectly rational and coherent; at other
times, full of absurdity.  The voice is seldom the
same as in the waking state.  This I would  im-
pute  to the organs of  hearing  being mostly dor-
mant, and consequently unable to guide the mo-

frequent and earnest parenthetical declarations "that she does not
mean  what she says; that  though she vows vengeance and
showers imprecations on her medical attendant, she loves him, and
feels grateful for his kindness and forbearance;  and that, though
anxious to evince her gratitude and  obedience by silence, she is
constrained by an invisible agency to speak."  In the other case,
the individual speaks constantly: " sleep itself does not yield an
intermission ; and there is strong reason to believe that a part, at
least, of his waking orations is delivered either without the cogni-
zance of the other powers, or without consciousness on the part of
the speaker." 
164
PHILOSOPHY
dulations of sound.   The  same fact is observable
in very  deaf persons,  whose  speech is usually
harsh, unvaried, and monotonous.  Sometimes the
faculties are so far awake, that we  can manage to
converse with the individual, and extract  from
him the most hidden secrets of his soul: circum-
stances have thus been ascertained which would
otherwise have remained  in perpetual obscurity.
By a little address in this way, a gentleman lately
detected  the  infidelity of his wife  from  some ex-
pressions which escaped her while asleep, and suc-
ceeded in finding  out that she had a meeting ar-
ranged with  her paramour for the following  day.
Lord Byron describes a similar scene  in his " Pa-
risina:"

       " And Hugo is gone to his lonely bed,
          To covet there another's bride;
         But she must lay her conscious head
          A husband's trusting heart beside.
         But fever'd in her sleep she seems,
         And red her cheek  with troubled dreams,
         And mutters she in her unrest
          A name she dare not breathe by day,
         And clasps her lord unto her breast
          Which pants for  one away."

   From what has  been said of somnambulism, the
reader will be prepared for phenomena equally cu-
rious as regards sleep-talking.  Persons have been
known, for  instance, who  delivered sermons and
prayers during sleep; among others, Dr.  Haycock.
Professor of Medicine in Oxford.   He would  give
out a text in his sleep, and deliver a good sermon 
OF  SLEEP,
165
upon it;  nor could all the pinching and pulling of
his friends prevent him.  " One of the most  re-
markable cases of speaking during sleep," observes
a writer in Frazer's Magazine, " is that of an Ame-
rican  lady, now (we believe) alive, who preached
during her sleep, performing regularly every part
of the Presbyterian service, from the psalm to the
blessing.   This lady was the daughter of respect-
able and even wealthy parents; she fell into bad
health, and, under its influence, she disturbed and
annoyed  her family by her  nocturnal eloquence.
Her unhappy  parents, though  at first surprised,
and perhaps flattered by the  exhibition in their
family of so extraordinary a gift, were at last con-
vinced that it  was  the  result  of disease;  and, in
the expectation that  their daughter might derive
benefit from change of scene, as well as from me-
dical  skill, they made  a  tour with her of some
length, and visited New York and some of the
other  great cities of the Union.  We know indi-
viduals who have heard her  preach during  the
night in steam-boats ; and it was customary, at tea
parties in New York,  (in the houses of medical
practitioners,)  to put the lady to bed in a room ad-
jacent to  the  drawing-room, in order that the dil-
letanti might witness so extraordinary a phenome-
non.  We have been  told  by ear-witnesses,  that
her sermons,  though they had the appearance of
connected discourses, consisted chiefly of texts of
Scripture strung together.   It is strongly impress-
            15 
166
PHILOSOPHY
ed upon our memory that some  of her sermons
were published in America."
  In the Edinburgh Journal of Science, a lady
who was subject to spectral illusions, is described
as being subject to talk in her sleep with great flu-
ency, to repeat great portions of poetry, especially
when unwell, and even to cap verses  for half an
hour at a time, never failing to quote lines begin-
ning with the final letter of the preceding till her
memory was exhausted.
  Dr. * Dyce, in  the  Edinburgh Philosophical
Transactions, relates  the  case of Maria C----,
who, during one paroxysm of somnambulism, re-
collected what took place in a preceding one, with-
out having any such recollection during theinterval
of wakefulness.  One  of the occasions in which
this young woman manifested the power in ques-
tion, was of a very melancholy nature.  Her fel-
low-servant, a female of abandoned character,hav-
ing found out that, on awaking, she entirely forgot
every thing which occurred during  the fit, intro-
duced by stealth into  the  house, a young man of
her acquaintance, and  obtained for him an oppor-
tunity of treating Maria in the most brutal and
treacherous manner.   The wretches succeeded  in
their object by stopping her mouth with the bed-
clothes, by which and other means, they overcame
the  vigorous resistance she was enabled to make
to their villany, even in her somnolent state.  On
awaking, she had no consciousness  whatever of
the  outrage;  but some days afterwards, having 
OF  SLEEP.
167
 fallen into  the same state, it recurred to her me-
 mory, and she related to her  mother all the revolt-
 ing particulars.   The state  of mind  in this case
 was perfectly analogous to  that which is said to
 occur in the magnetic  sleep;  but  the particular
 state  of the  brain which induces  such conditions
 will, I believe, ever remain a mystery.*

   *  A case, in  some respects similar, was published in the Medi-
 cal Repository,  by Dr. Mitchell, who received the particulars of it
 from Major Ellicot, Professor of Mathematics in the United States
 Military Aeademy at West Point. The subject was a young lady,
 of a good constitution, excellent capacity, and  well educated.
 " Her  memory  was capacious  and  well stored  with a copious
 stock of ideas.  Unexpectedly,  and without any forewarning, she
 fell into a profound sleep, which continued several hours  beyond
 the ordinary term.  On waking, she was discovered to have lost
 every trait of acquired knowledge.  Her memory was tabula rasa
 — all vestiges,  both of words  and things were obliterated and
 gone.  It was found necessary for her to learn every thing again.
 She  even  acquired,  by new efforts, the art  of spelling, reading,
 writing, and calculating, and gradually became acquainted with
the persons  and objects around,  like a being for the first time
brought into the world.  In these exercises she made considerable
proficiency.  But after a few months, another fit  of somnolency
invaded her.   On rousing from it, she found herself restored to the
 state she was in before the first paroxysm ; but was wholly igno-
 rant  of every event and occurrence that had befallen her after-
wards.   The former condition of her existence she now calls the
Old State, and the latter the New State ; and she is  as unconscious
of her double character as  two  distinct persons are of their re-
spective natures. For example, in her old state, she possesses all
the original knowledge ; in her new state, only what she acquired
since.  If a  lady or  gentleman  be introduced to  her in the old
state, and vice versa, (and so of all other matters) to know them
satisfactorily, she must  learn them in both states. In the old state,
she possesses fine powers of penmanship, while in the new, she 
168
PHILOSOPHY
   The following  singular case of sleep-talking,
combined with somnambulism, will prove interest-
ing to the reader: —
   "A very  ingenious and elegant young  lady,
with light eyes and hair, about the age of seven-
teen, in other respects well, was suddenly seized
with this very wonderful  malady.  The disease
began with  violent convulsions of almost every
muscle of her body, with great, but vain efforts to
vomit, and the most violent hiccoughs that can be
conceived : these were succeeded in about an hour
with a fixed  spasm; in which, one hand was ap-
plied to her  head, and the other to support it: in
about half an hour these ceased, and  the reverie
began suddenly,  and was  at first manifest by the
look of her eyes  and  countenance, which seemed
to express attention.   Then she conversed aloud
with imaginary persons, with  her eyes open, and
could not, for about an hour, be brought to attend
to the stimulus of external objects by  any kind
of violence  which it  was  possible to use:  these
symptoms returned in this order everyday for five
or six weeks.
   " These conversations were quite consistent, and

writes a poor, awkward hand, having not had time  or means to
become expert.  During four years and upwards, she has had pe-
riodical transitions from one of these states to the other. The alter-
ations are always consequent upon a long and  sound sleep.  Both
the lady and her  family are now capable of conducting the affair
without embarrassment. By simply knowing whether she is in
the old or new state,  they regulate the intercourse and  govern
themselves accordingly." 
OF  SLEEP.               169
we could understand what she supposed her ima-
ginary companions to answer, by the continuation
of her part of the discourse.   Sometimes she was
angry, at other times showed much wit and viva-
city, but was most frequently inclined to melan-
choly.   In these reveries, she sometimes sung over
some music with  accuracy, and  repeated whole
passages from the English  Poets.  In repeating
some lines from Mr.  Pope's works, she had forgot
one  word, and began again, endeavoring to  re-
collect it; when she came to the forgotten word, it
was  shouted aloud in her ears, and this repeatedly,
to no purpose; but by many trials she at  length
regained it herself.
   "Those paroxysms were  terminated  with  the
appearance of inexpressible surprise and great fear,
from which she was some minutes in recovering
herself, calling on her sister  with great agitation,
and very frequently underwent a repetition of con-
vulsions, apparently from the  pain of fear.
  "After having thus returned for about an hour
a-day, for  two or three weeks, the reveries seemed
to become less complete, and  some of the circum-
stances varied,  so that  she could walk about the
room in them, without running against any of the
furniture ; though these motions were at first very
unsteady and tottering.   And  afterwards, she once
drank a dish  of tea, when the whole apparatus of
the tea-table was set before  her, and expressed
some suspicion that a medicine was put into it; and
once seemed to smell at a tuberose, which was in
               15* 
170
PHILOSOPHY
flower in her chamber, and deliberated aloud about
breaking it from the stem, saying, £ It would make
her sister so charmingly angry.'  At another time,
in her melancholy moments, she heard the  bell,
and then taking off one of  her shoes as she sat
upon  the bed, 'I love the color black,' says she; ca
little wider and a little longer, and even this might
make me a coffin !' Yet it is  evident she was not
sensible at this time, any  more than formerly, of
seeing or hearing any person  about her; indeed,
when great light was thrown upon her by opening
the shutters of the window, she seemed less melan-
choly : and when I  have forcibly held her  hands,
or covered her eyes, she appeared to grow impa-
tient,  and would say, she could not tell  what to do,
for she could neither see nor move.  In all these
circumstances, her pulse continued  unaffected, as
in health.   And when the paroxysm was  over, she
could never recollect a single  idea  of what had
passed."*
   Equally extraordinary is the following instance
of combined sleep-talking and somnambulism:
   " A remarkable instance of this  affection occur-
red to a lad named  George  David,  sixteen years
and  a half old, in  the service of  Mr.  Hewson,
butcher,  of Bridge-Road, Lambeth.   At about
twenty minutes after nine o'clock, the lad bent for-
ward  in his chair, and rested his forehead on his
hands, and in ten minutes started up, went for his
* Darwin's " Zoonomia." 
OF  SLEEP.
171
whip, put on his one spur, and went thence to the
stable ; not finding  his own  saddle in the proper
place, he returned to the house and  asked for it.
Being asked what he wanted with it, he replied, to
go his  rounds.   He returned to the stable, got on
the horse without the saddle, and was proceeding
to leave the stable: it  was with much difficulty
and force that Mr. Hewson, junior, assisted by the
other lad, could remove him  from the horse ; his
strength was great, and it was with  difficulty he
was brought in doors.  Mr. Hewson,  senior, com-
ing home at this time, sent for Mr. Benjamin Ridge,
an  eminent practitioner, in Bridge-Road,  who
stood by  him for a quarter  of an hour, during
which time the lad  considered himself as stopped
at the turnpike-gate, and took sixpence out of his
pocket to  be changed;  and holding out his hand
for the change, the sixpence was returned to him.
He immediately observed, ' None of your nonsense
—that is the sixpence again ; give me  my change;'
when two pence halfpenny  was given to him, he
counted it over, and said, ' None of your gammon ;
that is not right;  I want a penny more;' making
the three pence halfpenny, which was his proper
change.   He then  said, 'Give me  my castor,
(meaning his hat,) which slang term he had been in
the habit of using, and then  began to whip and
spur to get his horse on.   His pulse at this time was
136, full and hard; no  change  of countenance
could be observed, nor  any spasmodic affection of
the muscles, the  eyes remaining close the whole of 
172
PHILOSOPHY
 the time.  His coat was taken  off his arm, shirt-
 sleeves tucked up, and Mr. Ridge bled him to 32
 ounces; no  alteration had taken  place  in him
 during the first part of the time the blood was flow-
 ing ; at about 24  ounces, the pulse began to de-
 crease ;  and when the full quantity named above
 had been taken, it was at 80—a slight perspiration
 on  the forehead.   During the  time of bleeding,
 Mr. Hewson related a circumstance of a Mr. Har-
 ris, optician, in Holborn,  whose son,  some  years
 since, walked out on the parapet of the house  in
 his sleep.  The boy joined the  conversation, and
 observed, 'He lived at the corner  of Brownlow-
 Street.'  After the  arm was  tie-d up, he  unlaced
 one  boot, and said he would  go to bed: in three
 minutes from this  time, he awoke, got up,  and
 asked what was the matter, (having then been one
 hour in the trance,) not having the slightest recol-
 lection of any thing that had passed, and wondered
 at his arm being tied up, and at the blood, <fcc.   A
 strong aperient medicine was then administered :
 he went  to bed,  slept well, and  the next day ap-
 peared perfectly well, excepting debility from the
 bleeding, and operation of the medicine, and has
 no recollection whatever of what had taken place.
 None of his family or himself were ever affected
in this way before."*
  Sleep-talking is generally such  a trivial affection
as not  to require  any  treatment whatever.  In
* "Lancet," vol. i. 
OF  SLEEP.               173
every case  the digestive organs must be attended
to, and, if disordered, put  to rights by suitable
medicines.   And should the affection proceed, or
be supposed to proceed from hypochondria, hyste-
ria, or the prevalence of any strong mental emotion,
these states  must be treated according to general
principles.   W^hen it arises from idiosyncrasy, and
becomes habitual, I believe that no means  which
can be adopted will be of much avail.  As, in the
case of somnambulism, it very frequently happens
that the affection, after continuing for a long time
and baffling every species of treatment, disappears
spontaneously. 
CHAPTER  IX.
SLEEPLESSNESS.
 Sleep takes place as soon as the sensorial power
 that keeps the brain awake is expended, which,
 under common circumstances, occurs at our ordi-
 nary hour of going to rest, or even sooner, if any
 soporific cause sufficiently strong should  chance
 to operate.  But the above power may be increased
 by various means, as in cases of physical suffering,
 or excited imagination, and, consequently, is not
 expended  at  the usual  time.   In this case, the
 person remains awake, and continues so  till the
 period of its expenditure, which  may not  happen
 for several hours after he lies down, or even not
 at all, during  the  whole of that night.   Now,
 whatever increases the sensorial power, whether
 it  be balls, concerts,  grief,  joy, or bodily  pain, is
 prejudicial to repose.   By them the mind is exalt-
 ed to a pitch of unnatural action, from which it is
 necessary it should descend before it can roll into
 the calm channel of sleep.
  Whatever stimulates the external senses, how-
ever  slightly,  may prevent sleep.   Thus, the tick- 
PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP.       175
ing of a  clock  has this effect with  very sensitive
people; and a candle burning in the chamber  is
attended  with  the same result.  Even when the
eyes are shut this may take place, for the eye-lids
are sufficiently transparent to transmit a sense  of
light to the retina.  For the same reason, the light
of day peering in at  the window may awake us
from or prevent slumber.  It  is said that Napoleon
could  never  sleep  if exposed to the influence of
light,  although, in other  circumstances, slumber
appeared at his bidding with surprising readiness.
  A constitutional restlessness is sometimes brought
on by habitually neglecting  to solicit sleep when
we lie down, by which means the brain is brought
into such a state  of irritability, that we can hardly
sleep  at  all.   Chronic wakefulness, originating
from  any mental  or  bodily affection,  sometimes
degenerates into a habit, in which the sufferer will
remain for weeks, months, or  even years, if authors
are to be  believed, awake.   In  the disease called
delirium tremens, wakefulness is a constant symp-
tom, and frequently continues for many successive
days and nights.   It is also an attendant upon all
disorders  accompanied by  acute suffering,  espe-
cially when  the  brain is  affected, as in phrenitis,
or fever.   Maniacs, from the excited state of their
sensorium, are remarkably subject to want of sleep;
 and this symptom is often so obstinate  as to  resist
 the most  powerful remedies we can  venture to
 prescribe.
   Certain stimulating agents, such as tea or coffee. 
176
PHILOSOPHY
taken shortly before  going to bed, have often the
effect of preventing sleep.  I would impute this to
their irritative properties, which, by supplying the
brain with fresh sensorial power, enable it to carry
on uninterruptedly all its functions longer than it
would otherwise do, and  consequently prevent it
from relapsing into slumber at the usual period.
  Any uneasy bodily feeling has the same effect—
both preventing the accession of sleep, and arous-
ing us from it when  it has fairly  taken place.
Thus, while moderate fatigue provokes slumber.
excessive  fatigue, owing to the pain and irritation
it necessarily occasions, drives it away.  Sickness,
cold, heat, pregnancy, the  ordinary calls of nature,
a disagreeable bed,  the want of an accustomed
supper, too heavy a  supper, or uneasiness of any
kind, have the same result.  Cold is most apt to
induce sleeplessness, when partial, especially if it
be confined to the feet; for when general and suffi-
ciently intense, it has the opposite effect, and gives
rise to drowsiness.   Certain diseases, such as he-
micrania, tic doloureux,  (fee, have actually  kept
the person  awake for three successive  months;
and  all painful affections prevent sleep more or
less.  But the most violent tortures cannot altoge-
ther banish, however  much they may retard it.
Sooner  or later the fatigue, which a want of it
occasions, prevails, and slumber ultimately ensues.
  Sleeplessness is sometimes produced by a sense
of burning heat in the soles of the feet and palms
of the hands, to which certain individuals are sub- 
OF  SLEEP.
177
ject some time after lying down.  This seems to
proceed from a want of perspiration in these parts ;
owing generally to impaired digestion.
   Mental emotions, of every description, are un-
favorable to repose.  If a man, as soon as he lays
his head upon the pillow, can banish thinking, he
is morally certain to fall  asleep.  There are many
individuals  so constituted, that  they  can do this
without  effort, and the  consequence  is, they  are
excellent sleepers.  It is  very different with those
whose minds are oppressed by care, or over-stimu-
lated  by  excessive study.   The sorrowful  man,
above all others, has the  most need of sleep; but,
far from shedding its benignant influence over him,
it flies away, and leaves him to the  communion-
ship of his own sad thoughts :

       " His slumbers— if he  slumber—are not sleep,
        But a continuance of  enduring thought."

