if she dream of a rose, that is a sure sign
of happiness; but the paysanne in Normandy
believes that it portends vexations and
disappointment. The Englishman conceives that
to dream of an oak-tree is a sign of prosperity;
but in Switzerland, the same vision is
thought to be a forewarning of some dreadful
calamity.

The domestic superstitions which are
connected with dreams, are sometimes favoured
by, and perhaps dependent upon, a certain
morbid condition or irritability of the nervous
system, which suggests the dread of some
impending calamity, a painful and indefinite
sense of apprehension for which no ostensible
reason can be assigned. Strange as it might
appear, the influence of our dreams upon our
waking state is very remarkable: we may
awaken refreshed from a dream which has
made us, in our sleep, superlatively happy;
or we may rise with melancholic feelings after
suffering intense afflication in some dream, and
the details of both dreams may alike be
forgotten. We cannot, after being so much
disturbed, at once regain our composure; the
billows continue heaving after the tempest
has subsided; the troubled nerves continue
to vibrate after the causes that disturbed
them have ceased to act; the impression still
remains, and chequers the happiness of the
future day. Even men of strong mind, who
do not believe in the interpretation of dreams,
may be so affected. When Henry the Fourth
of France was once told by an astologer that
he would be assassinated, he smiled at the
prediction, and did not believe it; but he
confessed that it often haunted him
afterwards, and although he placed no faith in it,
still sometimes depressed his spirits, and he
often expressed a wish that he had never
heard it. In like manner, dreams, which
persons do not believe in, will unconsciously
affect the tenour of their thoughts and feelings.

There are many persons who appear to
have habitually the most extraordinary
dreams, and there is scarcely a family circle
that assemble round the domestic hearth, in
which some one or other of the party is not
able to relate some very wonderful story.
We have, ourselves, a repertoire, from which
we could select a host of such narrations;
but we have preferred, at the risk of being
thought recapitulative, to dwell upon those
which have been recorded upon unimpeachable
authority. The dreams which men like
Locke, Reid, Gregory, Abercrombie, Macnish,
&c., have attested, come with a weight of
evidence before us which the dreams of persons
unknown in the scientific or literary world
would not possess. The impressions produced
by dreams are so fugitive—so easy is it for
persons unintentionally to deceive themselves
in recalling their dreams' experience—that
Epictetus, long ago, advised young men not to
entertain any company by relating their
dreams, as they could only, he affirmed, be
interesting to themselves, and perhaps would,
after all their pains, be disbelieved by their
auditors. Nevertheless, it would be well for
all persons to study, whether waking or
dreaming, the phenonema of their own minds.
The ingenous naturalist, Dr. Fleming,
suggests that persons should, in contra-distinction
to a "Diary," keep a "Nocturnal," in which
they should register their dreams. Doubtless
such a journal might turn out to be a very
amusing Psychological record.

THE CONGRESS OF NATIONS.

A MIGHTYdome is rear'd in solemn state,
   To hold the produce of the World's invention;
The spacious palace of the labouring Great,
   Whose bloodless triumphs history loves to
           mention.
From every land which Man has made his home,
   Where arts and science with due culture flourish,
O'er trackless wastes and billows crown'd with foam,
   They come, the ardent Mind with food to nourish.
The trophies of the Past fade into gloom.
   Which conquerors planted on the field of battle;
Where breathing armies sank before their doom,
   And shouts of glory drown'd the low death-
           rattle.
These things were once, while yet the World was
            young;
   Ere it drank wisdom from the fount of reason;
Now, let a curtain o'er such scenes be hung—
    War's winter fled, we hail a softer season.
The sunder'd children of the human race,
   Crossing their bounds to mingle with each other,
In foreign nations kindred features trace,
   And learn that every mortal is their brother.
The love of Art engenders love to Man,
   And this in turn, the love of his Creator;
'Tis Ignorance that mars Heaven's gracious plan,
   And rears in blood the murderer and man-hater.
A glorious epoch brightens history's page,
   Shedding upon  the Future dazzling lustre;
How proud the thought that  England is the stage,
   Which shall re-echo with the Nations' muster!

CHIPS.

THE SMITHFIELD MODEL OF THE MODEL
SMITHFIELD.

"SIR, I will premise by stating that I
have not the smallest sympathy with Smithfield,
the less so, that one fine morning, in
the city, a bullock took such a fancy to pin
me to a wall with his horns, that had I not,
providentially, happened to have my great
coat in my hand, instead of upon my back,
(and was thus enabled to throw it over his
horns,) I should have been in my grave ere
now.

"I visited the free exhibition of the Smithfield
Model in Cheapside, City, and beheld a
crowd of persons, surrounding the Model;
behind which, in addition to a few vendors
of penny Conclusive Arguments in favour,