There are few human beings who have not
dreamt of flying through the air; of falling from
precipices, or the roofs of houses; or who have
not, as boys, experienced the sensation, at the first
approach of sleep, of suddenly being pulled up
in a lively run by tumbling into a ditch — a
startling feeling which has immediately awakened
them, the explanation of which is the sudden
relaxation of the fibres of the brain, by the very
quick slumber of boyhood. Many of these hot-
blooded phenomena become less frequent with
advancing years, and die out altogether with
old age: proof additional, that physical causes
are nearly paramount in producing dreams.

The beginning of life, too, is the era of those
disorders which I once saw thus emphatically
catalogued on a tombstone, that recorded the
deaths of three babies:

  Hooping-cough!
  Measles!
  Small-pox!
  Oh! dire diseases!

I know from experience that, when such
maladies are hatching in the body, the dreams for
a long time beforehand are terrible. There is a
vastness of horror in the somnolent visions of
childhood that is never matched at any later
period. Often, as a boy, I have felt myself toiling
on through some palpable obscure, through
the whole of which, infinite spiders' webs and
infinite threads from infinite looms were
endlessly weaving about me— no, not me, but
about some other identity into which I was
half converted. Then, the peculiar horror
seemed to lie in the very, very fine, spun-glass
sort of texture of the webs and threads which
I had to draw through my enormously swollen
and puffy hands. Many, whom I have
questioned on the subject, have told me that, in
youth, the dance of infinite distaffs spinning
infinite threads about their distended hands,
or highly enlarged heads, was an amazing
torment to them.

Crawling insects, slippery snakes, scratching
cats, are dream-forms of perturbed blood.
Even dream books prove this, for there is
scarcely a dream of this kind, which perhaps
the vain individual thinks peculiar to
himself, that is not interpreted for the benefit of
the million, thus showing that multitudes agree
in their dreams. Pity that the ingenuity of the
dream-interpreter should be wasted in explaining
what a dream portends, not whence it arises.
Misfortunes cannot be averted (nor does the
necromancer pretend they can) by noting
ominous dreams; but diseases possibly may. When
dreams are very ugly, very horrifying, the
sufferer, instead of looking out for a fall in the
stocks, or the treachery of a friend, should take
care of the stomach, and reform his diet
accordingly. Fuseli, it is said, supped on raw
pork (would not roast pork have sufficed?)
before he painted the foul fiend.

Indigestion, both in its labour and its fatigue,
is a prolific hag-mother of ugly dreams. So is
any uncomfortable sensation, however slight it
may be; for, in the passive state of sleep, effects
are produced disproportionate to causes. I have
sometimes dreamt of being stung by a serpent,
or having my fingers held tight by the teeth of
a dog. On waking, I have invariably found
some slight uneasiness or pain in the part
which I had fancied so stung or squeezed.
Or perhaps I was lying with my arm or hand
pressed under me.

Another consideration that shows dreams to
be coloured, according to the state of the
stomach or head, is, that frequently a horrid
dream turns off by degrees into a more pleasant
one. I remember once going to bed after a later
supper and more wine than 1 usually take. My
first dreams were frightful. I imagined myself to
be in some unknown country, arriving at a
mysterious hotel. I was put to sleep in a
mysterious room, which resembled the hall of an old
castle. A statue clad in black armour stood at
each of the four angles of the apartment. I was
lying in a dim, shadowy bed, with a strong sense
of the supernatural upon me, when suddenly I
thought I saw the four figures in armour
move on their pedestals. The sense of the
supernatural now became in me horrifying and intense.
A long time seemed to pass, during which I
strained my eyes to see if the statues really
did move. I was, by a sort of nightmare feeling,
held motionless in the bed. Again the
figures seemed to stir. This state of things
continued during what appeared to me to be
hours. I watched the statues in a fascinated
manner. Suddenly the statues lifted their
arms, then stepped down from their
pedestals, and advanced towards me. I struggled
to get up, but could only utter faint cries. I
never, all this time, imagined the figures to be
earthly. But now, a sudden change came over
me. I felt loosed from my nightmare bonds,
and, by a prodigious effort leaped out of bed.
At the same moment a conviction seized me
that the figures were men robbers, perhaps,
or enemies; but certainly flesh and blood.
I rested on the thought that the whole thing
was a trick to frighten me. Then I vigorously
set to work to thrash the intruders all round
(they, as usual in dreams, making no resistance),
and kicked them out at the door in a
most satisfactory manner. After this I awoke,
and lay really awake for a short time, with no
disagreeable impression left upon me. Again I
fell asleep. I was still at the hotel, which was
no longer mysterious, taking breakfast with some
ladies, with whom I had formerly travelled. I
was thinking of my supposed adventure in the
statue-room, and came to the conclusion (with
some difficulty) that I had dreamt it. Still, I
wished to put the matter beyond doubt. So, the
landlord just then entering, I asked him some
question about the room. He, in real landlord
fashion, began to prose in reference to my
bedroom, excusing himself that it looked old
and shabby, and, saying he meant to newly
furnish it soon, I felt myself quite ashamed
of my suspicions, and concluded I had dreamt
the statues. Still, I wanted to be extra sure,