   It is the same with the  man of vivid imagina-
tion.   His fancy, instead of being subdued by the
spell  of sleep, becomes  more  active than ever.
Thoughts in a thousand  fantastic forms—myriads
of waking dreams—pass through his mind, whose
excessive activity spurns at repose, and  mocks all
his endeavors to reduce it to quiescence.  Great
joy will  often scare away sleep for  many nights ;
but, in this respect, it is far inferior to grief, a fixed
attack of which has been known to keep the suf-
ferer awake for several months.   Those who me-
ditate much, seldom sleep well in the  early part
            16 
178
PHILOSOPHY
 of the night:  they lie awake, for perhaps two or
 three hours, after going to  bed, and do not fall
 into slumber  till  towards morning.  Persons of
 this description often lie long, and are reputed lazy
 by early risers, although, it is probable, they actu-
 ally sleep less than these early risers themselves.
 Long continued study is highly prejudicial to re-
 pose.  Boerhaave mentions that, on one occasion,
 owing to this circumstance, he did not  close his
 eyes for six weeks.
   Nothing is so hurtful both to the mind and body
 as want of sleep.  Deprived of the necessary por-
 tion, the person gets wan, emaciated and listless,
 and  very soon falls into bad health ;  the spirit be-
 comes entirely broken, and the fire of even the
 most ardent dispositions is quenched.  Nor is this
 law  peculiar to the  human  race, for it  operates
 with similar power upon the  lower  animals, and
 deprives them of much of their natural  ferocity.
 An illustration of this fact is afforded in  the tam-
 ing of wild elephants.  These animals, when first
 caught, are studiously prevented from sleeping;
 in consequence of which, they become, in a few
 days, comparatively mild and harmless.  Restless-
ness, when long protracted, may terminate in deli-
rium, or confirmed insanity; and,  in many dis-
eases, it is the most obstinate symptom we have to
struggle against.  By it alone, all the existing bad
symptoms are aggravated; and as soon as we can
succeed in overcoming it, every thing  disagreea-
ble and dangerous frequently wears away, and the
person is restored to health. 
OF  SLEEP.               179
  In restlessness, both the perspiration and urina-
nary secretions are usually much increased; there
is also an accession of heat  in the system, and a
general feverish tendency, unless the want of sleep
should proceed from cold.
  With regard to the treatment of sleeplessness, a
very few words will suffice: in fact, upon this
head little more can be said,  than a recommenda-
tion to obviate the causes from whence it proceeds,
and it will naturally disappear.   I may mention,
however, that when  there is no specific  disease,
either of body or mind, to which the want of sleep
can be imputed, the person should keep himself
in as cheerful a mood as possible—should rise
early, if  his strength permits it, and take such ex-
ercise  as to  fatigue  himself moderately; and if
all these  means fail,  that he ought to  make use of
opium.   In all cases  of restlessness, indeed, this
medicine must be had recourse to, if  the affection
resists every other remedy, and continues so long
as to endanger health.  Those preparations  of
opium, the acetate and muriate  of morphia, have
latterly been a good  deal used, and with excellent
effect, for the same purpose.   When neither opium
nor its preparations  agrees with  the  constitution,
it becomes necessary to employ other narcotics,
especially hyosciamus or hop.   A  pillow of hops
sometimes succeeds in inducing  sleep when other
means fail.  Such was the case with  his late ma-
jesty, George  III., who, by this  contrivance,  was
relieved  from the protracted wakefulness under 
180
PHILOSOPHY
 which he labored for so long a time.   In giving-
 medicines to produce sleep, great  attention  must
 be paid to the disease which occasions the restless-
 ness ; for, in phrenitis, high fever, and some  other
 disorders, it would be most injurious to administer
 anodynes of any kind.   In such cases, as the rest-
 lessness  is merely a symptom of the general dis-
 ease, its  removal will depend upon that of the lat-
 ter.  When, however, the acute symptoms  have
 been overcome, and nothing but chronic wakeful-
 ness, the result of debility, remains behind, it then
 becomes necessary to have recourse to opium, or
 such other  remedies as may be considered appli-
 cable to the  particular case.   Studious men ought
 to avoid  late reading; and,  on going to  bed, en-
 deavor to abstract their minds  from all  intrusive
 ideas.  They should try to circumscribe  their
 thoughts within the narrowest possible circle, and
 prevent them from becoming rambling or excur-
 sive.  I have often coaxed myself asleep by inter-
 nally repeating half a dozen of times, any  well
 known rhyme.  While doing so, the ideas  must
 be strictly directed to this particular  theme, and
 prevented from wandering; for sometimes, during
 the process of repetition, the mind takes a strange
 turn, and performs two offices  at the  same  time,
 being directed to the rhyme on the one hand, and
 to something else on  the other; and  it will  be
found that the hold  it has of the former, is often-
 times much weaker than of the latter.  The great
secret is, by a strong effort of the will to compel 
OF SLEEP.
181
 the  mind  to  depart  from  the  favorite  train of
 thought, into  which it has run, and address itself
 solely to the internal repetition of what, is substi-
 tuted in its place.   If this is persevered in,  it will
 generally be  found to  succeed; and I would re-
 commend all those who are prevented  from  sleep-
 ing, in  consequence of too active  a flow of  ideas,
 to try the  experiment.   As has been  already re-
 marked, the more the mind is brought to turn upon
 a single impression, the more closely it is  made to
approach to the state of sleep, which  is the total
 absence of all impressions.   People should  never
 go to bed immediately after studying hard, as the
 brain is precisely in that state of excitement which
 must prevent sleep.  The mind ought previously
 to be relaxed by light conversation, music, or any
 thing which requires  little thought.
  In some cases of restlessness, sleep may be pro-
 cured by the person getting up, and walking for a
few minutes about the room.  It is not easy  to ex-
plain on what principle this acts, but it is certain,
that by such  means  sleep  sometimes  follows,
where previously it had been solicited in vain.  It
is customary with some people to read  themselves
into  slumber, but dangerous accidents have arisen
from this habit, in consequence of the lighted can-
dle setting fire to the bed curtains.  A safer and
more effectual way is to get another person to read ;
in which case, sleep will very generally take place,
especially if the subject  in question is not one of
much interest, or read in a dry monotonous  man-
             16* 
182      PHILOSOPHY OF  SLEEP.

ner.  When  sleeplessness proceeds from the heat
of the weather, the person should lie very lightly
covered, and let the air  circulate freely through
his room.  A cold bath taken shortly before going
to bed, or sponging the body with cold water, will
often ensure  a comfortable night's rest in the hot
season of the year.  When it  arises from heat in
the soles or palms, these parts should  be bathed
with  cold vinegar and water,  before lying down,
and, if necessary, occasionally afterwards till the
heat abates, which usually occurs in two or three
hours.  Attention must also be paid to the stomach
and bowels.
  An easy mind, a good digestion,  and plenty of
exercise in  the open air, are the grand conducives
to sound sleep;—and, accordingly, every  man
whose repose is  indifferent, should endeavor to
make them his own as soon  as possible.  When
sleeplessness  becomes habitual,  the utmost care
ought to be taken to  overcome  the habit, by the
removal  of every  thing  that  has a tendency to
cherish it. 
CHAPTER  X.
DROWSINESS.
Drowsiness is symptomatic of apoplexy and some
other diseases, but sometimes it exists as an idio-
pathic  affection.  There are persons who have a
disposition to sleep on every occasion.  They do
so at all times, and in all places.   They sleep after
dinner; they sleep in  the  theatre;  they sleep in
church.  It is the same to them in what situation
they may be placed: sleep is the great end of their
existence—their  occupation — their sole employ-
ment.  Morpheus is the deity at whose shrine
they worship—the only god whose influence over
them is omnipotent.  Let them be placed in almost
any circumstances, and their constitutional failing
prevails.  It falls upon  them in the midst of mirth;
it assails them when travelling.  Let them sail, or
ride, or sit, or lie,  or walk, sleep overtakes them—
binds their faculties in torpor;  and makes  them
dead to all that is passing around.  Such are our
dull, heavy-headed,  drowsy mortals, those sons
and daughters of phlegm—with passions as inert
as a Dutch fog, and intellects as sluggish as  the
r 
184
PHILOSOPHY
 movements of the hippopotamus or leviathan.  No
 class of society is so insufferable as this.  There
 is a  torpor and obtuseness about their faculties,
 which  render them dead  to  every impression.
 They have eyes and ears, yet they neither see nor
 hear; and the most exhilarating scenes may be
 passing before them without once attracting their
 notice.   It is not uncommon for persons of this
 stamp to fall asleep in the midst of a party to which
 they  have been invited;  Mr. Mackenzie, in one of
 his papers,  speaks of an honest farmer having
 done so alongside of a young lady, who was play-
 ing on the harp for  his amusement.  The cause
 of this  constitutional  disposition to doze  upon
 every occasion, seems to be  a certain want of ac-
 tivity in the brain, the result of which is, that the
 individual is  singularly void of fire, energy, and
 passion.  He is of a phlegmatic temperament, ge-
 nerally  a great eater, and very destitute of imagi-
 nation.   Such  are the general characteristics  of
 those who are predisposed  to  drowsiness:  the
 cases where such a state coexists with intellectual
 energy are few in number.
  Boerhaave speaks of an eccentric physician who
 took it  into his head that  sleep was the natural
 state of  man, and accordingly slept eighteen hours
 out of the twenty-four—till he died of apoplexy, a
disease which is always apt to be produced  by
excessive sleep.
  Cases of constitutional drowsiness are in a great
measure without remedy, for the soporific tendency 
OF SLEEP.
185
springs from some natural defect, which no medi-
cinal means can overcome.
  Equally impossible of cure is the affection when
it arises, as it very often does, from old age. Even
long before this period of life, as at the age of fifty
or  sixty,  people very often  get  into somnolent
habits, and are pretty sure to fall asleep if they
attempt to read, or even if they place themselves
in  an  easy chair before the fire.   I know of no
cure for this indolent propensity, unless indeed the
habits arise, as it sometimes does, from corpulency,
in which  case it is  more manageable, in so far  as
its  cause is occasionally capable of being removed.
  Drowsiness sometimes proceeds from a fulness
of  blood  in the head, or a disordered state of the
digestive  organs.   When it originates  from  the
former  cause,  it  becomes  necessary to  have re-
course to  general or local blood-letting.   The per-
son, likewise, should use, from time to time, mild
laxatives, live temperately, and take  abundance of
exercise.   Medicines of a similar  kind are neces-
sary when the affection arises from the state of the
-stomach and bowels : so soon as these organs are
restored to health, the symptomatic drowsiness will
naturally disappear.
  Persons who feel the disposition  to drowsiness
gaining upon  them, should  struggle vigorously
against it; for when once the habit is fairly estab-
lished, its  eradication is very difficult.   Exercise
of body and mind, early rising and the cold bath,
are among the best means for this purpose. 
CHAPTER  XI
PROTRACTED SLEEP.
1 have already mentioned a few instances of indi-
viduals remaining for days or weeks in a state of
profound sleep.  The nature of this extraordinary
affection is in a great measure, unknown ; it arises,
in most cases, without any obvious cause, generally
resists every  method that  can  be adopted for re-
moving it, and disappears of its own accord.
  The case  of Mary Lyall, related in  the  8th
volume of the " Transactions of the Royal Society
of Edinburgh," is one of the most remarkable in-
stances of excessive somnolency on record.  This
woman fell asleep on  the morning of the 27th of
June, and continued in that state till the evening
of the 30th of the same  month, when she awoke,
and remained in her usual way till the 1st of July,
when she again fell asleep, and continued so till
the 8th of August.  She was bled, blistered, im-
mersed in the hot and cold bath, and stimulated in
almost every  possible way, without having any
consciousness  of what was going  on.   For  the
first seven days she continued motionless,  and ex- 
         PHL0S0PHY  OF  SLEEP.      187

hibited no inclination to eat.   At rthe end  of this
time she began to move her  left hand; and, by
pointing to her mouth,  signified a wish for  food.
She took readily what was given to her;  still she
discovered no symptoms of hearing, and made no
other kind of bodily movement than of her left
hand.   Her right hand and arm, particularly, ap-
peared completely dead, and bereft of feeling; and
even when pricked with a pin, so as to draw blood,
never shrunk in the least degree.   At the  same
time, she instantly drew back  her left arm when-
ever it was touched by the point of the pin.  She
continued to  take food whenever it was offered to
her.  For the first two weeks,  her pulse generally
stood at 50,  during the third and  fourth  week,
about 60; and, on the day before her recovery, at
70 or 72.   Her breathing was  soft and almost im-
preceptible, but during the night-time she occasion-
ally drew it more strongly, like a person who has
first fallen asleep.  She evinced no symptom of
hearing, till about four days before her recovery.
On being interrogated, after this event, upon her
extraordinary state, she mentioned that she had no
knowledge of any thing that had happened—that
she had never  been conscious of  either having
needed or received food, or of having been blister-
ed ; and expressed much surprise on finding her
head shaved.   She had  merely the idea of having
passed a long night in sleep.
  The case of Elizabeth Perkins is  also remark-
able.  In the year 1788, she fell into a profound 
188
PHILOSOPHY
 slumber, from which nothing  could  arouse her>
 and remained in this state for between eleven and
 twelve days, when  she awoke of her own accord,
 to the great joy of her relatives, and wonder of the
 neighborhood.  On recovering, she  went about
 her usual business ; but this was only for a short
 period, for in a week after she relapsed again into
 a sleep which  lasted some days.  She continued,
 with occasional intervals of wakefulness, in a doz-
 ing state for several months, when she expired.
   There was lately  at Kirkheaton a remarkable
 instance of excessive sleep.  A poor paralytic,
 twenty years of age, was seldom, for the period of
 twelve months, awake more than three hours in
 the  twenty-four.  On one occasion,  he slept for
 three weeks ;  he took not a particle of either food
 or  drink; nothing  could rouse  him,  even for  a
 moment;  yet his sleep  appeared to be calm and
 natural.
  The case of Elizabeth Armitage of Woodhouse,
 near Leeds, may also be mentioned.   The age of
 this person was sixty-nine years.  She had been for
 several months in a decline, during which she had
 taken very little sustenance, when  she fell  into  a
 state of lethargic stupor, on the morning of the 1 st
 of July, 1827, in which condition  she remained,
 without uttering one word, receiving any food, or
showing any signs of life, except breathing, which
 was at times almost imperceptible.  In  this state
she continued for eight  days, when she expired
without a groan. 
OF  SL E E P.              189
  Excessively protracted  sleep may ensue  from
the injudicious use of narcotics.  A  very  strik-
ing instance of this kind occurred on 17th Febru-
ary, 1816, near Lymington.   In consequence of a
complaint with which a child had been painfully
afflicted for some time previous, its mother gave it
an anodyne, (probably laudanum,) for the purpose
of procuring it rest.  The consequence was, that
is fell into a profound sleep, which  continued for
three  weeks.   In this case, in addition  to an ex-
cessive dose, the child must have possessed  some
constitutional idiosyncrasy, which favored the ope-
ration of the medicine in a very powerful manner.
  One of the  most extraordinary instances  of
excessive sleep, is that of the lady of Nismes, pub-
lished in 1777, in the " Memoirs of the Royal Aca-
demy of Sciences at Berlin."  Her attacks of sleep
took place periodically, at sunrise and about noon.
The first continued till within a short time of the
accession of the second, and the second till between
seven and eight in the evening—when she awoke,
and continued so till the next sunrise.   The most
extraordinary fact connected with this case is, that
the first attack commenced always at day-break,
whatever might be the season of the year, and the
other  always  immediately after  twelve o'clock.
During the brief interval  of wakefulness which
ensued shortly before noon, she took a little broth,
which she had only time  to do, when  the second
attack returned upon her,  and kept her asleep till
the evening.  Her sleep was remarkably profound,
         17 
190
PHILOSOPHY
and had all the characters  of complete insensi-
bility, with the exception of a feeble respiration,
and a  weak but  regular movement of the pulse.
The most  singular fact  connected with her re-
mains to be mentioned.   When the disorder had
lasted six months, and then ceased, she had an
interval of perfect health for the same  length of
time.   When it lasted one  year, the subsequent
interval was of equal duration.  The affection at
last wore gradually away ; and she lived, entirely
free of it, for many years after.  She died in the
eighty-first year of her age, of dropsy, a complaint
which  had no connexion  with her  preceding
disorder.
  There are a good many varieties  in the pheno-
mena of protracted sleep.   In some cases, the indi-
vidual remains for many days without  eating or
drinking; in others, the necessity for these natural
wants arouses him for a short time from his slum-
ber, which time he employs  in satisfying hunger
and thirst,  and then instantly gets into  his usual
state of lethargy.  The latter kind of somnolency
is sometimes feigned by impostors for the purpose
of extorting charity; on this account, when an
instance of the kind occurs, it should be narrowly
looked into, to see that there is no deception.
  The power possessed by the body of  subsisting
for  such a length of time in protracted sleep, is
most remarkable, and bears some analogy to the
abstinence of the polar bear in the winter season.
It is to be observed, however, that during slumber, 
OF  SLEEP.
191
life can be supported by a much smaller portion of
food than when we are awake, in consequence
of the diminished expenditure of the vital energy
which takes place in the former state.
  All that can be done for  the cure of protracted
somnolency, is to attempt to  rouse the person by
the use of stimuli, such as blistering, pinching, the
warm or cold bath, the application of sternutatories
to the nose, (fee.  Blooding should be had recourse
to, if we suspect any apoplectic tendency to exist.
Every means must be employed to get nourish-
ment introduced into the stomach; for  this pur-
pose, if the  sleeper cannot  swallow, nutritious
fluids should be forced, from time to time, into this
organ  by means of Jukes'  pump, which answers
the purpose of filling as well as evacuating it. 
CHAPTER  XII.
SLEEP FROM COLD.
This kind of sleep is so peculiar, that it requires
be considered separately.  The power of cold in
occasioning slumber, is not confined to  man, but
pervades a very extensive class of animals.   The
hybernation, or winter torpitude of the brown and
Polar bear, results from this  cause.  Those  ani-
mals  continue  asleep for months;  and do  not
awake from their apathy till revived by the genial
temperature of spring.  The same is the case with
the hedgehog, the badger, the squirrel, and several
species of the mouse and  rat tribes, such as the
dormouse and marmot:  as also with the land tor-
toise, the frog, and almost all the individuals of the
lizard,  insect, and serpent tribes.  Fishes are often
found imbedded in the ice, and, though  in a state
of apparent death, become at  once lively and  ani-
mated on being exposed to heat.  " The fish froze,"
says Captain Franklin, " as fast as they were taken
out of the nets, and in a  short time became a solid
mass of ice, and by a blow or two of the hatchet
were easily split open, when the  intestines might 
        PHILOSOPHY  OF  SLEEP.      193

be removed in one lump.   If, in this  completely
frozen state, they were thawed before the fire, they
recovered their animation."   Sheep sometimes re-
main for several  weeks in a state  of torpitude,
buried beneath  wreaths of  snow.  Swallows  are
occasionally in the same state, being found torpid
and insensible in the hollows of trees, and among
the ruins of old houses during the winter season;
but with birds this more rarely  happens, owing,
probably, to the temperature of their blood  being
higher than that of other animals, and thereby
better enabling them to resist the cold.  Almost all
insects sleep in winter.  This is particularly the
case with the crysalis, and such grubs as cannot,
at that season, procure  their food.   In hybernat-
ing animals, it is  impossible to trace  any peculi-
arity of structure  which disposes them to hyber-
nate, and enables life to be  sustained during that
period.  So far the subject  is  involved in deep
obscurity.  According to Dr. Edwards, the tem-
perature of such animals sinks considerably during
sleep, even in summer.
  Want of moisture produces torpor in some ani-
mals.  This is  the case  with  the garden  snail,
which revives  if a little water is thrown  on it.
Snails, indeed, have revived after being dried for
fifteen years.   Mr. Baucer has restored the vibris
tritici (a  species of worm) after perfect torpitude
and  apparent death  for  five  years  and  eight
months, by merely soaking it in water.  The fur-
eularia anostobea,  a small  microscopic animal,
           17* 
194
PHILOSOPHY
may be killed and revived a dozen times by drying
it and then applying moisture.  According to Spal-
lanzani,animalculi have been recovered by moisture
after a torpor of twenty-seven years.   Larger ani-
mals are thrown into the same state from want of
moisture.  Such, according to Humboldt,  is the
case with the alligator and boa constrictor during
the dry season in the plains of Venezuela, and with
the centenes solosus, a species of hedge-hog found
in Madagascar;  so that dryness as well as cold,
produces hybernation, if, in such a case, we may
use that term.
  The power  of  intense cold in producing sleep,
is very great in the human subject, and nothing in
the winter season is  more common than to find
people lying dead in fields and on the highways
from such a cause.  An overpowering drowsiness
steals upon them, and if they yield to its influence,
death is  almost inevitable.  This is particularly
the case  in snow-storms,  in which it is often  im-
possible to get a place of shelter.
  This state of torpor, with the exception perhaps
of catalepsy, is the most perfect  sleep that can be
imagined: it  approaches almost to death in its ap-
parent annihilation of the animal functions.   Di-
gestion is at an end, and the secretions and excre-
tions suspended:  nothing seems to go on but cir-
culation,  respiration,  and absorption.   The two
former  are extremely  languid,*  but  the  latter

