I left the spot with the utmost insolence,
snapping my fingers at the soldiers, who,
as I passed them, stared at me with the
most intense expression of awe. Soon
afterwards I woke.

This dream illustrates a mental condition
diametrically opposite to that of Lord
Lytton's enthusiast, but in some particulars
I resemble him. I have a memory that
extends from one dream to another, and,
skipping over the events of the actual
world, recognises places seen only in
preceding visions. Thus I am cognisant of a
region between Fleet Street and Holborn
that is totally distinct from Gough Square
and its vicinity. I see it from the tops of
houses, along which I walk in perfect
security, and it is generally inhabited by foul,
slimy animals of the dog kind, battening
upon heaps of offal. Certain I am that one
of these creatures will eventually reach me,
and bite my hand, remaining, perhaps,
suspended when I raise my arm. The pain of
the bite is not very acute, and sometimes
I consent to endure it for a few seconds.
When the situation becomes intolerable, I
force myself, in the manner I have said,
into wakefulness.

I am also familiar with a museum of
sculpture, which I call the British Museum,
though it bears no resemblance to the edifice
in Great Russell Street. The statues, situated
on a very high floor, generally represent
gigantic horses, and stamp their hoofs while
I gaze at them alone. I know, too, a large
white house in the vicinity of an imaginary
Camberwell, with a lawn in front of it,
and a very spacious hall. It is evidently
intended as a place of amusement, and the
hall would serve admirably for balls or
concerts on the largest scale. But no amusement
ever takes place, and I walk through
it alone, feeling that I am in a ghostly
presence. Less familiar is a piece of artificial
water, so transparent that I can see hideous
river gods at the bottom, and so shallow,
that I feel that if I attempt to swim they
will clutch me with their huge damp hands.

From my childhood I have felt, even in
waking hours, a strange horror at a single
figure spouting water in the midst of a
dark pond. I had a mysterious dread of
a bronze Triton which used to stand, and
may be still standing, on a terrace in the
Kent Road, near the Elephant and Castle,
and of the mermaid, now destroyed, which
was prominent in Camberwell Grove,
before the house which once belonged to the
celebrated Doctor Lettsom, and which some
connect with the story of George Barnwell.
The persuasion never left me that
if I leaped into the water they would suck
me into their tubes, and that I should be
horribly crushed.

A very singular instance of dreamy
memory occurred to me the other night. I
should tell you that, in my dreams, my
powers of locomotion are preternaturally
great. I can leap from any height, without
fear and without peril; and I have a talent
for descending a staircase by placing my
feet on the edge of the topmost stair, and
then rapidly gliding from edge to edge, till
I reach the bottom. These powers are not
unfrequently checked by the nightmare,
with which I am terribly intimate in all its
horrid forms. Sometimes my legs grow
so heavy that I cannot walk, save by lifting
them with my hands; sometimes I
have to ascend the spiral steps of a column,
which narrows and threatens to hold me
fast; sometimes I lose the use of my voice.
And whenever these accidents occur I am
in a position of imminent danger, and need
the full use of my faculties.

Now, dreaming the other night, I found
myself in an upper room, where I was
convinced an effort would be made to detain
me against my will. Rushing out, I made
my way down to the street-door, taking a
whole flight of stairs at every single leap.
The handle of the door resisted me, and at
first I had a difficulty in moving it; but
I ultimately triumphed, and, again at a
single leap, cleared the outside steps. Soon
I found myself on an embankment by the
river, close to a cab-stand. I called for a
vehicle to conduct me to one of the West-end
hotels; but the cabs were all occupied,
and from one of them a drunken-looking
man-about-town "chaffed" me as I passed.
As the darkness increased I was aware of
the approach of a drove of bullocks, and as
the river was on one side and the
cab-stand on the other, I felt that I must force
my way through this unwieldy crowd.
With some difficulty I elbowed myself into
the midst of it, till a human agent in my
rear, hitherto unnoticed, pressed me against
a colossal animal, which rendered further
passage impossible. In my despair I
awoke, and, changing from a state of
terror into an idyllic mood, I fell into a
pleasing remembrance of the days when I
paid my addresses to a young lady resident
in that Albany Road which leads to the
Bricklayers' Arms. I recalled pleasant
visits in the morning, pleasant visits in the
evening; and I puzzled my brain to
discover under what circumstances an affair