  * The extremely languid, or almost suspended state of these
two functions, is  demonstrated' by the  fact, that an animal in a 
OF  SLEEP.
195
tolerably vigorous, if we may judge from the quan-
tity of fat which the anima Hoses during its torpid
state.  The bear, for example, on going to its win-
try rest, is remarkably corpulent; on awaking from
it, quite emaciated ; in which state, inspired by the
pangs of hunger,  it sallies forth with redoubled
fury upon  its prey.  Life  is sustained by  the ab-
sorption of this fat, which for months serves the
animal as provision.  Such emaciation, however,
is not common to all hybernating  animals, some
of whom lose little or  nothing by their  winter
torpitude.
  Hybernation may be prevented.   Thus the polar
bear in the menagerie at Paris  never hybernated;
and in the marmot and hedge-hog hybernation is
prevented if the animals be kept in a higher tem-
perature.  It is also a curious fact, that an animal,
if exposed to a more intense cold, while hybernat-
ing,  is awaked from  its  lethargy.  Exposing  a
hybernating animal to light  has also, in many
cases, the same effect.
  Some writers, and Buffon among the  rest, deny
that such a state of torpor as we have here describ-
ed, can be looked upon as  sleep.   This is a ques-
tion into which it is not  necessary at present to
enter.  All I contend for,  is, that the  state of the
mind is precisely  the  same here as in ordinary
sleep —that, in both cases, the organs of the senses
and of volition are equally  inert; and that though

state of hybernation may be placed for an hour in a jar of hydro-
gen without suffering death. 
196
PHILOSOPHY
the conditions of the secretive and circulating sys-
tems  are  different,  so many  circumstances  are
nevertheless identical, that we become justified in
considering the one in a work which professes to
treat of the other.
  In Captain  Cook's  first voyage, a  memorable
instance is given of the power of intense cold in
producing sleep.  It occurred in the island of Ter-
ra-del-Fuego.  Dr. Solander, Mr. Banks, and seve-
ral other gentlemen had  ascended the mountains
of that cold region, for the purpose of botanizing
and exploring the country.  "Dr. Solander, who
had more than once crossed the mountains which
divide  Sweden from Norway, well knew that ex-
treme cold, especially when  joined with fatigue,
produces a torpor  and sleepiness  that are almost
irresistible.  He, therefore, conjured the company
to keep moving whatever pain it might cost them,
and whatever relief they might be promised by an
inclination to rest.   ' Whoever sits down,' said he,
' will sleep;  and whoever sleeps, will wake  no
more.'   Thus at once admonished and  alarmed,
they set forward ;  but while they  were still upon
the naked rock, and before they  had got among
the bushes, the cold became  suddenly so entense
as to produce the effects that had been most dread-
ed.   Dr. Solander himself was the first who  felt
the inclination, against  which  he  had warned
others, irresistible; and  insisted  upon being suf-
fered to lie down.   Mr. Banks entreated and re-
monstrated in vain ;  down he lay upon the ground, 
OF  SLEEP.
197
although  it was  covered with snow, and it was
with great difficulty that his friend kept him from
sleeping.   Richmond, also, one of the  black ser-
vants, began to linger, having suffered from the
cold in the same manner as the Doctor. Mr. Banks,
therefore, sent five of the company, among whom
was Mr. Buchan, forward, to get a fire ready at the
first convenient place they could find; and himself,
with four others  remained  with  the  Doctor and
Richmond, whom, partly by persuasion and entrea-
ty, and partly by force, they brought on ;  but when
they had got through the greatest part of the birch
and swamp, they  both  declared they  could go no
farther.   Mr. Banks again had recourse to entreaty
and expostulation, but they produced  no effect.
When Richmond was told that, if he did not goon,
he would  in a short  time  be frozen to  death, he
answered, that he desired nothing but to lie down
and die.  The Doctor did  not so explicitly re-
nounce his life ; he said he was willing to go on,
but that he must  first takejsome sleep, though he
had before told the company, to sleep was to perish.
Mr. Banks and the rest found it impossible to carry
them ; and there being no remedy, they were both
suffered to sit down, heing partly supported by the
bushes ; and in a few minutes they fell into a  pro-
found sleep.  Soon after, some of the  people who
had been sent forward, returned, with the welcome
news that a fire was kindled about a quarter  of a
mile farther on the way. Mr. Banks then endeav-
ored to awake Dr. Solander, and happily succeed- 
198
PHILOSOPHY
ed.  But though he had not slept five minutes, he
had almost lost the use  of his limbs, and the mus-
cles were  so shrunk, that the shoes  fell from his
feet: he consented to go forward with such assist-
ance as could be  given him, but no attempts to
relieve poor Richmond were successful."
  It is hardly necessary to say any thing about
the treatment of such cases.  If a person is found
in a state of torpor from cold, common sense points
out the necessity of bringing him within the influ-
ence of warmth.  When, however, the limbs, <fec,
are frost-bitten, heat must  be very cautiously ap-
plied, lest reaction, ensuing in such debilitated
parts, might induce gangrene.   Brisk friction with
a cold  towel, or even with snow, as is the custom
in Russia, should, in the first instance, be  had re-
course to.  When by this means the circulation
is restored, and motion and feeling communicated
to the parts, the heat may be gradually increased,
and the person wrapped in blankets, and allowed
some stimulus internally, such as a little negus, or
spirits  and water.  This practice should be adopt-
ed  from the  very first, when the parts are not
frost-bitten ; but when such is the case, the stimu-
lating system requires to be used with great cau-
tion, and we must proceed carefully, proportioning
the stimulus  to the particular circumstances  of
the case.
  If a person  is unfortunate enough to be over-
taken  in a snow  storm, and has no immediate
prospect of extrication,  he  should, if the cold  is 
OF  SLEEP.
199
very great, and the snow deep, sink his  body as
much as possible in the latter, leaving only room
for respiration.   By this plan, the heat of the body
is much better  preserved than when exposed to
the influence of the atmosphere, and life  has a
greater chance of being saved ; for the temperature
of the snow is not lower than that of the surround-
ing air, while  its  power of absorbing caloric is
much  less.  It is on  this principle that  sheep
live for such a  length of time enveloped in snow
wreaths, while, had they been openly exposed, for
a  much less period, to a similar degree of cold,
death would inevitably have ensued.
   One of  the best  methods  to prevent the  limbs
from  being frost-bitten in intensely cold weather,
is to keep  them continually in motion.  Such was
the method recommended by Xenophon to  the
Greek troops, in the memorable " Retreat of the
Ten Thousand," conducted  by that distinguished
soldier and historian. 
CHAPTER  XIII
TRANCE.
There is some analogy between suspended  ani-
mation and sleep.  It is not so striking, however,
as to require any thing like a lengthened discus-
sion of the former, which I shall only consider in
so far as  the resemblance holds good between it
and sleep.  I have already spoken of that suspen-
sion of the mind, and of some of the vital functions,
which occurs in consequence of intense cold; but
there are other varieties, not less singular in their
nature.   The principal of these are, fainting, apo-
plexy, hanging, suffocation, drowning, and, espe-
cially, trance. When complete fainting takes place,
it has many of the characters of death—the coun-
tenance being pale, moist, and clammy; the body
cold; the respiration extremely feeble ; the pulsa-
tion of the heart apparently at an end ;  while the
mind is in a  state of utter abeyance.  It is in the
latter respect only, that the  resemblance  exists
between  syncope and sleep;  in  every other they
are widely different.   The same  rule holds with
regard to apoplexy, in which a total insensibility, 
        PHILOSOPHY  OF  SLEEP.      201

even to the strongest  stimuli, takes place, accom-
panied also with mental torpor.   In  recoverable
cases of drowning, hanging, and suffocation, a
similar  analogy prevails, only in  a much feebler
degree; the faculties  of the  mind being for  the
time suspended, and  the actual existence of  the
vital spark only proved by the subsequent restora-
tion of the individual  to consciousness and feeling.
   The most singular species, however, of suspend-
ed animation is that denominated catalepsy, or
trance.   No affection, to which the animal frame
is subject, is more remarkable than this.   During
its continuance, the whole body is cold, rigid, and
inflexible; the  countenance without  color;  the
eyes fixed  and motionless; while breathing and
the pulsation of the heart are, to all appearance, at
an end.   The mental powers, also, are generally
suspended, and  participate in the universal torpor
which pervades the frame.  In this extraordinary
condition,  the person  may remain for several days,
having all, or nearly all, the characteristics of death
impressed upon him.  Such was the case with the
celebrated Lady Russel, who only escaped prema-
ture interment by the affectionate prudence of her
husband; and  other  well authenticated instances
of similar preservation from burying alive have
been recorded.
   The nature of this peculiar species of suspend-
ed animation, seems  to be totally unknown;  for
there is such an apparent extinction  of every fa-
culty essential to life, that it  is inconceivable how
           18 
202
PHILOSOPHY
existence should go on during the continuance of
the fit.  There can be no doubt, however, that the
suspension of the heart and lungs is more appa-
rent  than real.   It is  quite certain  that the func-
tions of these organs must continue, so as to sus-
tain life, although in so  feeble a manner as not to
come under the cognizance of our senses.  The
respiration, in particular, is exceedingly slight; for
a mirror, held  to the mouth of the individual, re-
ceives no tarnish whatever from his breath.  One
fact seems certain, that the functions of the ner-
vous system are wholly suspended, with the excep-
tion of such a  faint  portion of energy, as  to keep
up the circulatory and respiratory  phenomena:
consciousness, in a great majority of cases, is abo-
lished; and there  is  nothing wanting to indicate
the unquestionable presence of death, but that de-
composition of  the body which invariably follows
this state, and which  never attends the presence of
vitality.
  The remote causes of trance are hidden in much
obscurity;  and, generally, we are unable to trace
the affection to any external circumstance. It has
been  known to follow a fit of terror.  Sometimes
it ensues after hysteria, epilepsy, or  other spasmo-
dic diseases,  and  is  occasionally an accompani-
ment of menorrhagia and intestinal worms.  Ner-
vous  and  hypochondriac patients  are the most
subject to  its  attacks;  but  sometimes  it occurs
when there is no disposition of the kind, and when 
OF  SLEEP.
203
the person is in a state of the  most seeming good
health.
   "A girl  named  Shorigny, about  twenty-five
years old, residing at Paris, had been for two years
past subject to hysteria. On the twenty-eighth day
after she was  first attacked,  the physician who
came to visit her was informed that she had died
during the night, which much surprised him, as
when he had left her the night before, she was bet-
ter than usual.   He went to see  her, in order to
convince himself of the fact;  and, on raising the
cloth with which she was  covered, he perceived
that though her  face was very pale, and her lips
discolored, her  features were not otherwise in the
least altered.  Her mouth was  open, her eyes shut,
and the pupils very much dilated ; the light of the
candle made no impression on them. There was no
sensible heat in her body ; but it was not cold and
flabby like corpses in general.  The physician  re-
turned the next day, determined to see her again
before she was  buried;  and, finding that she had
not become cold, he gave orders that the coffin
should not be soldered down until putrefaction had
commenced.  He continued to observe her during
five days, and at the end of that period, a slight
movement was observed in the  cloth which cover-
ed her.   In two hours, it was  found that the arm
had contracted itself; she began  to move ; and it
was clear that it had only been  an apparent death.
The eyes soon  after were seen opened, the senses
returned, and the girl began gradually to recover. 
204
PHILOSOPHY
This is an extraordinary, but incontestible fact:
the girl is still alive, and a great many persons
who saw her while she was in the state of apathy
described, are ready to satisfy the doubts of any
one who will take the trouble to inquire."*
  The  case which follows is from the  Canton
Gazette, and is not less curious: —
  " On the western suburbs of Canton, a person
named Le, bought as a slave-woman a girl named
Leaning.  At the age of twenty-one, he sold her
to be a  concubine to a man named Wong.  She
had lived with him three years.  About six months
ago she became ill, in consequence of a large im-
posthume on her side, and on  the 25th  of the
present  moon died.   She was placed in a coffin,
the lid  of which remained unfastened, to wait for
her parents to come and see the corpse,  that they
might be satisfied she  died a natural  death.  On
the 28th, while carrying the remains to be interred
in the north side of Canton, a noise or voice was
heard proceeding from the coffin;  and,  on re-
moving the covering, it was found the woman had
come to life again.   She had been supposed dead
for three days."
  The  case of Colonel Townsend, however,  is
much more extraordinary than either of the above
mentioned.  This  gentleman  possessed  the re-
markable faculty of throwing himself into a trance
at pleasure.  The  heart ceased, apparently,  to
* Mentor, 
OF SLEEP.
205
throb at his bidding, respiration seemed at an end,
his whole frame assumed the icy chill and rigidity
of  death ;  while his face became colorless and
shrunk, and his eye fixed, glazed, and  ghastly:
even his mind ceased to manifest itself; for during
the trance it was as utterly devoid of conscious-
ness as his  body of animation.  In  this state he
would remain for hours, when these singular phe-
nomena wore away, and he returned to his usual
condition.   Medical annals furnish no parallel to
this extraordinary case.   Considered whether in a
physiological or metaphysical point of view, it is
equally astonishing and inexplicable.
  A variety of stories are related of people having
had circumstances revealed to them in a trance, of
which they  were ignorant when awake: most of
these tales have their  origin in fiction, although
there is no reason why they may not be occasion-
ally true ; as the mind, instead  of being in torpor,
as is very generally the case, may exist in a state
analogous to that of dreaming, and  may thus, as
in a common dream, have long forgotten events
impressed upon it.
  The following case exhibits a very singular in-
stance, in which the usual characteristic—a sus-
pension of the mental faculties—was wanting. It
seems  to have been a most complete instance of
suspended volition, wherein the mind was active,
while the body refused to  obey its impulses, and
continued in a state of apparent death.
  " A young lady, an attendant on  the Princess
                     18* 
806
PHILOSOPHY
----, after having been confined to her bed, for
a great length of time, with a violent nervous dis-
order, was at  last, to all appearance, deprived of
life.   Her lips were quite pale, her face resembled
the countenance of a dead person, and the  body
grew cold.
  " She was removed from the room in which she
died,  was  laid in a coffin,  and the day of her
funeral fixed on.  The day arrived, and, according
to the custom of the country, funeral  songs and
hymns were sung before  the door.   Just as the
people were about to nail on the  lid of the coffin,
a kind of perspiration was observed to appear on
the surface of her body.  It grew greater every
moment;  and at last a kind  of convulsive motion
was observed in the hands and feet of the corpse.
A few minutes after, during which  time  fresh
signs of returning life appeared, she at once open-
ed her eyes and uttered  a  most pitiable shriek.
Physicians were quickly procured,  and in the
course of a  few days  she  was   considerably
restored,  and is probably alive at this day.
  " The description which she gave of her situa-
tion is extremely remarkable, and forms a curious
and authentic  addition to psychology.
  " She said it seemed  to her, as if  in  a dream,
that she  was really dead; yet she was perfectly
conscious of all that happened around her in this
dreadful  state.   She  distinctly heard her friends
speaking and lamenting her death, at the side of
her coffin.  She felt them pull on the dead-clothes, 
OF  SLEEP.
207
and lay her in it.  This feeling produced a men-
tal anxiety, which is indescribable.  She tried to
cry, but her soul was without power, and  could
not act on her body.  She had the  contradictory
feeling as if she were in her body, and yet not in
it, at one and the same time.  It was equally im-
possible for her to stretch out her arm, or to open
her eyes, or to cry, although she continually en-
deavored to do  so.  The internal anguish of her
mind was,  however, at its utmost height when the
the funeral hymns began to be sung, and  when
the lid of the coffin was about to be nailed on.   The
thought that she was to be buried  alive, was the
one that gave activity to her soul, and caused it to
operate on  her corporeal frame."*
  The  following  is different from  either of the
foregoing;  I have given it on account of its singu-
larity, although it does not altogether come under
the denomination of trance.
  " George  Grokatzhi, a  Polish soldier,  deserted
from his regiment in the harvest of the year 1677.
He was discovered, a few days after, drinking and
making merry in a common ale-house.   The mo-
ment he was apprehended, he was so much terrifi-
ed, that he  gave a loud shriek, and was immediate-
ly  deprived of  the  power of speech.  When
brought to a court martial, it was  impossible to
make him articulate a word ; nay, he then became
as immovable as a statue, and appeared not to be
* " Psychological Magazine," vol. v. part hi. page 15. 
208
PHILOSOPHY
conscious of any thing that was going forward.
In the prison, to which he was conducted, he neither
ate  nor drank.  The officers and priests at first
threatened  him, and afterwards endeavored  to
soothe and calm him, but all  their efforts were in
vain.   He  remained  senseless  and immovable.
His irons were struck off, and he was taken out of
the prison, but he did  not move.   Twenty days
and nights were passed in this way, during which
he took no kind of nourishment: he then gradual-
ly sunk and died."*
  It would be out of place to enter here into a de-
tail of the  medical  management of the first men-
tioned varieties of suspended animation, such as
drowning, strangulation, (fee, <fcc.; and with regard
to the treatment of trance, properly so called, a
very few words will suffice.
  If we have reason to suppose that we know the
cause of  the affection, that, of course, must be re-
moved whenever practicable.  We must then em-
ploy stimuli to arouse the person from his torpor,
such  as friction, the application of sternutatories
and volatile agents to the nostrils, and electricity.
The latter remedy is likely to prove a very power-
ful one,  and should always  be  had recource to
when other means fail.  I should think the warm
bath might  be advantageously employed.  When
even these remedies do not succeed, we must trust
to time.   So long as the body does not  run  into

    * Bonetus, " Medic Septentrion." lib. i. sec. xvi. cap. 6. 
OF  SLEEP.
209
decay, after a case of suspended animation arising
without any very obvious cause, interment should
not take place; for it is possible that life may exist,
although, for the time being, there is every appear-
ance of its utter extinction.  By neglecting  this
rule, a person may be interred alive; nor can there
be a doubt that such dreadful mistakes have occa-
sionally  been  committed, especially in  France,
where it is customary to inter the body twenty-
four hours after death.   Decomposition is the only
infallible mark  that existence  is at an end,  and
that the grave has triumphed. 
CHAPTER  XIV.
VOLUNTARY WAKING DREAMS.
The young and the  imaginative  are those who
indulge most frequently in waking  dreams.   The
scenes which life presents do not come up to the
desires of the heart; and the pencil of fancy is ac-
cordingly  employed in depicting others more in
harmony with its own designs.  Away into the
gloomy back-ground goes reality with its stern and
forbidding hues,  and  forward,  in colors more daz-
zling than those of the rainbow, start the bright
and airy phantoms of imagination.   "How often,"
observes  Dr. Good,* "waking  to the roar of the
midnight tempest, while dull and gluttonous indo-
lence snores on  in happy forgetfulness, does the
imagination of those who are thus divinely gifted
mount the dizzy chariot of the whirlwind, and pic-
ture evils that have no real existence ; now figur-
ing to herself some neat and thrifty cottage where
virtue delights to reside, she sees it swept away in

            * Book of Nature, vol. iii. p. 422. 
PHILOSOPHY  OF  SLEEP.
211
 a moment by the torrent, and despoiled of the little
 harvest just gathered in ; now following the lone
 traveller in some narrow and venturous pathway,
 over the edge of  the Alpine  precipices, where a
 single slip is instant destruction, she tracks him
 alone by fitful flashes of lightning; and at length,
 struck by the flash, she beholds  him tumbling
 headlong  from rock to rock, to the bottom of  the
 dread abyss, the  victim of a  double death.  Or
 possibly she takes her stand on the jutting fore-
 land of some bold terrific coast, and eyes the  foun-
 dering vessel straight below;  she mixes with  the
 spent and despairing crew;  she dives  into  the
 cabin, and singles out, perhaps from the rest, some
 lovely maid, who, in all the bloom of recovered
 beauty, is voyaging back to her native land  from
 the healing airs of a foreign climate, in thought
 just bounding over  the scenes of her youth, or
 panting in the warm embraces of a father's arms."
 Such are waking dreams; and there are few who,
 at some happy moment  or other, have not yielded
 to their influence.  Often under the burning clime
 of India, or upon  the lonely banks of the Missis-
 sippi, has the stranger let loose the reins of his-
 imagination, calling up before him the mountains
 of his own beloved  country, his  native  streams,
 and  rocks, and valleys, so  vividly, that he was
 transported back into the midst of them, and lived
 over again the days of his youth.   Or the waking
dream may assume a more  selfish character.  If
the individual pines  after wealth, his  mind  may 
212
PHILOSOPHY
be filled with visions of future opulence.  If he is
young and unmarried, he may conjure up the form
of a lovely female, may place her in a beautiful
cottage  by the banks  of some romantic stream,
may love her with  unfathomable affection, and
become the fondest and most happy of husbands.
The more completely a person  is left to solitude,
the more likely  is his imagination to  indulge in
such fancies.  We seldom build castles in  the air
in the midst of bustle, or when we have any thing
else to think of.  Waking dreams are the luxuries
of an otherwise unemployed mind—the aristo-
cratic indulgences of the intellect.  As  people get
older  and more conversant  with  life  in  all  its
diversified features, they are  little inclined to in-
dulge in  such visions.   They survey events with
the eye of severe truth, amuse themselves with no
impracticable notions of fancied  happiness, and are
inclined to take a gloomy, rather than a flattering,
view of the  future.   With  youthful and poetical
minds,  however, the  case is  widely different.
Much of that portion of their existence, not devoted
to occupation, is a  constant dream.   They  lull
themselves into temporary  happiness with scenes
which they know only to exist  in their own ima-
gination ; but which  are nevertheless so beautiful,
and so much in harmony with every thing their
souls desire, that they fondly  clasp at the illusion,
and submit themselves unhesitatingly to its spell.
   These curious states of mind may occur at any
time; but the most common periods of their acces- 
OF  SLEEP.
213
ision  are  shortly after  lying down, and  shortly
before getting up.  Men, especially young men, of
Vivid, sanguine, imaginative  temperaments,  have
dreams of this  kind  almost  every  morning  and
night.   Instead of submitting to the sceptre of
sleep, they amuse themselves  with creating  a
thousand visionary scenes.  Though broad awake,
their judgment does  not  exercise  the slightest
sway, and fancy is allowed to become lord of the
ascendant. Poets are notorious castle-builders, and
poems are, in fact,  merely waking dreams—at
least  their authors were under the hallucination
of such dreams while composing.  Milton's mind,
during  the composition of Paradise Lost,  must
have existed chiefly in the state of a sublime wak-
ing dream ; so must Raphael's, while painting the
Sistine Chapel; and, Thorwaldson's, while  design-
ing  the triumphs  of  Alexander.   In.  waking
dreams, whatever emotion.prevails has a character
of exaggeration, at least in reference to the existing
condition of the individual.   He sees every thing
through the serene atmosphere of imagination, and
imbues the most trite circumstances with poetical
coloring.   The aspect,  in short, which  things
assume, bears a strong resemblance to that im-
pressed upon them by ordinary dreams, and differs
chiefly in this, that,  though verging continually
on the limits of extravagance, they seldom trans-
cend possibility.
           19 
CHAPTER   XV.
SPECTRAL ILLUSIONS.
Of the various faculties with which  man is en-
dowed, those which bring him into communication
with the material world, constitute an important
class.   The  organs  of these faculties—termed
perceptive—are situated in the middle and lower
parts of the forehead.  Their function is  to per-
ceive and remember  the existence, phenomena,
qualities, and relations of external objects.  Indi-
viduality takes cognizance of the existence of ma-
terial bodies; Eventuality, of  their  motions  or
actions;  Form, of their shape;  Size, of their
magnitude and proportions;  Weight, of the resist-
ance which they offer to a moving or  restraining
power;  Coloring, of their  colors;  and Locality,
of their  relative position.   Time and Number per-
ceive and   remember  duration and  numbers;
Language takes cognizance of artificial  signs of
feeling and thought;  and Order delights in regu-
larity and arrangement.  In ordinary circumstan-
ces, the mode of action of these organs is this.   If
any  object—a horse for example—be placed be- 
        PHILOSOPHY OF  SLEEP.      215

fore us, the rays of light reflected from its surface
to our eye, form a picture of the animal upon the
retina or  back part  of that organ.   This picture
gives rise to  what, for want of  more precise lan-
guage, is called an impression, which is conveyed
by the optic nerve to the cerebral organs already
mentioned; and  by them, in reality, the  horse is
perceived.   The  eye and optic nerve, it will be
observed, do no more than transmit the impression
from without, so as  to  produce that state of the
internal organs which  is accompanied by what is
termed perception or sensation.   When the horse
is withdrawn,  the impression still remains, to a
certain extent, in the brain; and though  the ani-
mal is not actually perceived, we still  remember
its appearance, and can almost imagine that it is
before us.  This  faint semi-perception is called an
idea, and differs from sensation  only in  being less
vivid.   The  brain is more highly excited  when
it perceives a sensation, than when an idea only is
present; because, in the former case, there is ap-
plied, through  the medium of the senses, a stimu-
lus from without, which, in the latter case, is not
present.   If,  however,  the  brain be brought by
internal causes to a degree of excitement, which,
in general, is the result  only of external impres-
sions, ideas not less vivid than sensations ensue:
and the individual has the same consciousness as
if an impression  were transmitted from an  actual
object through the  senses.   In other words, the
brain, in a certain state, perceives external bodies: 
216              PHILOSOPHY
 and any cause which induces that state, gives rise
 to a like perception, independently of the usual
 cause — the presence of external bodies themselves.
 The chief of these internal causes is inflammation
 of the brain ;  and when the organs of the percep-
 tive faculties are so excited — put into a state sim-
 ilar  to that which follows actual impressions from
 without—the result is a series of false images or
 sounds, which are often so vivid as to be mistaken
 for realities.   During sleep, the preceptive organs
 seem to  be  peculiarly susceptible of such  excite-
 ment.   In  dreaming,  for  instance, the external
 world, is inwardly represented to our  minds with
 all the force of reality: we speak and hear as if
 we were in communication with actual existences.
 Spectral illusions are  phenomena  strictly analo-
 gous ;  indeed, they are literally nothing else  than
 involuntary waking dreams.
  In addition to  the occasional  cause of  excite-
 ment of the perceptive organs above  alluded to,
there is another, the existence of which is proved
by numerous  facts,  though  its  mode of  action
is  somewhat  obscure.  I  allude to  a large de-
velopment of the organ of  Wonder.  Individuals
with such a development are both strongly inclin-
ed to believe in the supernaturality of ghosts, and
peculiarly liable to be visited by them.  This or-
gan  is large in the head of Earl  Grey, and he is
said  to be haunted by  the apparition of a bloody
head.  Dr. Gall  mentions, that in the head of Dr.
Jung Stilling, who saw visions, the organ was very 
OF  SLEEP.
217
 largely developed.  A gentleman who moves in the
 best society in Paris, once asked Gall  to examine
 his head.  The doctor's first remark  was, " You
 sometimes see visions, and believe in apparitions."
 The gentleman started from his chair in astonish-
 ment, and said that he had frequent visions : but
 never till that moment had  he spoken on the sub-
 ject to any human being, through fear of being
 set down as  absurdly credulous.  How a large
 development of  Wonder produces the necessary
 excitement of the perceptive organs is unknown,
 but the fact seems indisputable.
   In former times, individuals who beheld visions,
 instead of ascribing them to a disordered state of
 the brain, referred them to outward impressions,
 and had a false conviction of the presence of su-
 pernatural beings.   Hence the universal belief in
 ghosts which in these  periods prevailed, even
 among the learned, and  from which the illiterate
 are not yet entirely exempt.
   We read in history of people being attended by
 familiar spirits ;  such was the case with Socrates
 in  ancient, and with the poet Tasso, in modern
 times: their familiar spirits  were merely spectral
 illusions.   " At Bisaccio, near Naples," says Mr.
 Hoole, in his  account of the illustrious author of
 the Jerusalem Delivered, "Manso had an opportu-
 nity of examining  the singular effects  of Tasso's
 melancholy, and often disputed him concerning a
familiar spirit which he  pretended conversed with
 him: Manso endeavored in  vain to persuade his
              19* 
218
PHILOSOPHY
friend that the whole was the illusion of a disturb-
ed imagination;  but the latter was strenuous in
maintaining the reality of what he asserted, and to
convince Manso, desired him to be present at one
of the mysterious conversations.  Manso had the
complaisance  to  meet him  next  day,  and while
they were engaged in discourse, on a  sudden he
observed that  Tasso kept his eyes fixed on a win-
dow, and remained  in a manner immovable: he
called him  by his name, but received no answer;
at last Tasso cried out, ' There is the friendly spirit
that is come to converse with me ;  look ! and you
will be convinced of all I have said.'
   Manso heard him with surprise; he looked, but
saw nothing except the sunbeams darting through
the window;  he cast  his eyes all over the room,
but could perceive nothing; and was just going to
ask where the pretended spirit was, when he heard
Tasso speak  with great  earnestness,  sometimes
putting  questions to the spirit, sometimes giving
answers ; delivering the whole in such a pleasing
manner, and in such elevated expressions, that he
listened with  admiration, and had not the least
inclination  to interrupt him.  At last the  uncom-
mon conversation ended with the departure of the
spirit, as appeared  by Tasso's own words, who,
turning to  Manso, asked  him if his doubts were
removed.   Manso was more  amazed  than  ever;
he scarce knew what to think of his friend's situ-
ation, and waived any farther conversation on the
subject," 
OF  SLEEP.
219
  The visions of angels, and the communications
from above, with which religious enthusiasts are
often  impressed, arise from the operation of spec-
tral illusions.   They see forms  and hear sounds
which have no existence ; and, believing in the
reality of such  impressions, consider themselves
highly favored by the Almighty.  These  feelings
prevailed  very much during the persecutions in
Scotland.   Nothing  was more  common than for
the Covenanter by the lonely  hill side to  have
what  he supposed a special message from God,
and even to see the angel who brought it, standing
before him, and  encouraging him to steadfastness
in his religious principles.  Much of the  crazy
fanaticism exhibited by the disciples of Campbell
and  Irving, undoubtedly arises from a similar
cause ; and it  is probable  that both of these indi-
viduals see visions  and hear supernatural voices,
as well as many of their infatuated followers.
  Various  causes may so excite the brain as to
produce these  phantasmata, such as great mental
distress, sleeplessness, nervous irritation, religious
excitement, fever,  epilepsy, opium,  delirium tre-
mens, excessive study, and dyspepsia.   I  have
known them to arise without the apparent concur -
rence of any mental  or bodily distemper.   I say
apparent, for it is very evident there must be some
functional derangement, however much it may be
hidden from observation. An ingenious friend has
related to  me a  case of this kind which occurred
in his own person.   One morning, while lying in 
220
PHILOSOPHY
bed broad awake, and, as he supposed, in perfect
health, the wall opposite to him appeared to open
at its junction with the  ceiling,  and out of the
aperture came a little uncouth, outlandish figure,
which descended from the roof, squatted upon his
breast, grinned at him maliciously, and seemed as
if pinching and pummelling his sides.  This illu-
sion continued for some time, and with a timorous
subject might have been attended with bad conse-
quences ; but he referred it at once to some disor-
dered state of the stomach under which  he  ima-
gined he must have labored at the time, although
he had  no direct consciousness of any such de-
rangement of this organ.   The same gentleman
has related to me the case of one of his friends
which attracted much notice at the  time it  hap-
pened, from the melancholy circumstances that at-
tended it.   It is an equally marked instance of
hallucination arising without the individual being
conscious of any physical cause by which it might
be occasioned.  It is as follows : —
  Mr. H. was one day walking  along the street,
apparently in perfect health, when he saw, or  sup-
posed he saw his acquaintance, Mr.  C, walking
before him.   He called aloud to the latter, who,
however, did not seem to hear him, but continued
moving on.  Mr. H. then quickened his pace for
the purpose of overtaking him ; the other increas-
ed his also, as if to keep ahead of his pursuer, and
proceeded  at such a rate that Mr. H. found it im-
possible to make up to him.  This continued for 
OF  SLEEP.
221
some time, till, on Mr. C. coming to a  gate  he
opened it, passed in, and slammed it violently in
Mr. H.'s face.   Confounded at such treatment, the
latter instantly opened the gate,  looked down the
long  lane into which it led,  and, to  his astonish-
ment, no one was visible.  Determined to unravel
the mystery, he went to Mr. C.'s house ; and what
was his surprise when he learned that he was con-
fined to bed, and had been so  for  several days.  A
week or two afterwards, these gentlemen chanced
to meet in the house of a common  friend, when
Mr. H. mentioned the circumstance,  and told Mr.
C. jocularly that he had seen his  wraith, and that,
as a natural consequence, he would soon be a dead
man.  The person addressed  laughed heartily, as
did the rest of the company, but  the result turned
out to be no laughing matter ; for, in a very few
days, Mr.  C. was attacked with putrid sore throat,
and died ;  and within a  very short period  of his
death Mr. H. was also in the grave.
  Some of the  most vivid instances of spectral
illusiDn are those induced by opium.   Several of
the "English Opium-Eater's"  visions  were doubt-
less of this nature.  Dr. Abercrombie relates a strik-
ing instance of the kind which occurred to the late
Dr. Gregory.   " He  had  gone to the north coun-
try by sea to visit a lady, a near relation, in whom
he felt deeply interested, and who was in an ad-
vanced state of consumption.  In returning from
the visit, he had taken a  moderate dose of lauda-
num, with the view of preventing  sea-sickness. 
222
PHILOSOPHY
and was lying on a couch in the cabin, when the
figure of the lady appeared before him in so dis-
tinct a manner that her actual presence could not
have been more vivid.   He was quite awake, and
fully sensible that it was a phantasm produced by
the opiate, along with his intense mental  feeling ;
but he  was unable  by any effort to banish the
vision."*  Indeed,  any thing  on which the mind
dwells excessively may, by exciting the perceptive
organs, give rise to spectral illusions.  It  is to this
circumstance that the  bereaved husband sees the
image of a departed wife, to whom he was fondly
attached — that the murderer is  haunted by the
apparition of his victim—and that the living with
whom we are familiar, seem to be presented before
our eyes, although at  a distance from  us.   Dr.
Conolly relates the case of  a  gentleman,  who,
when in danger of being wrecked near the Eddy-
stone lighthouse,  saw  the  images of his whole
family.
   These illusive  appearances  sometimes  occur
during convalescence from diseases.  In the sum-
mer of 1832, a gentleman in Glasgow, of dissipated
habits,  was  seized with cholera,  from which he
recovered.  His  recovery was  unattended  with
any thing particular, except the presence of phan-
tasmata—consisting of human figures about  three
feet high,  neatly dressed in pea-green jackets, and
knee-breeches of the same  color.  Being a person
* Inquiries concerning the Intellectual Powers, p. 357. 
OF SLEEP.
223
 of a superior mind, and knowing the cause of the
 illusions,  they gave him no  alarm, although he
 was very often haunted by them.  As he advanced
 in strength the phantoms appeared less frequently,
 and diminished in size, till at last they were not
 taller than  his finger.  One  night, while seated
 alone, a multitude of these Lilliputian  gentlemen
 made their appearance on  his table, and favored
 him with a dance ;  but being at the time other-
 wise engaged, and in no mood to enjoy such  an
 amusement, he lost temper at the unwelcome  in-
 trusion  of his pigmy visiters,  and striking his fist
 violently  upon  the table, he  exclaimed in a vio-
 lent passion, " Get about your business you  little
 impertinent rascals!  What  the devil are you
 doing here ?" when  the whole assembly instantly
 vanished, and he was never  troubled with them
 more.
  It generally happens that  the figures  are  no
less visible when  the eyes are closed than when
they are open.  An individual in the west of Scot-
land, whose case  is  related in the Phrenological
Journal,*  whenever  he shut  his eyes or was  in
darkness,  saw a procession move before his mind
as distinctly as it  had  previously done  before his
eyes. Some years ago, a farmer from the neigh-
borhood of Hamilton, informed me, with feelings
of great horror,  that he had frequently the vision
of a hearse drawn by four black horses, which
* VoLii. p.lll. 
224             PHILOSOPHY

were driven by a black driver.  Not knowing the
source of this illusion he was rendered extremely
miserable by it; and, to aggravate his unhappiness,
was regarded by the ignorant  country people, to
whom he told his story, as having been guilty of
some grievous crime.  This vision was apparent
to him chiefly by  night, and  the effect was the
same whether his eyes were open or shut.  Indeed,
so little  are these illusions dependant on  sight,
that the  blind are frequently subject to them.  A
respected elderly gentleman, a patient of my own,
who was afflicted with loss of sight, accompanied
by violent headaches, and severe dispeptic  symp-
toms, used to have the image of a black  cat  pre-
sented before him, as distinctly as  he  could have
seen it before he became blind.  He was troubled
with  various other  spectral appearances, besides
being subject to illusions of sound equally remark-
able ; for he had often the consciousness of hear-
ing music so strongly impressed upon him,  that it
was with difficulty his friends could convince  him
it was purely ideal.
  Considering the age in which Bayle lived, his
notions of the true  nature of  spectral  illusions
were  wonderfully acute  and philosophical.  In-
deed, he  has so well described the theory of appa-
ritions, that the modern phrenological doctrine on
this point seems little more than an expanded  ver-
sion of his own.   " A man," says  he, " would not
only be very rash, but also very extravagant, who
should pretend to prove that there never was  any 
OF SLEEP.
225
person that imagined he saw a spectre;  and I
do  not think  that  the  most obstinate and extra-
vagant  unbelievers have  maintained this.   All
they say, comes to this:  that the persons who have
thought themselves eye-witnesses of the apparition
of spirits had a disturbed imagination.  They con-
fess that there are certain places  in our brain
that, being affected in a certain  manner, excite
the image  of an object which has no real existence
out of ourselves, and make the man, whose brain
is thus modified, believe he sees, at two paces dis-
tant, a frightful spectre, a hobgoblin, a threatening
phantom.  The like happens  in the heads of the
most incredulous, either in their sleep, or in  the
paroxysms of a violent fever.  Will they maintain
after this, that it is impossible for a man awake,
and not in  a delirium, to receive, in certain places
of his brain, an impression almost like that which,
by the law of nature, is connected with the appear
ance of a phantom."  In one of Shenstone's Essays,
entitled " An Opinion of Ghosts," the same theory
is clearly enunciated.
  It is worthy of remark, that the phenomena of
apparitions are  inconsistent with  the prevalent
theory that the brain is  a single organ, with every
part of which each faculty is connected. Were this
theory sound, the  same cause that  vivifies  the
perceptive faculties  must also vivify, or excite to
increased action, the propensities, sentiments, and
reflecting powers.   This, however, is by no means
the case.
      20 
226
PHILOSOPHY
  The case of Nicolai,  the  Prussian  bookseller,
which occurred in the beginning of 1791, is one of
the most remarkable  instances of spectral illusion
on record.  " I saw," says he, " in a state of mind
completely sound, and—after the first terror was
over—with perfect  calmness,  for  nearly  two
months, almost constantly and involuntarily, a vast
number of human and other forms, and even heard
their voices, though all this was merely the conse-
quence of a diseased state of the nerves, and an
irregular circulation of the blood."  " When I shut
my eyes, these phantasms would sometimes vanish
entirely, though there were instances  when I be-
held them with  my  eyes closed;  yet  when  they
disappeared on such occasions, they generally re-
turned  when  I  opened my  eyes.  I conversed
sometimes with my physician and my wife of the
phantasms which at the moment surrounded me ;
they  appeared more frequently walking than at
rest;  nor were they constantly present.  They fre-
quently did not come for some time, but always re-
appeared for a longer or shorter period either singly
or in company,  the  latter,  however,  being most
frequently the case.  I generally saw human forms
of both sexes; but they usually seemed not to take the
smallest notice of each other, moving as in a mar-
ket-place,  where all are eager to press through the
crowd;  at times, however, they seemed to be trans-
acting business  with each  other.  I  also  saw,
several times, people on horseback, dogs, and birds.
All these phantasms appeared to me in their naural 
OF  SLEEP.
227
 size, and as distinct as if alive, exhibiting different
 shades of carnation in the uncovered parts, as well
 as in different colors and fashions in their dresses,
 though the colors seemed somewhat paler than in
 real nature ;  none of the figures appeared particu-
 larly terrible, comical, or disgusting, most of them
 being of an indifferent shape, and some presenting
 a pleasing aspect."
   Perhaps the most remarkable visionary, of whom
 we have any detailed account, was  Blake the
 painter.  This extraordinary man not only be-
 lieved in his  visions, but could often call  up at
 pleasure whatever phantasms he wished to  see ;
 and so far from their  being objects of annoyance,
 he rather solicited than wished to avoid their pres-
 ence.   He was in the  habit of conversing with an-
 gels, demons, and heroes,  and taking their likenes-
 ses ; for  they  proved most  obedient sitters, and
 never showed any aversion to allow him to transfer
 them to  paper.  " His mind;" says  Mr. Cunning-
ham,  "could convert the most ordinary occurren-
 ces into something  mystical  and  supernatural."
 " ' Did you ever see a fairy's funeral, Madam ?' he
 once said to a  lady who happened to sit by him in
company, ' Never, Sir  !' was the answer.  ' I have.'
said Blake,  'but  not before  last night.  I  was
 walking  alone in my garden, there was great still-
ness among the branches and  flowers,  and more
than common sweetness in the air;  I heard a low
and pleasant sound, and knew not whence it came.
At last I  saw the broad leaf of a flower move, and 
228
PHILOSOP H Y
 underneath I saw a procession of creatures of tht?
 size and  color of green  and grey grasshoppers,
 bearing a body laid out on a rose leaf, which they
 buried with songs, and then disappeared.  It was
 a fairy funeral.'"  On being asked to draw the
 likeness of Sir William Wallace, that hero immedi-
 ately stood before him, and he commenced taking his
 portrait.   " Having drawn for some time with the
 same care of hand and steadiness of eye, as if a
 living sitter  had been  before him, Blake stopped
 suddenly and said, ' I cannot finish him—Edward
 the  First has stepped in between him anfl  me.'
 'That's lucky,' said his friend, 'for I want the  por-
 trait of Edward too.'  Blake took another sheet of
 paper and sketched the features of Plantagenet;
 upon which his majesty politely vanished, and the
 artist finishedthe head of Wallace."*   The greater
 part of his life was passed  in beholding visions and
 in drawing  them.  On one  occasion  he saw the
 ghost of a flea and took a sketch of it.  No  con-
 ception was  too strange  or incongruous for his
 wild imagination,  which totally overmastered his
judgment, and make him mistake  the chimeras of
 an excited brain for realities.
  What is called the Second Sight originated, in
 most cases, from spectral illusions ; and the seers
 of whom we  so often read, were merely individ-
 uals visited by these phantoms.   The Highland

 * Cunningham's Lives of the British Painters,  Sculptors,, and
 Architects, vol. ii., Life of Blake. 
OF SLEEP.
229
 mountains, and the wild lawless  habits of those
 who inhabited them, were peculiarly adapted to
 foster the growth of such impressions in imagina-
 tive minds; and, accordingly,  nothing was more
 common than to meet with persons who not only
 fancied they saw  visions, but, on the strength of
 this belief, laid claim to the gift of prophecy.  The
 more completely the mind is abstracted from the
 bustle  of life; the  more solitary the district  in
 which  the  individual  resides;  and the more ro-
 mantic  and awe-inspiring the scenes that pass be-
 fore his  eyes, the greater is  his tendency to  see
 visions, and to place faith in what he sees.  A man.
 for instance, with the peculiar temperament which
 predisposes to see, and believe in, spectral illusions,
 is informed that his chieftain and  clan have set
 out on a dangerous  expedition.  Full of the sub-
ject, he forces their images before him—sees them
 engaged in fight—beholds his chieftain cut down
 by the claymore  of an enemy—the  clansmen
 routed and dispersed, their houses destroyed, their
 cattle carried off.   This vision he relates to certain
 individuals.  If, as is not unlikely, it is borne out
by the event, his prophecy is  spread far and wide,
 and looked upon as an instance of the second sight;
while, should nothing happen, the story is no more
thought of by those  to whom it was communicat-
ed.  In some  instances, it is  probable that the
accidental  fulfilment of  an ordinary  dream was
regarded as Second Sight.
  The belief in fairies, no doubt, had also its ori-
               20* 
230            PHILOSOPHY
gin in spectral illusions. In the days of ignorance
and superstition nothing was more easy than  for
an excited brain to conjure up those tiny forms,
and  see them perform their  gambols  upon the
greensward beneath the light of the moon.
  The dimensions of the figures which are exhi-
bited in spectral illusions vary exceedingly. Some-
times they appear as miniatures, sometimes of the
size of life, at other times of  colossal proportions.
The same differences apply to their color.  In one
case they are pale, misty, transparent; in another
black, red,  blue, or  green.   Sometimes we have
them fantastically clothed in the costume of a for-
mer age, sometimes  in that  of our own.   Now
they are represented grinning, now weeping, now
in smiles. "White or grey ghosts," says Mr. Simp-
son, " result from  excited Form, with quiescent
Coloring, the  transparent cobweb effect being  co-
lorless.  Pale  spectres,  and  shadowy yet colored
forms, are the effect of partially excited Coloring.
Tall ghosts and dwarf goblins, are the illusions of
over-excited Size.v   The jabbering of apparitions
arises from an excited state  of that part of the
brain which gives us cognizance of sounds.  This
explanation seems highly probable, or rather quite
satisfactory.  There  are points, however, which it
is likely no one will ever be able to explain. Why,
for instance, should  the disordered brain conjure
up persons and faces rather than trees and houses ?
why should a ghost be dressed in red rather than
blue, and why should it smile rather than grin ? 
OF  SLEEP-,
231'
These are minutiae beyond the reach of investiga-
tion, at least in the present state of our know-
ledge.
  Mr. Simpson, in the second volume of the Phre-
nological Journal, has published a case of spectral
illusion, which, for singularity and interest, equals
any thing of the same kind which  has  hitherto
been  recorded.  The subject of it was a young
lady under twenty years of age, of good family,
well educated, free from any superstitious fears, in
perfect bodily health and of sound  mind.  She
was early subject to occasional attacks of such il-
lusions, and the  first she remembered was that of
a carpet which descended in the air before her, then
vanished away.  After an interval of some  years
she began to see human figures in her room as she
lay wide awake in bed.  These figures were whit-
ish or rather grey, and transparent  like cobweb,
and generally above  the size of life.   At this time
she had acute headaches, very singularly confined
to  one small spot  of the head.  On  being asked
to indicate the spot, she touched, with her fore-fin-
ger and thumb, each side of the root of the nose,
the commencement of the eyebrows, and the spot
immediately over  the top of the nose, the ascer-
tained seats of Form, Size, and Lower Individu-
ality.  On being asked  if the pain was  confined
to these spots, she answered that some time after-
wards it extended to the right and left, along the
eyebrows, and a little above them, and completely
round the eyes, which felt as if they would burst 
232
PHILOSOPHY
 from their  sockets.   On  this taking place the vi-
 sions varied.  The organs of  Weight, Coloring,
 Order, Number, and Locality, were affected, and
 the phantasmata assumed a change corresponding
 to the  irritated condition of these parts.  " The
 whitish or  cobweb spectres assumed the natural
 color of the objects, but they continued often  to
 present themselves, though not always, above the
 size of life."  " Coloring being over-excited, began
 to occasion  its specific and fantastical illusions.
 Bright spots, like stars on  a back ground, filled the
 room in the dark, and even in day-light;  and sud-
 den, and  sometimes gradual,  illumination of the
 room during the night took place, so that the fur-
 niture in it became visible.  Innumerable balls  of
 fire seemed one day to pour like a torrent out of
 one of the rooms of the house down the staircase.
 On one occasion,  the pain between the eyes, and
 along the lower ridge of the brow, struck her sud-
 denly with great violence—when, instantly, the
 room filled with stars and bright spots.  On at-
 tempting, on that occasion, to  go to bed, she said
 she was conscious of an inability to balance her-
 self, as if she had been tipsy, and she fell, having
 made repeated efforts to seize the bed-post; which,
 in the most  unaccountable manner  eluded her
grasp by shifting its place, and also by presenting
her with a number  of bed-posts  instead of one.
If the organ of Weight,  situated between  Size
and Coloring, be the organ of the instinct to pre-
serve, and  power  of preserving equilibrium,  it 
OF  SLEEP'.
232
 must be the necessary consequence of the derange-
 ment of that organ to overset  the balance of the
 person.  Over-excited Number we should  expect
 to produce multiplication of objects, and the first
 experience she had of this illusion, was the multi-
 plication of the bed-posts, and subsequently of any
 inanimate object she looked at."
   " For nearly two years, Miss  S. L. was free from
 her frontal headaches, and—'mark the coincidence
 — untroubled by visions or any other illusive per-
 ceptions. Some months ago, however,.all her dis-
 tressing symptoms  returned in  great aggravation,
 when she was conscious of  a want of health.   The
 pain was more acute  than  before  along the frontal
 bone, and round and  in  the eyeballs ; and  all the
 organs  there situated  recommenced their game of
 illusion.  Single figures of absent and deceased
 friends  were terribly  real to her,  both in the day
 and in the night, sometimes cobweb, but generally
 colored. She sometimes saw friends on the street,
 who proved phantoms  when she approached  to
 speak to them;  and instances occurred, where,
 from not having thus satisfied  herself of the illu-
 sion, she affirmed to such friends that she had seen
 them in certain places, at certain times, when they
 proved to her  the  clearest  alibi.  The confusion
 of her spectral forms now distressed her.—(Order
 affected.) The oppression  and  perplexity were in-
 tolerable, when figures presented themselves before
her in inextricable disorder, and  still more  when
they changed—as with  Nicolai—from whole fi- 
234
PHILOSOPHY
gures to parts  of figures—faces  and half faces,
and  limbs — sometimes of  inordinate  size and
dreadful deformity.   One instance of illusive Dis-
order, which she mentioned, is curious; and has
the farther effect of exhibiting (what cannot be put
in terms except those of) the derangement of the
just  perception of  gravitation  or  equilibrium.
( Weight.)  One night as she sat in her bed-room,
and was about to go  to bed, a stream of spectres,
persons' faces, limbs, in the most shocking confu-
sion, seemed to  her to pour into her room from the
window, in the  manner of a cascade !   Although
the cascade continued, apparently, in  rapid de-
scending motion; there was  no accumulation of
figures in  the room, the supply unaccountably va-
nishing, after having formed the cascade.  Colos-
sal figures are her frequent visiters.   (Size.)"
   In the fifth volume of the Phrenological Journal,
page 319, a case is mentioned where the patient
was tortured with horrid faces glaring at her, and
approaching close to  her in every possible aggra-
vation of horror.  " She was making a tedious re-
covery in  child-bed when these symptoms troubled
her.   Besides the forms, which  were of  natural
color, though often bloody,  she was perplexed by
their variation  in  size, from colossal to minute.
She saw also entire human figures,  but they were
always as minute as pins, or  even pin-heads, and
were in great confusion and numbers."  " She de-
scribed the pain which accompanied her illusions,
viz. acute pain in the upper part or root of the 
OF  SLEEP.
235
nose, the seat of the organ of Form, and all along
the eyebrows, which takes in Individuality, Form,
Size,  Weight, Coloring, Order and Number."
In the same volume, page 430, Mr. Levison relates,
that on asking an individual who saw apparitions,
whether or not he felt pain at any part of his head,
he answered,  " that every time before he experi-
enced this peculiar power of seeing figures, he in-
variably felt pain in and between his  eyes, and, in
short, all over the eyebrows."  It does not appear,
however, that pain is universally felt in such cases
in the lower part of the forehead.  Dr.  Andrew
Combe informs me that, so far as he has observed,
the pain, when it does exist, is more frequently in
the exciting organ, generally Wonder.
  Spectral illusions constitute the great pathogno-
monic sign of delirium tremens.   In  this disease
they are usually of a horrible, a disgusting, or a
frightful  nature ;  the person being  irresistibly  im-
pressed with the notion that  reptiles,  insects, and
all manner of vermin are  crawling upon him,
which he is constantly endeavoring to pick off—
that he is haunted by  hideous  apparitions — that
people are  in the room preparing  to murder  and
rob him, and so forth.   In the following case, with
which I have been  favored by Dr.  Combe,  the
illusive appearances were of a more pleasing kind
than generally happen.   " In a case," says he, "of
delirium tremens in an inn-keeper, about whom I
was consulted, the spectral illusions continued sev-
eral days, and had a distinct reference to a large 
?!3E
PHILOSOPHY
and active cerebellum, (the organ of Amativeness)
conjoined with  Wonder.   The man refused to ah
low me to look at a blister which had been placed
between his shoulders, ' because he could not take
off his coat before the ladies who were in the room !
When I assured him that there was nobody in the
room, he smiled at the joke, as he conceived it to be,
and, in answer to my questions, described them as
several in number, well dressed, and good-looking.
At my request he rose up to  shake hands  with
them, and was  astonished at finding them elude
his grasp, and  his hand strike the wall.   This,
however, convinced him that it was  an illusion,
and he forthwith took off his coat, but was un-
willing to converse longer on the  subject.   In a
few days the ladies vanished from his sight."
   Spectral  illusions are more frequently induced
by fever than by any other cause.  Indeed, the
premonitory stages of most fevers are accompanied
by illusive  appearances of one kind  or another,
such as luminous bodies, especially when the eyes
are shut, hideous faces, streaks of fire, (fee;  and
in the advanced stages, they are not uncommon.
A medical  friend has informed me, that when ill
of fever  in Portugal, he was terribly harrassed by
the vision of a soldier, whose picture was hanging
in the room.   Removing the picture failed to dis-
sipate the illusion, which did not disappear till he
was conveyed to another apartment.  Dr. Bostock,
while under a febrile attack, was visited by spec-
tral illusions of an unusual kind.  The following 
OF  SLEEP.
237
are the particulars of his case^ as described by
himself:—
  " I was laboring," says he, " under a fever, at-
tended with symptoms of general debility, especial-
ly of the nervous system, and with a severe pain
of the head, which was  confined to a small  spot
situated above the right temple.   After  having
passed a sleepless night, and being reduced  to a
state of considerable exhaustion, I first perceived
figures presenting themselves before me, which I
immediately recognised as similar to those described
by Nicolai, and upon which, as  I was free from de-
lirium, and  as they were visible about three days
and nights with little intermission, I was  able to
make my observations.   There were two circum-
stances which appeared  to me very remarkable:
first, that the spectral appearances always followed
the motion  of the eyes  ; and,  secondly, that the
objects which were the best defined and remained
the longest  visible, were such  as I had no recol-
lection of ever having previously seen.   For about
twenty-four hours I had constantly before me a
human figure, the features  and dress of which
were as distinctly visible as that of any real exist-
ence,  and  of which, after an interval of many
years, I still retain the most lively impression ; yet,
neither at the time nor since have I been  able to
discover any person whom I had previously  seen
who resembled it.
   " During one part of this disease, after the dis-
appearance  of this stationary  phantom, I had a
       21 
238
PHILOSOPHY
very singular and amusing imagery presented to
me.   It appeared as if a number of objects, prin-
cipally human faces or figures  on a  small scale,
were placed before me, and gradually removed like
a succession of medallions.   They were all of the
same  size, and appeared to be all situated at the
same  distance from  the face.   After one had been
seen for a few minutes, it became fainter, and then
another, which was more vivid, seemed to be laid
upon it  or  substituted  in its  place, which, in its
turn, was superseded by a new appearance.   Du-
ring all this succession of scenery,  I do not recol-
lect that, in a single instance, I saw any object with
which I had been previously  acquainted, nor, as
far as I am aware, were the representations of any
of those objects, with  which  my  mind  was the
most  occupied at other times, presented to me;
they appeared to be  invariably new creations, or,
at least, new combinations  of  which I could not
trace the original materials." *
  The following very curious instance, is not less
interesting: the subject of it was a member of the
English bar.
  " In December, 1823, A. was confined to his bed
by  inflammation of the chest, and was supposed
by his medical attendant to be in considerable dan-
ger.  One night, while unable to sleep from pain
and fever,  he  saw, sitting on  a  chair,  on the left
side of his bed, a female figure  which he imme-

          * Bostock's Physiology, vol. iii. p. 204. 
OF  SLEEP.
239
diately recognised to be that of a young lady who
died about two years before.   His first feeling was
surprise, and perhaps a little  alarm;  his second,
that he  was suffering from  delirium.   With this
impression, he put his head under the  bed-clothes,
and, after trying in vain to sleep,  as a test of the
soundness of his mind, he  went through a long
and complicated process  of metaphysical reason-
ing.  He then peeped  out and saw the figure in
the same situation  and position.   He had a fire,
but  would not allow a candle or nurse  in  the
room.   A stick was kept by his  side to knock for
the nurse when he  required her attendance.  Be-
ing  too weak to move his  body, he  endeavored
to touch the figure  with the stick, but, on a real
object being  put upon the  chair, the imaginary
one disappeared, and was not visible again that
night.
   " The next day he thought of little  but the vi-
sion, and expected its return without alarm, and
with  some pleasure.  He was not disappointed.
It took the same place as before, and he employed
himself in observations.  When he shut his eyes
or turned his head, he ceased to see the figure ; by
interposing his hand he could  hide part of it; and
it was shown, like  any mere material substance,
by the rays of the fire  which  fell upon and were
reflected from it.  As the fire declined it became
less  perceptible, and as it went out, invisible.  A
similar  appearance took place on  several other 
240
PHILOSOPHY
nights;  but it became less perceptible, and its vis-
its less frequent, as |the patient recovered from his
fever.
   "He  says the impressions on his  mind  were
always pleasing, as the spectre looked at him with
calmness and regard.  He never supposed it real;
but was unable to account for it on  any philoso-
phical principles within his knowledge.
  " In the autumn of 1825, A.'s health was  per-
fectly restored,  and  he had  been free from any
waking vision for nearly eighteen months.  Some
circumstances  occurred which  produced in  him
great mental excitement.  One morning he dream-
ed of the figure, which stood by his  side in an
angry posture, and  asked for a locket which he
usually wore.   He awoke  and saw it at the toilet,
with the locket  in its hand.   He rushed out of bed
and it instantly  disappeared.   During the next six
weeks its visits where incessant, and the sensations
which they produced  where invariably horrible.
Some years before, he had attended the dissection
of a woman  in a state of  rapid decomposition.
Though much  disgusted at the time, the subject
had  been long forgotten; but was recalled by the
union  of its putrescent body with  the  spectre's
features.  The visits  where not confined to the
night,  but frequently occurred while several per-
sons where in  the same  room.  They were re-
peated at intervals during the winter; but he was
able to get  rid of them by moving or sitting  in <w 
OF  SLEEP.
241
 erect position.   Though well, his pulse was hard,
 and generally from 90 to 100."*
   In March, 1829, during an attack of fever, ac-
 companied with violent action  in the brain, I ex-
 perienced illusions of a very peculiar kind.  They
 did not appear except when the eyes were shut or
 the room perfectly dark; and this was one of the
 most distressing things connected with my illness ;
 for it obliged me  either  to keep my eyes open or
 to admit more  light  into the chamber than they
 could  well  tolerate.  I  had the consciousness of
 shining and  hideous  faces grinning at me in  the
 midst  of profound darkness,  from which they
 glared forth in  horrid and diabolical relief.  They
 were never  stationary, but kept moving  in  the
 gloomy back ground: sometimes they approached
 within an inch or  two of my face: at other times,
 they receded several feet or yards from it.  They
 would frequently break into fragments, which after
 floating about would  unite—portions of one face
 coalescing with those of another, and thus forming
 still more uncouth and abominable images.  The
 only way I could  get  rid of those phantoms  was
 by  admitting more light into  the  chamber  and
 opening  the eyes,  when they instantly vanished ;
 but only to reappear when the room was darkened
or  the eyes closed.   One night, when the fever
was at its height, I had a splendid vision of a the-
atre, in the arena of which Ducrow, the celebrated

          Phrenological  Journal, vol. v. p. 210,
             21* 
242
PHILOSOPHY
equestrian, was performing.   On  this occasion, I
had no consicousness of a dark back ground like
to that on which  the  monstrous images floated;
but every thing was gay, bright, and beautiful.  I
was broad awake, my eyes were closed, and yet I
saw  with perfect distinctness  the whole  scene
going on in  the theatre—Ducrow performing his
wonders  of horsemanship — and  the  assembled
multitude, among whom I recognized several inti-
mate  friends;  in  short, the whole process of the
entertainment as clearly as if I were present at it.
When I opened my eyes, the whole scene vanished
like the enchanted palace of the necromancer ;
when I closed them, it as  instantly returned.
But though I could thus dissipate the spectacle, I
found it impossible to get rid of the accompanying
music.  This was the grand march in  the Opera
of Aladdin,  and was  performed by the orchestra
with  more superb and imposing effect, and with
greater loudness, than I ever heard  it  before ; it
was  executed, indeed, with tremendous energy.
This air I tried every effort to dissipate, by forcibly
endeavoring to call other tunes to mind,  but it was
in vain.   However completely the vision  might
be dispelled, the music remained in spite of every
effort to banish it.  During the whole of this sin-
gular state, I was perfectly aware of the illusive-
ness  of my  feelings, and, though  laboring  under
violent headache, could not help speculating upon
them and  endeavoring to trace them  to their pro-
per cause.   This  theatrical  vision continued  for 
OF SLEEP.
243
about five hours;  the previous  delusions for a
couple of days.   The whole evidently proceeded
from  such an excited state of some  parts of the
brain, as I have already alluded  to.   Ideality,
 Wonder, Form, Color, and Size, were all in in-
tensely  active operation,  while the state  of the
reflecting organs was unchanged.   Had the latter
participated in the general excitement, to such an
extent as to be unable to  rectify the false impres-
sions  of the  other  organs,  the case would have
been one of pure delirium.
  Spectral illusions can only be cured by remov-
ing the causes which give rise to them.   If  they
proceed  from the state of the stomach, this must
be rectified by means of purgatives and alterative
medicines.  Should plethora induce  them,  local
or general blood-letting and other antiphlogistic
means are requisite.  If they accompany fever or
delirium  tremens, their removal will, of  course,
depend  upon that of these diseaes.  Arising  from
sleeplessness,  they  will sometimes be cured by
anodynes; and  from nervous irritation,  by the
shower-bath and tonics. Where they seem to  arise
without  any apparent cause, our  attention  should
be directed to the state of the bowels, and blood-
letting had recourse to. 
CHAPTER XVI
REVERIE
 A state of mind somewhat  analogous to  that
 which prevails in dreaming, also takes place  dur-
 ing reverie.  There is the same want of balance
 in the faculties, which are almost equally ill regu-
 lated, and disposed  to indulge in similar extrava-
 gancies.   Reverie  proceeds from  an  unusual
 quiescence of the brain, and inability of the mind
 to direct itself strongly to any one point:  it is often
 the prelude of sleep.  There  is a defect in the
 attention,  which, instead  of being fixed on  one
 subject, wanders  over a thousand, and  even on
 these  is  feebly and ineffectively  directed.   We
 sometimes see this while reading, or, rather, while
 attempting to read.   We get over page after page,
 but the ideas take no hold whatever upon us; we
 are in truth  ignorant of what we peruse, and the
 mind  is either  an absolute blank,  or vaguely ad-
dressed  to something else.  This  feeling  every
person must have occasionally  noticed in taking
out his watch, looking at it, and replacing it without
knowing what the hour was.  In like manner he 
         PHILOSOPHY  OF SLEEP.      245

may hear what  is said to him without attaching
any meaning to the words, which strike  his ear,
yet communicate no definite idea to the sensorium.
Persons in this  mood may, from some ludicrous
ideas flashing across them, burst into a loud fit of
laughter during sermon or at a funeral, and thus
get the reputation of being either grossly irreverent
or deranged.   That kind of reverie in which the
mind is nearly divested of all  ideas, and approxi-
mates closely to the state of sleep, I have sometimes
experienced while gazing long and intently upon
a river.   The thoughts seem  to glide away,  one
by  one, upon the surface of the stream, till  the
mind is emptied of them altogether.   In this state
we see the glassy volume of the water  moving
past us, and  hear its murmur, but lose all power
of fixing our attention definitively upon any sub-
ject : and either  fall asleep, or are aroused by some
spontaneous reaction of the mind,  or  by some ap-
peal to the senses sufficiently strong  to startle us
from our reverie.   Grave, monotonous, slowly-re-
peated sounds—as of a mill, a waterfall, an Eolian
harp, or the voice of a dull orator, have the effect
of lulling the brain into repose, and giving rise to
a pleasing melancholy, and to calmness and inani-
ty of mind.  Uniform gentle motions have a  ten-
dency  to produce a similar state of reverie, which
is also very apt to ensue in the midst of perfect
silence:  hence, in walking  alone in  the country,
where there is no sound to distract our meditations,
we frequently get into this State.   It is also apt to 
246             PHILOSOPHY
take place when we are seated  without books.
companions, or amusement of any kind,  by the
hearth on a winter evening, especially when the
fire is beginning to burn out, when the candles are
becoming faint for want of topping, and a  dim re-
ligious light, like that filling a hermit's cell  from
his solitary lamp, is diffused  over the apartment.
This is the situation most favorable for reveries,
waking dreams, and all  kinds of brown study,
abstraction, ennui, and hypochondria.
   Reverie has been known to arise from the  mind
sustaining temporary weakness, in consequence of
long and excessive application to  one subject.  It
is also, I believe, frequently  induced by  forcing
young people to learn what they  dislike.  In this
case, the mind, finding it impossible to direct itself
to the hated task, goes  wandering off in  another
direction, and thus acquires a habit of inattention,
which, in extreme cases, may terminate in imbe-
cility.  Sometimes reverie arises from peculiarity
of temperament, either natural or induced by men-
tal or bodily weakness.  The best regulated minds
and strongest bodies, may, however, and, in fact,
often have, occasional attacks: but when the feel-
ing grows into a habit, and is too much indulged
in, it is apt to injure the usefulness of the  individ-
ual, and  impair the  whole fabric of  his under-
standing.  "It  is," says  Dr. Good, "upon  the
faculty of attention that every  other  faculty is
dependent for its vigor and expansion:  without it,
the perception exercises itself in vain; the memory 
OF  SLEEP.
247
can lay up no store of ideas ;  the judgment draw
forth no  comparisons; rthe imagination must be-
come blighted and barren ; and where there is no
attention  whatever,  the case  must  necessarily
verge upon fatuity."   I conceive  that persons in
whom  the organ  of  Concentrativeness  is very
small, are peculiarly apt to fall into reverie.
  The following  is  a remarkable  instance of
reverie arising from excessive application : — The
subject of it was  Mr. Spalding, a  gentleman well
known as an eminent literary character  in Ger-
many,  and much respected by those who knew
him.   The case  was drawn up by  himself,  and
published in  the Psychological Magazine.
  "I was this morning engaged with a great num-
ber of people  who followed each other quickly,  and
to each of whom I was obliged to give my atten-
tion.   I  was also  under the  necessity of  writing
much ; but the subjects, which were various  and
of a trivial and uninteresting  nature, had  no con-
nexion the   one  with the other;  my attention^
therefore, was constantly kept on the stretch,  and
was continually shifting from one subject to an-
other.  At last it became necessary that I should
write a receipt for some money I had received on
account  of the poor.   I  seated myself and wrote
the two first  words, but in a moment found that I
was incapable  of proceeding, for I could  not
recollect  the words  which belonged to  the ideas
that were present in  my mind.   I  strained my
attention as  much as possible, and tried to write 
248
PHILOSOPHY
one letter slowly after the other, always having an
eye to the preceding one, in order  to  observe
whether  they had the usual relationship  to each
other;  but I remarked, and said  to myself at the
time, that the characters I was writing were  not
those which I wished to write, and yet I could not
discover  where the fault lay.  I therefore desisted,
and  partly by broken words  and syllables, and
partly  by gesture, I made the person who wait-
ed for  the receipt,  understand he should  leave
me.  For about half an hour there reigned a kind
of tumultuary disorder in my senses, in which  I
was incapable of remarking any  thing very parti-
cular, except that one series of ideas forced them-
selves  involuntarily on my mind.  The trifling
nature of these thoughts I was perfectly aware of,
and  was also conscious  that  I made  several
efforts  to get rid of them, and supply their place
by better ones, which lay at the bottom of my
soul.   I endeavored as much  as  lay  in  my
power, considering the  great  crowd of confused
images which  presented themselves to my mind,
to recall my principles of religion, of conscience,
and of future expectation; these I found equally
correct, and fixed as before.  There was no decep-
tion  in my  external senses, for  I saw and knew
every thing around me; but I could not free my-
self from the strange ideas which existed in  my
head.  I endeavored to speak in  order to discover
whether  I was capable of saying any thing that
was  connected ;  but although I made  the greatest 
OF  SLEEP.
249
efforts of attention, and proceeded, with the utmost
caution, I perceived that I uniformly spoke other
words than those I intended.   My  soul  was at
present as little master of the organs of speech, as
it had been before of my hand in writing.   Thank
God,  this state did not continue very long, for, in
about half  an hour,  my head began to grow
clearer, the strange and tiresome ideas became less
vivid and turbulent, and I could  command my
own thoughts with less interruption.
  " I  now wished to ring for my servant, and de-
sire him to inform my wife to come to me ; but I
found it still  necessary to wait a little longer to
exercise myself in the  right pronunciation of the
few words I had  to say : and the first half hour's
conversation I had with her was, on my part, pre-
served with a slow and  anxious circumspection,
until  at last I gradually found myself as clear
and  serene  as in the  beginning of  the  day, all
that  now remained was  a slight  headache.  I
recollected  the receipt I had begun  to  write, and
in which I knew I had blundered; and upon ex-
amining it, I observed to my great astonishment,
that instead  of the words fifty dollars, being one
half year's  rate,  which I ought to have written,
the words were fifty dollars through the salvation
of Bra—? with a  break after it, for the word Bra
was at the end of a line.  I cannot recollect any
perception, or business which I had to transact,
that  could, by means  of an obscure  influence,
have produced this phenomenon."
        22 
250      PHILOSOPHY  OF SLEEP.

  Reverie, when proceeding, as in this case, from
excessive application, will  seldom be  difficult of
cure: the removal of the exciting cause will of
itself naturally constitute the  remedy.  When it
arises from such a defect  in education as that
already mentioned, the cure will be more difficult,
although  even then it  is  not  always  imprac-
ticable.   In such a case, the person  should  be
strongly directed to those  subjects in which  he
feels most interest,  and never be made  to  study
what he has not a positive liking for.   Active em-
ployment and gay and pleasant society, may effect
much in restoring the intellectual balance.   In all
cases, whatever, he should never be left long alone;
as nothing has such a tendency to foster this state
of mind as solitude. 
CHAPTER  XVII
ABSTRACTION.
Abstraction, or absence of mind, has been con-
founded with reverie, but it is, in reality, a differ-
ent intellectual operation ; for as  in the latter a
difficulty is experienced in making the mind bear
strongly on any one point,  in the former its whole
energies are concentrated towards  a single focus,
and every  other circumstance is, for the time, ut-
terly forgotten.  Such was  the case with Sir Isaac
Newton when, in  a fit of absence, he made  a
tobacco stopper  of the  lady's  finger,  and with
Archimedes, who remained unconscious and un-
moved during the noise and slaughter of captured
Syracuse.   Though,  in  general,  abstraction is
easily broken by outward impressions, there have
been instances where it has been so powerful as to
render the individuals laboring under it insensible
to pain.  Pinel in his Nosographie Philosophique
speaks of a priest who in a fit of mental absence
was unconscious of the pain of  burning; and 
252              PHILOSOPHY
Cardan brought himself into such a state as to be
insensible to all external impression.
  Some men are naturally very absent;  others ac-
quire this habit from particular pursuits, such as
mathematics, and other studies demanding much
calculation.  Indeed, all studies which require deep
thinking, are apt to induce mental absence, in con-
sequence of the sensorial power being drained from
the general circumference of the mind, and  direct-
ed  strongly  to a certain  point.  This draining,
while it invigorates the  organ of the particular fa-
culty towards which the sensorial energy is  con-
centrated, leaves the others in an inanimate state,
and incapacitates them from performing their pro-
per functions; hence persons subject to abstraction
are apt to commit a thousand ludicrous errors; they
are perpetually blundering — committing a multi-
tude of petty, yetharmless offences against establish-
ed  rules, and forever getting into scrapes and ab-
surd situations. Nothing is more common than for
an absent man to take the hat of another person
instead  of his own, to give away  a guinea for a
shilling, to mistake his lodgings, forget invitations,
and so forth.   When the fit  of abstraction is very
strong, he neither hears what is said  to him, nor
sees what is passing around.  "W^hile  you fancy,"
says Budgell, in the 77th No. of the Spectator, "he
is admiring  a beautiful woman, it is an even wa-
ger that he is solving a proposition in Euclid ;  and
while you imagine  he is reading  the Paris Ga-
zette,  it is far from being  impossible that he is 
OF  S L E E F.
253
 pulling  down and rebuilding his country house."
 In some cases the individual requires to be shaken
 before  he can be brought to  take  notice of any
 occurrence ; and it is often difficult to make him
 comprehend even the  simplest proposition.  Ab-
 straction, therefore, bears an analogy to dreaming;
 inasmuch as, in each of these states,  some facul-
 ties are active, while others are at rest.  In dream-
 ing, however, the organs  of the quiescent facul-
 ties are in a much deeper slumber, and less easily
 roused into activity than in abstraction; hence in
 the great majority of cases, abstraction is broken
 with greater facility than sleep.
   It appears from the  observations of the Edin-
 burgh phrenologists,  that individuals who have a
 large development of the organ of Concentrative-
 ness are peculiarly liable to fall into a state of ab-
 straction.  The effect of such  a development is
 fixity of ideas — the power and  tendency to think
 consecutively and steadily upon one subject. " In
 conversing with  some individuals,"  says  Mr.
 Combe,* " we find them fall naturally into a con-
 nected train of thinking;   either  dwelling on a
subject which interests them, till they have placed
 it  clearly before  the  mind, or passing naturally
and gracefully to a  connected topic.  Such per-
sons uniformly have this organ large.  We meet
with others, who  in similar circumstances, never
pursue one idea for two consecutive seconds, who
* System of Phrenology, p. 135.
          22* 
254
PHILOSOPHY
shift from topic to topic, without regard to natural
connexion, and leave no  distinct impression  on
the mind  of the listener;  and this happens even
with individuals in whom reflection is not deficient;
but this organ (Concentrativeness) is, in such per-
sons, uniformly small." A good endowment of the
power in question adds very much to the efficiency
of the intellect, by enabling its possessor to apply
his mind continuously to a particular investigation,
unannoyed by the intrusion of foreign and irrele-
vant ideas.  It seems to have been very strong in
Sir  Isaac Newton,  whose liability to abstraction
has already been alluded to.  " During the two
years,"  says Biot, " which he spent in  preparing
and developing his immortal work, Philosophic
Naturalis Principia Mathematica, he lived only
to calculate and to think.   Oftentimes lost in the
contemplation of these grand objects, he acted un-
consciously ; his thoughts appearing to preserve
no connexion with the ordinary affairs of life.  It
is said,  that frequently, on rising  in the morning,
he would sit  down  on  his bedside, arrested by
some new conception, and would remain for hours
together engaged in tracing it out, without dress-
 ing himself."  " To one who asked him, on some
 occasion, by what  means he had arrived at his
 discoveries, he replied, ' By always thinking unto
 them.'   And  at another  time, he thus expressed
 his method of proceeding,—' I  keep  the subject
 constantly before me, and wait till the first dawn-
 ing opens slowly, by little and little, into a full and 
OF  SLEEP.
255
clear light.'   Again, in a letter to Dr. Bentley, he
says, ' If I have done the public any service this
way, it is due to nothing but industry and patient
thought.' "  Biot mentions further, that, " in gene-
ral,  the intensity  of  thinking  was with  him so
great that it entirely abstracted  his attention from
other matters, and confined him exclusively to
one object.  Thus, we see that  he never was oc-
cupied at the same time with two different scien-
tific  investigations."
  The instances of abstraction upon record are so
numerous that a volume might easily be filled with
them.  Hogarth, the illustrious painter, affords a
good specimen.   Having got a new carriage, he
went in it to the Mansion-House, for the purpose of
paying a visit to the Lord Mayor.  On leaving the
house he went out by a different door from that by
which he entered, and found that it  rained hard.
Notwithstanding this, he walked homewards, and
reached his  own dwelling drenched to the  skin.
His wife seeing him in this  state, asked him how
it happened, and what had become of  his carriage
since he had not returned home in it. The truth
was, that he had actually forgotten he had a car-
riage, or had gone in one at all.
  The following case, from the pleasant  style in
which it is told,  will amuse the  reader.
  " It is a case  of one of the  most profound and
clear-headed philosophical  thinkers,  and  one of
the most amiable of men, becoming so completely
absorbed in  his own reflections, as to lose the  per- 
256
PHILOSOPHY
ception of external things,  and almost that of his
own identity and  existence.  There are few that
have  paid  any attention  to the finance  of this
country, but must have heard of Dr. Robert Ham-
ilton's ' Essay on  the  National Debt,' which fell
upon the Houses of Parliament like a bombshell,
or, rather, which rose and  illuminated their dark-
ness like an orient sun.  There are other writings
of his in  which one knows not which most to ad-
mire—the  profound  and  accurate science,  the
beautiful arrangement,  or the  clear expression.
Yet, in public, the man was a shadow; pulled off
his hat to his own wife in the streets, and apolo-
gized for not having the pleasure of her acquaint-
ance ; went to  his classes  in the college on the
dark mornings,  with one of her white stockings on
the one leg, and one of his own black ones on the
other ; often spent the whole time of  the meeting
in moving from the table the hats of the students,
which they as constantly returned;  sometimes
invited them to call on him, and then fined them
for coming to insult him.  He  would run against
a cow in the road, turn, round beg her  pardon,
' Madam,' and hope she was not hurt.  At  other
times he  would run against posts, and chide them
for not getting out of his way;  and yet his conver-
sation at the same time, if any body happened to
be with him, was perfect logic and perfect music.
Were it not that there may be a little poetic license
in Aberdeen story-telling, a volume might be filled
with anecdotes  of this amiable  and excellent man, 
OF   SLEEP.
257
 all tending, to prove how wide the  distinction is
 between first rate thought and  that merely animal
 use of the organs of sense which prevents ungifted
 mortals  from  walking into  wells.  The fishmar-
 ket at Aberdeen, if still where it used to be, is near
 the Dee, and has a stream passing through it that
 falls into that river. The fish women expose  their
 wares in  large  baskets.  The Doctor  one day
 marched into that place,  where his  attention was
 attracted by a curiously figured stone in a stack of
 chimneys.  He advanced towards it,  till he was
 interrupted by one of the benches,  from which,
 however, he tumbled one of the baskets into the
 stream, which was bearing the fish to their native
 element.  The visage of the lady was  instantly
 in  lightning, and her voice  in thunder; but the
 object of her wrath was deaf to  the loudest sounds,
 and blind  to  the  most  alarming  colors.   She
 stamped, gesticulated, scolded, brought  a  crowd
 that filled the place ; but the philosopher turned not
from his eager gaze  and his inward meditations on
the stone.  While the woman's breath held good,
she did not seem  to heed, but when that began to
fail, and  the  violence of  the act moved not one
muscle of the object, her rage felt no bounds: she
siezed  him by the  breast, and yelling, in an effort
of despair,  ' Spagh ta ma, or I'll burst,' sank down
among the  remnant of her fish  in a state of com-
plete exhaustion ; and before she had recovered,
the  Doctor's reverie was over,  and he had taken his
departure."*
     * " New Monthly  Magazine," vol. xxxviii. p. 510. 
258
PHILOSOPHY
  Many curious anecdotes of a similar kind are
related of the Rev. Dr. George Harvest, one of the
ministers of  Thames Ditton.   So confused  on
some  occasions,  were the ideas of this singular
man, that he  has been known to write  a letter to
one person, address it to a second, and send it to a
third.  He  was once on the eve of being married
to the bishop's daughter, when,  having gone a
gudgeon-fishing, he forgot the  circumstance, and
overstaid the canonical hour, which so offended the
lady, that she indignantly broke off the match.  If
a beggar  happened to take off his hat to him on the
streets, in hopes of receiving alms,  he would make
him a bow, tell him he was his most humble ser-
vant, and walk on.   He has been known on Sun-
day to forget the days on which he was to officiate,
and would  walk into church with his gun under
his  arm, to ascertain what the people wanted there.
Once, when he was playing at backgammon, he
poured out a  glass of wine, and it being his turn
to throw, having the box in one hand and the
glass in the other,  and being extremely dry, and
unwilling to  lose  any time,  he swallowed down
both the dice, and  discharged the wine upon the
dice-board.   "Another  time,"  says  the amusing
narrative which  has been published of his pecu-
liarities, in  one of his absent fits, he mistook his
friend's house, and went into another, the door of
which happened to stand open;  and no  servant
being in the way, he rambled all over the  house,
till, coming into a middle room,  where  there was 
OF  SLEEP.
259
an old lady ill in bed of a quincy, he  stumbled
over the  night-stool, threw a  clothes-horse down,
and might not have ended there, had not the af-
frighted  patient  made a noise at his  intrusion,
which brought up the servants,  who, finding Dr.
Harvest in the room, instead of the apothecary that
was momentarily expected, quieted the lady's fears,
who by this time was taken with such an immode-
rate fit of laughter at  his confusion, that it broke
the quincy in her throat, and she lived many years
afterwards to thank Dr.  Harvest for  his unlucky
mistake." "His notorious heedlessness was so
apparent, that no one  would lend him a horse, as
he frequently lost his beast from under him, or, at
least from out of his hands, it being  his frequent
practice to dismount and lead the horse, putting
the bridle under his arm, which  the horse some-
times shook off, or the intervention of a post occa-
sioned it to fall;  sometimes it was taken off by the
boys, when the parson was seen drawing his bridle
after him; and if any one asked him after  the
animal, he could not give the least account of it,
or how  he  had lost it."  In short the blunders
which he committed were endless, and would be
considered incredible,  were they not authenticated
by incontestible  evidence.  Yet, notwithstanding
all this, Harvest was a man of uncommon abilities,
and an excellent scholar.
  Bacon, the celebrated sculptor, exhibited, on  one
occasion, a laughable  instance of absence of mind.
"Bacon was remarkably neat in his dress, and, ac- 
260
PHILOSOPHY
cording to the costume of the old  school, wore,
in fine  weather, a  powdered wig, ruffles, silver
buckles, with silk stockings, (fee, and walked with
his gold-headed cane.  Thus attired, he one day
called at St. Paul's, shortly  after  having erected
the statue of the benevolent Howard, and before
the boarding which enclosed the statue had been
removed.  One of his sons was employed, at this
time, in finishing the statue.  After remaining a
short  time, he complained of feeling somewhat
cold, on which the  son proposed, as no one could
overlook them, that he should put on, as a kind of
temporary spencer, an old  torn, green shag waist-
coat, with a  red  stuff back, which had been left
there by one of the  workmen.   He said  it was a
' good  thought,'  and  accordingly buttoned the
waistcoat over his handsome new coat.   Shortly
afterwards, he was  missing, but returned in about
an hour, stating that he had been to call on a gen-
tleman in Doctor's Commons, and had sat chatting
with his wife and daughters, whom he had never
seen before; that he found  them to be exceedingly
pleasant women, though perhaps a little disposed
to laugh and titter about he knew not what.  'Sir,'
said the son, ' I am afraid I can explain their mys-
terious behaviour;  surely  you have not kept on
that waistcoat all the time ?'  ' But, as sure as I am
a living man, I have,' said he, laughing  heartily,
' and I can now account not only for the strange
behaviour of the ladies, but for all the jokes that
have been cracked about me as I walked along the 
QF  SLEEP.
261
street—some crying let him  alone, he does it for
a wager, &c. (fee.; all which, from being quite un-
conscious of my appearance, I thought was level-
led at some other quiz that might be following
near me; and  I  now  recollect that,  whenever  I
looked round for the object of their pleasantry, the
people laughed, and the more so, as, by the merry
force of sympathy, I laughed also, although I could
not comprehend what it all meant.'"
   I shall conclude by mentioning  an anecdote of
Mr. Warton, the accomplished Professor of Poetry
in the University of  Oxford.   " This  good divine,
having dined with some jolly company at a gentle-
man's house in that  city, passing through  the
streets to the  church, it being summer-time his
ears were loudly saluted with the cry  of  'Live
mackerel !'  This so  much dwelt  upon  the Doc-
tor's mind, that after a nap while  the psalm was
performing,  as soon as the organ ceased playing,
he got up to the pulpit, and, with eyes half open,
cried out, ' All alive, alive oh !' thus inadvertently
keeping  up the reputation of a  Latin  proverb,
which is translated in the following lines :—
         ' Great wits to madness nearly are allied,
         And thin partitions do their bounds divide.'
   "The Professor  of Poetry  perhaps  supposed
himself yet  with his companions at the convivial
table."
   Mental absence is generally incurable.   In stout
subjects, depletion, purging,  and  low  diet, will
sometimes be of use.   Where the affection seems
               23 
262      PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP.
to arise from torpor of the nervous system, blister-
ing the head and internal stimuli afford the most
probable means of relief.  The person should as-
sociate as  much  as possible with noisy, bustling
people, and shun solitude  and all such studies  as
have a tendency to produce abstraction. 
CHAPTER  XVIII.
SLEEP OF PLANTS.
During night, plants seem to exist in a state ana-
logous to sleep.  At  this period they get relaxed,
while their leaves droop and become folded toge-
ther.   Such is peculiarly the case with the tama-
rind tree, and the leguminous plants with pinnated
leaves ; but with almost all plants it takes place in a
greater or lesser degree, although in some the change
is much more striking than in others.  The trefoil,
the Oxalis, and other herbs with ternate  leaves,
sleep with their leaflets folded together in the erect
posture.  The cause of the different states in which
plants exist during the day and night has never
been correctly ascertained—some attributing it to
the influence  of light, some to  the  vicissitudes of
temperature, and others to atmospherical humidity.
Probably the whole  of these influences are con-
cerned.  It is very  evident that the presence of
certain stimuli during the day puts  the leaves in a
state of activity, and excites their development ;
while the want of such stimuli in the night time
throws them  into repose, relaxes them, and occa- 
264
PHILOSOPHY
 sions them to be weighed down, as if the sustain ■
 ing principle which kept them in energy was sus-
 pended in the torpor of sleep.  The  principal of
 these stimuli is unquestionably light; indeed, Lin-
 neeus, from the observation of stove plants, seems
 to have demonstrated that it is the withdrawing of
 light, and not of heat, which produces the relaxa-
 tion or Sleep of Plants, as it is commonly deno-
 minated.   The  effect of light upon the leaves of
 the Acacia is peculiarly striking.   At sunrise they
 spread themselves out horizontally; as  the heat
 increases  they become elevated, and at noon shoot
 vertically upwards: but as soon as the  sun  de-
 clines they get languid and droop, and during night
 are quite  pendent  and relaxed.  During day,  the
 leaves of  most plants are spread out and display-
 ed, and at the same time, inclined towards the sun.
 Those of the Helianthus annuus, the Helianthe-
 mum annuum, and Croton tinctorium follow the
 course of the sun in their position ;  and most buds
 and flowers have a tendency to turn their heads in
 the direction of  the  great luminary of day.   As
 an instance of this, let us look at the  sun-flower,
 which confronts the source of light with its broad
 yellow expansion of aspect, and hangs its gorgeous
head droopingly  so soon as the object of its wor-
ship declines.  The  leaves of a  great number  of
vegetables present  changes in their position cor-
responding to the  different  hours of the day.
 "Who does not know," says Willdenow, " that the
species of  Lupinus, especially Lupinus  luteus, 
OF  SLEEP.
26
turn, in the open air, their leaves and stalks to-
wards the sun, and  follow its course in so steady
a manner, as to enable us to  specify the hour  of
the day from their  direction."  Such phenomena
were not unknown to Pliny and Theophrastus.
   The analogy between animal and vegetable life
is still  farther demonstrated  by the well known
fact, that while some creatures,  such as the cat
and owl, sleep  during  the  day, and  continue
awake at night,  certain plants do  the same thing.
Such is  the  case with the Tragopogon luteutn,
which becomes  closed, or in  other words, goes to
sleep at nine in the morning, and opens at night.
Every hour of the day, indeed, has some particu-
lar plant which  then shuts itself up:  hence the
idea of the  Flower Dial  by  means  of which the
hour  of the  day can be  told  with tolerable accu-
racy.  Some plants, which shut themselves up in
the day time, flower at night.  The night-flower-
ing Cereus, a species of cactus, is a beautiful in-
stance of the kind;  and there are other plants
which exhibit the same  interesting  phenomenon.
Nothing,  indeed, can be more beautiful than the
nocturnal flowering of certain members of the ve-
getable world.   Linnaeus used to go out at night
with a lantern into  his garden to have  an opportu-
nity of witnessing this remarkable  peculiarity in
the plants by which it is  exhibited.
   The analogy between  the two kingdoms is ren-
dered yet more striking, when it is recollected that,
(with  such  exceptions as the above,) plants in- 
266       PHILOSOPHY OF  SLEEP.

crease much more rapidly during night, which is
their time of sleep, than  in  the day-time, which
may be considered the period of their active  or
waking existence.
  The state in which plants exist in the winter
season,  resembles the  hybernation of animals:
there is the same torpor and apparent extinction
of vitality. Heat and light have the power of both
reviving  plants and  putting  an end to hyberna-
tion.  Between plants and animals, however, there
is this difference : that while most plants become
torpid in winter, only a small number of  animals
get into that state ; but even in such dissimilitude
we can trace an analogy ;  for as there are  animals
upon which winter has no torpifying influence,  so
are there likewise plants.  The Helleborus hyema-
ils or Christmas rose, flowers at the end of Decem-
ber, and the Galanthus nivilis, or snow-drop,  in
the month of  February. 
CHAPTER  XIX
GENERAL MANAGEMENT OF SLEEP.
In  the foregoing pages, I have detailed at length
all the principal phenomena of sleep ; and it now
only remains to state such circumstances as affect
the comfort and healthfulness of the  individual
while in that condition.  The first I shall mention
is the nature of the chamber  in which we sleep;
this should be always large and airy.   In modern
houses, these requisites are too much overlooked ;
and, while the public rooms are of great dimensions,
those appropriated for sleeping are little better than
closets.   This error  is exceedingly detrimental
to health.  The apartments wherein so great a por-
tion of life  is passed, should always  be roomy,
and, if possible, not placed upon the ground-floor,
because such a situation is more apt to be damp
and ill ventilated than higher up.
   The next consideration applies to the bed itself,
which ought to be large, and not placed close to the
wall, but at some distance from it, both  to avoid
any dampness which  may exist in the wall,  and 
268
PHILOSOPHY
admit a  freer circulation of air.  The curtains
should never be drawn  closely together, even in
the coldest weather;  and when the season is not
severe, it is a good plan to remove them altogether.
The bed or mattress ought to be rather hard.  No-
thing is more injurious to health than soft beds ;
they effeminate  the  individual, render his flesh
soft and flabby, and incapacitate him from under-
going any privation.   The texture  of which the
couch is made, is not of much consequence, provid-
ed it is not too  soft:  hence, feather-beds, or mat-
tresses of hair or straw are almost equally good, if
suitable in this particular.  I may mention, how-
ever, that the hair mattress, from being cooler, and
less apt to imbibe moisture,  is preferable during
the summer season, to a bed of feathers.  Those
soft yielding feather-beds, in which the body sinks
deeply, are highly improper,  from the unnatural
heat and perspiration which they are sure to in-
duce.  Air-beds  have been  lately recommended,
but I can assert,  from  personal experience,  that
they are the worst that can possibly be employed.
They become very soon heated to such an unplea-
sant degree as to  render it impossible  to repose
upon them with  any comfort.   For bed-ridden
persons, whose skin has become irritated by long
lying, the hydrostatic bed, lately brought into use
in some of the public hospitals, is the best.
   The pillow as well as the bed, should be pretty
hard.  When very soft, the head soon sinks in  it,
and becomes  unpleasantly heated.  The objection 
OF SLEEP.
269
made to  air-beds applies with equal force  to air-
pillows, which  I several times attempted to use,
but was  compelled to abandon, owing to the dis-
agreeable heat that was generated in a few minutes.
  With regard  to the covering, there can be no
doubt that it is more wholesome  to  lie between
sheets than blankets.  For the same reason, people
should avoid sleeping in flannel nightshirts.   Such
a degree of warmth as is communicated by  those
means is only justifiable in infancy and childhood,
or when  there is actual disease or weakness of con-
stitution.  Parents  often commit a great error in
bringing up their young people under so effemi-
nate a system.
  A common custom prevails of warming the bed
before going to sleep.   This enervating practice
should be abandoned except  with delicate people,
or when  the cold is very intense.  It  is far better
to let the bed be chafed by the natural heat of the
body, which, even in severe weather, will be suffi-
cient for the purpose, provided the  clothing is
abundant.
  We ouo-ht never to sleep overloaded with clothes,
but have merely what is sufficient to maintain a
comfortable warmth.
  When a  person is in health, the atmosphere of
his  apartment should be  cool;  on this  account,
fires are exceedingly hurtful,  and should never be
had recourse to, except  when the individual is
delicate,  or the weather intolerably severe.   When
they become requisite, smoke must  be carefully 
270
PHILOSOPHY
guarded against, as fatal accidents have arisen
from this cause.
  The window-shutters ought never to be entirely
closed,  neither ought they to be kept altogether
open.  In the first case,  we  are apt to  oversleep
ourselves, owing to  the prevailing darkness with
which we are surrounded;  and in the second, the
light which fills the aparment, especially if it be in
the summer season,  may disturb our repose, and
waken us at an earlier hour than there is any oc-
casion for.  Under both  circumstances, the  eyes
are liable  to suffer;  the  darkness  in the one in-
stance, disposes them to be painfully affected, on ex-
posure to the brilliant light of day, besides directly
debilitating them—for, in remaining too much in
the gloom, whether we be asleep or awake, these
organs are sure to be more  or less weakened.   In
the other case,  the fierce glare of the morning sun
acting upon them, perhaps for several hours before
we get up, does equal injury, making them tender
and easily affected by the light   The extremes of
too much and too little light  must,  therefore,  be
avoided,  and such a moderate portion  admitted
into the chamber as not to hurt the eyes, or act as
too  strong a stimulus in breaking our slumbers.
  During the summer heats, the covering requires
to be diminished, so as  to suit the atmospheric
temperature ; and a small portion of the window
drawn down from the top, to promote a circulation
of air ;  but this must be done cautiously, and the
current  prevented from coming directly upon the 
OF  SLEEP.
271
sleeper, as it might give rise to colds, and other bad
consequences.  The late Dr. Gregory was in the
habit of sleeping with the window drawn slightly
down during the whole year : and there can be no
doubt that a gentle current pervading our sleeping
apartments,  is in the highest  degree essential to
health.
   Nothing is so injurious as damp beds.  It  be-
comes every person, whether at home or abroad,
to look to this matter, and see that the bedding on
which he lies is thoroughly dry, and free from even
the slightest moisture.  By neglecting such a pre-
caution,  rheumatism, colds, inflammations, and
death itself  may ensue.  Indeed these calamities
are very frequently traced to sleeping incautiously
upon damp  beds.  For the same reason, the walls
and floor should be dry, and  wet clothes   never
hung up in  the room.
   We should avoid sleeping in a bed that has been
occupied by the  sick, till  the  bedding has been
cleansed and thoroughly aired.  When  a person
 has died of any infectious disease,  not only the
clothes in which he lay, but the couch itself ought
to be burned.  Even the bed-stead should be care-
fully washed and fumigated.
   Delicate  persons who have been accustomed to
sleep  upon feather-beds, must  be  cautious   not to
exchange them rashly for  any other.
   On going to sleep, all  sorts of restraints must be
 removed from  the  body;  the  collar of the  night-
 shirt  should be unbuttoned   and the neckcloth 
272
PHILOSOPHY.
taken off.  With regard  to  the  head, the more
lightly it is covered the better: on this  account,
we should wear a thin  cotton or  silk night-cap ;
and this is still better if made of net-work.  Some
persons wear  worsted, or flannel  caps, but these
are never proper, except in old  or rheumatic sub-
jects.   The  grand  rule of health is  to  keep the
head cool, and the feet warm; hence, the night-cap
cannot be too  thin.  In  fact, the chief use of this
piece of clothing is to preserve the hair, and pre-
serve it  from being disordered and matted together.
   Sleeping in stockings is a bad and uncleanly
habit.   By accustoming ourselves to do without
any covering upon the feet, we shall seldom expe-
rience  cold in these parts,  if we have  clothing
enough to keep the rest of the system comfortable ;
and should they still remain cold, this can easily
be obviated by wrapping a warm flannel cloth
around  them,  or by applying to them, for a few
minutes, a heated iron, or  a bottle of warm water.
   The  posture of the body must  be attended to.
The head should be tolerably elevated, especially
in plethoric subjects; and the  position,  from  the
neck downwards, as nearly as possible horizontal.
The half-sitting posture, with the shoulders con-
siderably raised, is injurious, as  the thoracic and
abdominal viscera  are  thereby compressed, and
respiration, digestion, and  circulation, materially
impeded.  Lying upon  the back is also improper,
in consequence of its tendency  to  produce night-
mare.   Most  people pass  the greater part of the 
OF  SLEEP.
273
night upon the side, which  is certainly the most
comfortable position that can be assumed in sleep.
According to Dr. A. Hunter, women who love
their  husbands generally lie upon the right side.
This  interesting point I have no  means of ascer-
taining, although, doubtless, the ladies are quali-
fied to speak  decidedly upon  the subject   I have
known individuals who could not sleep  except
upon  the back ; but these are rare cases.
  I have mentioned the necessity of a free circula-
tion of air.  On this account, it is more wholesome
to sleep single, than double, for there is then less
destruction of  oxygen;  and the  atmosphere  is
much purer  and cooler.  For  the same reason,
the practice, so  common in public  schools,  of
having several beds in one room,  and two  or
three  individuals in each bed, must be deleterious.
When more than one sleep in a  single bed, they
should take care to place themselves in such a
position  as not to  breathe in each other's faces.
Some persons have a dangerous  custom of cover-
ing their heads with the bedclothes.   The absur-
dity of this practice needs no comment
  Before going to bed, the body should be brought
into that state which gives us the surest chance of
dropping speedily asleep.  If too hot, its  tempera-
ture ought to be reduced by cooling drinks, expo-
sure  to the open air, sponging, or even the cold
bath •  if too  cold, it must be brought  into a com-
fortable state by warmth; for both cold and heat act
as stimuli, and their  removal is necessary before
         24 
274
PHILOSOPHY
 slumber can ensue.  A full stomach, also, though
 it sometimes promotes, generally prevents sleep;
 consequently, supper ought to be dispensed with,
 except  by those who, having been long used to
 this meal, cannot  sleep without it.   As a general
 rule, the person who eats nothing for two or three
 hours before going to rest, will sleep better than he
 who does.  His sleep will also be more refreshing,
 and his  sensations  upon  awaking much  more
 gratifying.  The Chinese recommended brushing
 the teeth previous to lying down :  this is a good
 custom.
   Sleeping after dinner is pernicious.   On  awak-
 ing from such indulgence, there is generally some
 degree of febrile excitement, in consequence of the
 latter stages of digestion being  hurried on: it is
 only useful  in  old people, and in some  cases of
 disease.
   The weak, and those recovering from protracted
 illnesses, must be indulged with  more sleep than
 such as are vigorous.   Sleep,  in them, supplies, in
 some measure, the place of nourishment, and thus
 becomes a most powerful auxiliary for restoring
 them  to health.  Much repose is likewise neces-
 sary to enable  the system to  recover from  the
 effects of dissipation.
   Too little and  too  much sleep are equally in-
jurious.   Excessive  wakefulness,  according  to
 Hippocrates, prevents  the  aliment from being  di-
 gested, and generates crude humors.  Too  much
 sleep  produces lassitude  and corpulency, and 
OF  SLEEP.
275
utterly debases  and stupifies  the mind.   Corpu-
lent people being apt to indulge in excessive sleep,
they should break this habit at once, as, in their
case, it is peculiarly unwholesome.  They ought
to sleep little, and that little upon hard beds.
   The practice of sleeping in the open air, cannot
be too strongly reprobated.  It is at all times dan-
gerous, especially when carried into effect under a
burning  sun, or amid the  damps  of  night.  In
tropical climates, where this custom is indulged in
during the day, it is not unusual for the person to
be struck with  a  coup-de-soleil, or some violent
fever ;  and, in our own country, nothing is more
common than  inflammations,  rheumatisms,  and
dangerous colds, originating from sleeping upon
the ground, either during the heat of the day,  or
when the  evening has set  in with  its attendant
dews and vapors.
   As respects the repose of  children it may be re-
marked that the custom of rocking them asleep in
the cradle, is not to be recommended, sanctioned
though it be by the voice of ages.   This method
of procuring slumber,  not only heats the infant un-
necessarily, but, in some cases, disorders the diges-
tive organs, and, in most, produces a sort of arti-
ficial sleep, far less conducive  to health, than that
brought on by more natural  means.   According to
some writers, it has  also a  tendency to  induce
water  in the head, a  circumstance which I think
possible, although I never knew a case of that dis-
ease which could be traced to  such a source.  The
cradle,  then, should be abandoned, so far as the 
276
PHILOSOPHY
  rocking is concerned, and the child simply lulled
  to repose in the nurse's arms, and then deposited
  quietly in  bed.  Sleep will often be  induced by
  gently scratching or rubbing the top of the child's
  head.  This fact is  well known to some nurses.
  by whom the practcie  is  had recourse to for the
  purpose of provoking slumber in restless children.
  For  the  first month of  their existence, children
  sleep almost continually, and they should be per-
  mitted to  do so, for at this early age they cannot
 slumber too much : calm and long-continued sleep
 is a favorable symptom, and ought to be cherish-
 ed rather than prevented,  during the whole period
 of infancy.  When, however, a child attains the
 age of three or four months, we should  endeavor
 to manage so that its periods of wakefulness may
 occur in  the day-time, instead of at night   By
 proper care, a child may be made  to sleep at al-
 most any hour ; and, as this is always an object of
 importance, it should be sedulously attended to in
 the rearing  of children.   Until about  the  third
 year, they require ajittle sleep in the middle of the
 day, and pass half their time in sleep.  Every suc-
 ceeding year, till they attain the  age of seven, the
 period allotted to  repose should be shortened one
 hour, so that a child of  that age may pass nine
 hours or thereabouts, out of the  twenty-four, in a
 state of sleep.  Children should never be awaken-
 ed suddenly,  or with a noise, in consequence of
 the terror and starting which  such a method of
 arousing them produces:   neither should they be
brought all at once from a  dark room into a strong 
OF  SLEEP.
277
glare of light, lest their eyes be weakened, and
permanent injury inflicted upon these organs.
  The position in which children sleep requires to
be carefully attended to.   Sir Charles Bell men-
tions that  the eneuresis infantum,  with which
they are  so often affected, frequently arises from
lying upon the back, and that it will be removed
or prevented by accustoming them to lie on the
side.  It  is also of the greatest importance, that
they be kept  sufficiently warm.  I believe that
many infantile diseases arise from the neglect of
this  precaution.  Children have little power of
evolving h eat;  on this account,  when delicate
they should never be permitted to sleep alone, but
made to lie with the nurse, that  they may receive
warmth from her body.
  At whatever period we go to sleep, one fact is
certain, that we can never with  impunity convert
day into night.  Even in  the most scorching sea-
sons of the year, it is  better to travel under the
burning sunshine, than in the cool of the evening,
when the dews are falling and the air is damp. A
case in support of this statement, is  given by Va-
langin in his work on Diet.   Two Colonels in the
French army had a dispute whether it was most
safe to march  in the heat of the day, or in the
evening.   To  ascertain this point,  they got per-
mission from the commanding officer to put their
respective plans into execution.  Accordingly, the
one with his division marched during the day!, al-
though it was  in the heat of summer, and rested
            24* 
278
PHILOSOPHY
all night—the other  slept in the day-time,  and
marched during the evening and part of the night.
The result was that the first performed a journey
of six hundred miles,  without losing a single man
or horse, while the latter lost most of his horses,
and several of his men.
  It  now  becomes a  question at what hour we
should retire  to rest, how long our rest ought to
continue,  and when  it  should be broken in the
morning.   These points I shall briefly discuss, in
the order in which they stand.
  It  is not very easy to ascertain the most appro-
priate hour for going to bed, as this depends very
much upon the habits and occupation of the indi-
vidual.  Laborers  and all hard wrought people,
who  are obliged to get up betimes, require to go to
rest early ; and, in their case, nine o'clock maybe
the best hour.  Those who are not obliged to rise
early, may delay the period of retiring  to rest for
an hour or two longer;  and may thus go to bed at
ten or eleven.   These are the usual periods allot-
ted among the middle ranks of life for this pur-
pose  ; and  it may be  laid down as a rule, that to
make a custom of remaining up for a later period
than eleven must be prejudicial.  Those, therefore,
who  habitually delay going to bed till twelve, or
one,  or two, are acting in direct opposition to the
laws of health, in so far as they are compelled to
pass  in sleep a portion of the ensuing day, which
ought to be appropriated to wakefulness and exer-
tion.   Late hours  are in every respect  hurtful, 
OF  SLEEP.
279
whether they be employed in study or amusement.
A fresh supply  of stimulus is thrown upon the
mind, which prevents it from sinking into slumber
at the proper period, and  restlessness, dreaming,
and  disturbed repose inevitably  ensue.   Among
other things, the eyes are  injured,  those  organs
suffering much  more  from the  candle-light, to
which they are necessarily exposed, than from the
natural light of  day.
   With regard to the necessary quantity of sleep,
so much depends upon  age, constitution, and em-
ployment, that it is impossible to lay down  any
fixed rule which will apply to all cases.   Jeremy
Taylor states that three hours only in the twenty-
four should be devoted  to sleep.  Baxter extends
the period to four hours, Wesley to six, Lord Coke
and Sir William Jones to seven, and  Sir  John
Sinclair  to  eight.   With the latter  I am disposed
to coincide.  Taking the average of mankind, we
shall come  as nearly as possible to the truth when
 we say that nearly one-third part of life ought to
 be spent in sleep : in some cases, even more  may
 be necessary, and in few can a much smaller por-
 tion be safely dispensed with.  When a person is
 young, strong, and healthy, an hour or two less
 may be  sufficient; but childhood and extreme old
 age require a still greater portion.  No person who
 passes  only eight hours  in bed, can be said to
 waste his time  in sleep.   If, however, he exceeds
 this  and is, at the same time, in possession of vi-
 gor and youth,  he lays himself open to the charge
  of slumbering away those hours which should be 
280
PHILOSOPHY
devoted  to  some  other  purpose.   According  to
Georget, women should  sleep a couple of hours
longer than men.   For the former he allows six
or seven hours, for the latter eight or  nine.  I
doubt, however, if the female constitution, gene-
rally speaking, requires more sleep than the male ;
at least it is certain that women endure protracted
wakefulness better than men, but whether this may
result from  custom  is a question worthy  of being
considered.
  Barry, in  his work on  Digestion, has made an
ingenious, but somewhat whimsical, calculation on
the tendency of sleep to prolong life.  He  asserts,
that the duration of human life may be ascertain-
ed by the number of pulsations which the indivi-
dual is able  to perform.   Thus, if a man's life ex-
tends to  70  years, and his  heart throbs 60 times
each minute, the whole  number of its pulsations
will amount to 2,207,520,000 ; but if, by intemper-
ance, or any other cause, he raises the pulse to 75
in the minute, the same  number  of pulsations
would be completed in 56 years, and the duration
of life  abbreviated  14 years.  Arguing from these
data, he  alleges, that sleep  has a tendency to  pro-
long life, as,  during its continuance, the pulsations
are less  numerous than in the waking  state.
There is  a sort of theoretical truth in this state-
ment, but it is liable to be  modified by so many
circumstances, that  its application can never be-
come general.   If this were not the case, it would
be natural to infer that the  length of a man's life
would  correspond  with  that of his  slumbers; 
OF  SLEEP.
281
whereas it is well known, that too much sleep de-
bilitates the frame, and lays the foundation of va-
rious diseases, which tend to shorten rather than
extend the duration of life.
   Those who indulge most in sleep, generally re-
quire the least of it.   Such are the wealthy and
luxurious,  who  pass  nearly the half of their ex-
istence in slumber, while the hard-working peasant
and mechanic, who would  seem, at first sight, to
require more  than any  other  class  of society, are
contented with seven or eight hours of repose — a
period brief in  proportion  to that expended by
them in toil, yet  sufficiently long for the wants of
nature, as  is proved by the strength and health
which they almost uniformly enjoy.
   For reasons already stated, more sleep is requisite
in winter than in summer.  Were  there even no
constitutional causes for this difference, we should
be disposed to sleep longer in  the one than in the
other, as some of the circumstances which induce
us to sit up late and rise  early in  summer, are
wanting during winter  ; and we consequently feel
disposed to lie longer in bed during the latter sea-
son of the year.
   The hour of getting up in the morning is not of
less importance than that at which  we ought to lie
down at night.   There can be no  doubt that one
of the most admirable conducives to health is early
rising.   "Let us," says Solomon, "go  forth into
the  fields ;  let us lodge in  the villages ; let us get
up early to the  vineyards; let us  see if the vine 
282
PHILOSOPHY
flourish—if the tender grape appear—if the pome-
granates bud forth."
  Almost all men who have distinguished  them-
selves in science, literature, and the arts, have been
early risers.  The industrious, the active-minded,
the enthusiast  in  the  pursuit  of knowledge or
gain, are up betimes at  their respective occupa-
tions ;  while the sluggard wastes the most beauti-
ful  period of life in pernicious slumber.  Homer,
Virgil, and  Horace  are  all represented as early
risers: the same was the case with Paley, Frank-
lin, Priestly, Parkhurst, and Buffon, the latter of
whom  ordered  his valet-de-chamber to awaken
him every morning, and compel him to get up by
force if he evinced any reluctance: for this service
the valet was rewarded  with a crown each day,
which  recompense he forfeited if he did not oblige
his master to get out of bed before the clock struck
six.   Bishops Jewel and Burnet rose  regularly
every morning at four o'clock.  Sir Thomas More
did the same thing;  and so convinced was he of
the beneficial effects of getting up betimes, that, in
his " Utopia," he represented the inhabitants at-
tending lectures before sunrise.  Napoleon was an
early riser;  so was Frederick  the Great  and
Charles XII.; so is the Duke  of Wellington ;  and
so, in truth,  is almost every one distinguished for
energy and  indefatigability of mind.
  Every circumstance contributes to render early
rising advisable to those who are in the enjoyment
of health.  There is no time equal in beauty and 
OF  SLEEP.
283
freshness to the morning, when nature has just
parted with the gloomy mantle which  night had
flung over  her, and stands before us like a young
bride, from whose aspect the veil which covered
her loveliness, has been withdrawn.  The whole
material world has a vivifying appearance.  The
husbandman is up at his labor, the forest  leaves
sparkle  with drops of crystal dew, the flowers raise
their  rejoicing heads towards the  sun, the birds
pour forth their anthems of gladness ; and the wide
face of  creation itself seems as if awakened and
refreshed from a mighty slumber.  All these things,
however, are hid from  the eyes of  the sluggard;
nature,  in her most glorious aspect, is, to him, a
sealed book; and  while every scene around him
is full of beauty, interest, and animation, he alone
is passionless and uninspired.   Behold him stretch-
ed upon his couch of rest!  In vain does the clock
proclaim that the reign of day  has commenced!
In vain does the morning light stream  fiercely in
by the chinks  of his window, as if to  startle him
from  his repose!  He hears not—he sees  not, for
blindness and  deafness rule over him with despotic
sway, and lay a deadening spell upon his faculties.
And when he does at length awake—far on in the
day__from the torpor of this benumbing sleep, he
is not refreshed.  He does not start at once into
new life—-an  altered man, with joy in his mind,
and vigor in  his frame. On the contrary, he is
dull,  languid,  and stupid, as if half recovered from
a paroxysm of drunkenness.   He yawns, stretches 
284
PHILOSOPHY
 himself, and stalks into the breakfast  parlor, to
 partake in  solitude, and without appetite, of his
 unrefreshing  meal—while  his eyes  are red and
 gummy, his beard unshorn, his face unwashed,
 and  his clothes disorderly, and ill put  on.  Un-
 cleanliness and sluggishness generally go hand in
 hand ;  for  the obtuseness of mind which disposes
 a man  to waste the most precious hours of exist-
 ence in debasing sleep, will naturally make him
 neglect his person.
   The character of the early riser is the very re-
 verse of the sloven's.   His countenance  is ruddy,
 his eye joyous and serene, and his frame full of
 vigor and  activity.  His mind, also, is  clear and
 unclouded, and free from that oppressive languor
 which  weighs  like a nightmare upon the spirit of
 the sluggard.   The man who rises betimes, is  in
 the fair way of laying in both health and wealth;
 while he who  dozes  away his existence  in un-
 necessary sleep, will acquire neither.   On the con-
 trary, he runs every chance of losing  whatever
 portion  of  them he may yet be in possession of,
 and of  sinking fast in  the  grade  of society—a
 bankrupt both in person and in  purse.*

  * In the will of the late Mr. James Sergeant of the borough of
 Leicester, is the following clause relative to early rising: — "As
 my nephews are fond of indulging in  bed in a morning, and as I
 wish them to improve the time while they are young, I direct that
they shall prove to the satisfaction of my executors, that they
have got out of bed in the morning, and either employed them-
selves in  business, or taken exercise in the open air, from five
o'clock every morning, from the 5th of April, to the 10th of Octo- 
OF  SLEEP.
285
  The most striking instances of the good effects of
early rising, are to be found  in  our peasantry and
farmers, whose hale complexions, good appetites,
and vigorous persons, are evidences of the benefit
derived  from this custom, conjoined  with labor;
while  the wan, unhealthy countenances  and en-
feebled frames of those who keep late hours, lie
long in  bed, and pass the  night in dissipation,
study, or pleasure, are equally conclusive proofs
of the pernicious consequences resulting from an
opposite practice.
  Early rising, therefore,  is highly beneficial; but
care should be  taken not to carry it to excess.   It
can never be healthful to rise till the sun has been
for some time above the horizon; for until this is
the  case,  there is a dampness in the air which
must prove injurious to the constitution, especially
when  it is not  naturally very strong.  Owing  to
this, early rising is injurious to most delicate people;
and, in  all cases, the heat of the sun should be
allowed  to have acquired  some  strength before we
think of getting out of  doors.   No healthy man in
the  summer, should  lie longer in bed  than six
o'clock.   If he does so, he loses the most valuable

ber, being  three hours each day, and from seven o'clock  in the
morning from the 10th of October to the 5th of April, being two
hours every morning for two whole years: this to be done for
some two years during- the first seven years, to the satisfaction of
my executors, who  may excuse them in case of illness, but the
task must be made up when they are well, and if they will not do
this, they shall not receive any share of my property."
                   25 
286
PHILOSOPHY
part of the day, and injures his own constitution.
Persons subject to gout, should always go to sleep
early,  and rise early.  The former mitigates the
violence of the evening paroxysm, which is always
increased  by wakefulness ;  and the latter lessens
the tendency to  plethora, which is favored by
long protracted sleep.
  It is common in some of the foreign universities
to go to bed at eight, and rise at three or four in
the morning; and  this plan is  recommended by
Willich in his  " Lectures on Diet and  Regimen."
Sir John  Sinclair,  in  allusion to it, judiciously
observes, " I have no doubt of the superior healthi-
ness, in the winter time, of rising by day-light, and
using candle-light at the close of the day, than
rising  by  candle-light, and  using it some hours
before  day-light  approaches.  It remains to be
ascertained by which system the eyes  are least
likely to be affected."
  Dr.  Franklin in  one of  his ingenious Essays,
has some  fine  observations on early rising; and
makes  an  amusing  calculation of the saving that
might be made in  the city of Paris alone,  by using
the sunshine instead of candles.   This saving he
estimates  at 96,000,000 of livres, or £4,000,000
sterling.   This is mentioned in a  satirical  vein,
but probably there is a great deal of truth in the
statement.  Indeed, if people were to go sooner to
bed, and  get  up  earlier,  it is inconceivable  what
sums might be saved ; but according to the absurd
custom of polished society, day is, in a great mea- 
OF  SLEEP.
287
sure, converted into night, and the order of things
reversed in  a manner  at  once capricious  and
hurtful.

  To conclude.  The same law which regulates
our desire for  food, also governs  sleep.   As  we
indulge in  sleep to moderation  or excess, it  be-
comes  a blessing or a curse—in the  one  case re-
cruiting the energies of nature, and diffusing vigor
alike over the mind and frame: in the other, de-
basing the character of man, stupifying his intel-
lect, enfeebling his body, and rendering him useless
alike  to others and  himself.   The glutton,  the
drunkard, and the sloven bear the strictest affinity
to each other, both  in  the  violation  of nature's
laws,  and  in  the  consequences  thence  entailed
upon  themselves.  What in moderation is harm-
less or  beneficial,  in excess is a  curse ; and sleep
carried to the  latter extreme, may be  pronounced
an act  of intemperance almost as much as exces-
sive eating or drinking. 
 
INDEX
                                                        PAGE
 Abercrombie, Dr., case related by, of the verification of
     a dream..........113
 ----------------, his distinction between dreaming and
         insanity,........      45
 Absorption increased by sleep.....      26
 Animal life,.........      13
 ------ magnetism,.......158
 Aristotle, his account of the sleep of fishes,   ...      15
 Armitage, Elizabeth, a great sleeper,   ....     188
 Awaking, phenomena of,     .....    .      40

 Bacon the sculptor, anecdote of,.....259
 Barclay, Captain, anecdote of,.....      35
 Barry, curious calculation by,.....280
 Baxter, his theory of dreaming.....       44
 Bayle, his account of spectral illusions,  ....     224
 Beattie, Dr., facts concerning,.....53-57
 Bed, directions with regard to the,      ....      267
 Bell, Sir Charles, on the eneuresis infantum,   .    .    .      277
 Bichat, his division of life,......       13
 Birds, sleep of,........       16
 Blacklock, Dr., the peculiarity of  his dreams,     .     •      83
 —------------, curious anecdote  of,    .     .    •     •      153
Blake the painter, extraordinary case of,    ...      227
Blindness, dreams modified by,.....83
Boerhaave, anecdote of,......      19
 ----------, case spoken of by,.....184 
290
INDEX.
                                                        PAGE
 Bostock, Dr., his case,.......236
 Bourdeaux, Archbishop of, case of somnambulism  re-
     lated by .........153
 Brain, effects of its size in reference to sleep, .     :     .       15
 -----, determination of blood to the, induces sleep,     .       21
 Browne, Mr. W. A. F., cases by,.....162
 Buffon denies  any  affinity between hybernation  and
     sleep,.........195
 Buzareinguez, M. Giron de, experiments by, to produce
     dreams at will,.......       55
 Byron, Lord, scene described by, in his " Parasina,"     .      164

 Cabanis, fact concerning,......       65
 Caesar, Julius, the apparition of, which appeared to Bru-
     tus, accounted for,.......Ill
 Caligula tormented by frightful dreams,      ...       97
 Cardan, fact concerning,......252
 Carmichael,  Mr., his explanation of the  process of
     waking,.........       40
 ----------------, supposes sleep to be the period when
     assimilation goes on in the brain,   ....       41
 Castel, Mr., observation by,......       30
 Catalepsy,.........201
 Chapelain, M., operation performed by, upon a lady un-
     der the magnetic influence,.....15S
 Children, dreams of,.......       47
 --------, sleep of,.......       37
 --------, directions regarding the sleep of,   •     .    .     275
 Circulation, its rapidity diminished by sleep,  ...      24
Cold produces sleep,     .......  20-192
----, sleep from,........192
Coleridge,  Mr.,  account by, of  the  origin of  Kubla
    Khan,.........       63
Colquhoun, Mr., the Parisian report translated by,      .      159
Combe, Mr., cases mentioned by,.....78-116
 1----■------, his remarks on Concentrativeness,    .     .      253
Combe, Dr., case of spectral illusion by,      .    .    .      235 
                        INDEX.                    391

                                                      PAGE
Concentrativeness, effect of a  large development of, in
    inducing abstraction,   .    .    ....     253
Condorcet, fact concerning,......       65
Conolly, Dr., case related by,.....222
Cook, Captain, case extracted from his " Voyages,"    .     196
Cullen, his remark on the effect of monotony,      .    .       21
Culpepper, Lord, trial of his brother,   ....     151
Cumin,  Dr., case related by,.....78
Currie Dr., his remarks on the visions of hypochondria,       56

Darwin, Dr., fact noticed by,      .....       74
------------, method recommended  by, to prevent at-
    tacks of nightmare,......139
------------, case of sleep-talking described by,      .      168
Daymare,.........142
Dead, visions of the,    .......       80
Deafness, dreams modified by,.....       83
Democritus, his  theory of dreaming,   ....       44
Dogs, dreams of,........       46
Donne, Dr., his case of spectral illusion,     .     .    .      110
Dreaming,.........       43
Dreams, causes  of,.......       52
------, management of,     .    :                         99
------, prophetic power of,......102
Drowning,.........       °"
Drowsiness,.........1"3
Drunkenness, analogy between it and dreaming,     .   78-91
____________., nature of the dreams induced by,   .    •      89
Dubrie, Mr., anecdote of,......I55
Dull sermon, the effect of a, in inducing sleep,     .    .       19
Dumbness, case of, cured by a frightful dream,    .    .      69
Dyce, Dr., remarkable case of somnambulism, related by,     166

Early rising, benefits of,      .    .    ...    •     281
Edwards, Dr., fact by, concerning hybernating animals,      193
Ellicot, Major, remarkable case related by,  .    .    .     167

Fairies, belief in, accounted for,.....229 
392
INDEX.
                                                         PAGE
  Familiar spirits,   .    .    .    .    .     .     .    .     217
  Fanshawe, Lady, case from her "Memoirs,"      .    .     109
  Fish, sleep of,........       16
  Forestus, case of daymare related by,        .     .    .     143
  Foetus, state of,........       37
  Franklin, Dr., his case of somnambulism,    .     .    .     151
  —"---------, amusing calculation by,  ....     286
  ——------, Captain, fact  stated by, concerning the
      freezing offish,.......192

  Gall, Dr., cases of somnambulism related by,      .    .153-156
  --------, on spectral illusions,.....217
  George III., method employed to procure him sleep,    .      179
  Georget on the sleep of woman,.....280
  Gooch, curious case related by,.....      37
  Good, Dr., his remarks on sleep-walking,   .    .    .      146
  ----------, his description of waking dreams,    .    .      210
  Goose, the, a very light sleeper......      16
  Gordon, John, Esq., case mentioned by,     ...      36
 Gregory, Dr., case of,.......221
 Grey  Earl, haunted by a bloody head,       .    .    .      216
 Griffith's Mrs., verification of her dreams,    .     .     .      108
 Grokatzhi, George, case of,......207
 Guilty, dreams of the,.......      96

 Habit, sleep modified by,......      33
 Hamilton, Dr. Robert, anecdote of,     ....     256
 Hare sleeps with its eyes open,.....      3j
 Harvest, Dr. George, anecdotes of„    ....     258
 Haycock, Dr., delivered  sermons  and prayers in his
     sleep,.........164
 Hazlitt, his opinion, that in sleep we are always thinkin »
     disputed,.........      44
 Heat produces sleep,.......      jg
 Hildesheim, his remark concerning nightmare,    .     .     133
Hoffbauer, case related by him of murder occasioned by
     a frightful dream,.......       71
Hogarth, anecdote of,......          25S 
INDEX.
393
                                                       PAGE
Hood, Mr., incongruous dream related by,       .     .      87
Hoole, Mr., his account of Tasso's familiar spirit,  .     .     217
Horror, a frequent accompaniment of dreams,     .     .      72
Horses dream,........      45
Hunter, Dr. A., his remark on the position of women,   .     273
Hybernation,........192
Hypochondriac, visions of the,.....      57

Illusion of dream3,.......      84
Insanity, curious case of, occasioned by a frightful dream,      70
--------, analogy between it and dreaming,     .     .    45-92
Irish porter, case of,.......      78

Kubla Khan composed by Mr. Coleridge in a dream,   .      63

Lady of Nismes, extraordinary case of,       ...      189
Levison, Mr.,  case of spectral illusion by,     .    .    .      2o5
Life definition  of,.......       12
Love as experienced in dreams,     .....      81
Lucretius, his  theory of dreaming,      ....      44
Lyall, Mary, a great sleeper,.....35-186
Lyttleton, Lord, case of,......114

M----, Miss,  verification of her dream,    .           .104
Mackay, James, anecdote of,.....       36
Martinet, cases of somnambulism described by,   .     .153-155
Meal, a heavy, induces sleep,....."2
Moisture, torpor produced by a want of,     •    •     •      193
Moivre, De, a sleeper,        ..•>••
Murder, case of, occasioned by a frightful dream,      .      71

Narcotics, the manner in which they induce sleep,      .      22
_____.—} nature of the visions induced by,   .    .     .    53-89
Nervous energy, how its distribution occasions sleep,   .      22
Newton, Sir Isaac, anecdotes of,.....251-254
Nicolai, case of,........226
Night, the time for sleep,......      10 
394
INDEX.
                                                         PAGE
 Nightmare,       ........122

 Old age, sleep greatly modified in,.....37-48
 " Opium Eater," extracts from his " Confessions,"      .   59-89
 Organic life,........      13
 Orvin,  Elizabeth, a great sleeper,       ....      35

 Parr, Dr., remarks on dreaming by,     ....      65
 Parrot, the, said to dream,......      46
 Past and forgotten events renewed by dreams,    .    .      77
 Perkins, Elizabeth, a great sleeper,     ....   35-187
 Perspiration increased by sleep,.....      27
 Pichegru, General, curious fact concerning,   ...      36
 Pillow, directions with regard to the,   ....      268
 Plants, sleep of,........263
 Polydori, Dr., subject to nightmare,    ....      140
 Positions assumed in sleep,.....23-29-272
 Pritchard, Dr., case of somnambulism spoken of by,    .      153
 Profoundness of sleep, varieties of,      ....       31
 Protracted sleep,........186
 Pulse, state of the, in sleep,......       24

 Q,uin, the celebrated player, fact concerning, ...       35

 Reid, Dr., curious facts concerning,     ....    35-47
 Reverie,.........244
 R----d of Bowland, case of,.....118
 Rush,  Dr.,  his  distinction  between dreaming  and de-
    lirium,    ........            45
 Russel, Lady,  narrowly escaped premature interment,      201

Sanctorius, his remarks on perspiration,     ...       27
Schidmaizig, Bernard, case of,                               71
Scott, Sir Walter, remarks  by, on the case of Lord Lyt-
    tleton,.........jj4
 ------------------,  curious case  of a verified dream
    related by him in the Antiquary,   .     .    .    .      hq
 Scott executed for murder, case of)    .     .    .    .      115 
INDEX.
395
                                                       PAGE
Seargeant, James, Mr., his will,.....284
Second Sight accounted for,......228
Secretions, effect of sleep on the,.....26
Sensorial power, the,.......       22
Shorigny, case of,.......203
Simpson, Mr., case of spectral illusion related by,  .    .      231
Sinclair. Sir John, his remarks on early rising,     .    .      286
Sleep of plants,........263
Sleep, general management of,.....267
Sleep-walking,........145
Sleep in general,........       15
Sleep-talking.........172
Sleeplessness,........174
Sleep from cold,........192
Sluggard, picture  of the,......283
Snoring,     .........25
Somnambulism, analogy between it and madness,     .      148
Spalding, Mr., his case,......247
Spectral Illusions,.......214
Squire, Archdeacon, case related by,    ...           69
Stewart, Dugald, Mr., facts related by,      ...       54
Stewart, Mr.,  the pedestrian, statement by,  ...      100
Stilling, Jung, Dr., saw visions,.....217
Stupor, difference between it and sleep,     ...       12
Suetonius, his picture of the tyrant Caligula,     .    .       97
Surprise, absence of, in dreams,.....79

Tasso, his famtliar spirit,     .    .    .     .     •    •      217
Time, perception of, curiously affected by dreaming,   .       58
Townsend, Colonel, extraordinary case of,        •    •      204
Trance,.........200

Vision, effect of sleep on the organs of, ...           27
Voluntary waking dreams,.....          211

Waller, Mr., cases of dreaming illusion related by,    .   85-130
Warton, Mr., anecdote of,......261
Wasse, Mr., on the effect of rest upon the stature,  .    .       41 
296
INDEX.
                                                      PAGE
Welsh girl, curious case of a,.....      77
Wonder, effect of a large development of, in inducing ap-
    paritions,     ........216

Xenophon, his recommendation to the Greek troops,   .     199

Yawning,.........      23
Young lady, dream related by a,.....      93
WILLIAM VAN NORDEN, PRINTER, 111 NASSAr-STREKT, N. Y. 
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