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My aunt was weeping because she could not find me。 But I took an impish
pleasure in the thought that she and others were searching for me； and
making great noise which I felt through my feet。 Suddenly the spirit of
mischief gave way to uncertainty and fear。 I felt cold。 The air smelt
like ice and salt。 I tried to run； but the long grass tripped me； and I
fell forward on my face。 I lay very still； feeling with all my body。
After a while my sensations seemed to be concentrated in my fingers； and
I perceived that the grass blades were sharp as knives； and hurt my
hands cruelly。 I tried to get up cautiously； so as not to cut myself on
the sharp grass。 I put down a tentative foot； much as my kitten treads
for the first time the primeval forest in the backyard。 All at once I
felt the stealthy patter of something creeping； creeping； creeping
purposefully toward me。 I do not know how at that time the idea was in
my mind； I had no words for intention or purpose。 Yet it was precisely
the evil intent； and not the creeping animal that terrified me。 I had
no fear of living creatures。 I loved my father's dogs； the frisky little
calf； the gentle cows； the horses and mules that ate apples from my
hand； and none of them had ever harmed me。 I lay low； waiting in
breathless terror for the creature to spring and bury its long claws in
my flesh。 I thought； 〃They will feel like turkey…claws。〃 Something warm
and wet touched my face。 I shrieked； struck out frantically； and awoke。
Something was still struggling in my arms。 I held on with might and main
until I was exhausted； then I loosed my hold。 I found dear old Belle；
the setter； shaking herself and looking at me reproachfully。 She and I
had gone to sleep together on the rug； and had naturally wandered to the
dream…forest where dogs and little girls hunt wild game and have
strange adventures。 We encountered hosts of elfin foes； and it required
all the dog tactics at Belle's mand to acquit herself like the lady
and huntress that she was。 Belle had her dreams too。 We used to lie
under the trees and flowers in the old garden； and I used to laugh with
delight when the magnolia leaves fell with little thuds； and Belle
jumped up； thinking she had heard a partridge。 She would pursue the
leaf； point it； bring it back to me and lay it at my feet with a
humorous wag of her tail as much as to say； 〃This is the kind of bird
that waked me。〃 I made a chain for her neck out of the lovely blue
Paulownia flowers and covered her with great heart…shaped leaves。
Dear old Belle； she has long been dreaming among the lotus…flowers and
poppies of the dogs' paradise。
Certain dreams have haunted me since my childhood。 One which recurs
often proceeds after this wise： A spirit seems to pass before my face。 I
feel an extreme heat like the blast from an engine。 It is the embodiment
of evil。 I must have had it first after the day that I nearly got burnt。
Another spirit which visits me often brings a sensation of cool
dampness； such as one feels on a chill November night when the window is
open。 The spirit stops just beyond my reach； sways back and forth like a
creature in grief。 My blood is chilled； and seems to freeze in my veins。
I try to move； but my body is still； and I cannot even cry out。 After a
while the spirit passes on； and I say to myself shudderingly； 〃That was
Death。 I wonder if he has taken her。〃 The pronoun stands for my Teacher。
In my dreams I have sensations； odours； tastes and ideas which I do not
remember to have had in reality。 Perhaps they are the glimpses which my
mind catches through the veil of sleep of my earliest babyhood。 I have
heard 〃the trampling of many waters。〃 Sometimes a wonderful light visits
me in sleep。 Such a flash and glory as it is！ I gaze and gaze until it
vanishes。 I smell and taste much as in my waking hours； but the sense of
touch plays a less important part。 In sleep I almost never grope。 No one
guides me。 Even in a crowded street I am self…sufficient； and I enjoy
an independence quite foreign to my physical life。 Now I seldom spell on
my fingers； and it is still rarer for others to spell into my hand。 My
mind acts independent of my physical organs。 I am delighted to be thus
endowed； if only in sleep； for then my soul dons its winged sandals and
joyfully joins the throng of happy beings who dwell beyond the reaches
of bodily sense。
The moral inconsistency of dreams is glaring。 Mine grow less and less
accordant with my proper principles。 I am nightly hurled into an
uhical medley of extremes。 I must either defend another to the last
drop of my blood or condemn him past all repenting。 I mit murder；
sleeping； to save the lives of others。 I ascribe to those I love best
acts and words which it mortifies me to remember； and I cast reproach
after reproach upon them。 It is fortunate for our peace of mind that
most wicked dreams are soon forgotten。 Death； sudden and awful； strange
loves and hates remorselessly pursued； cunningly plotted revenge； are
seldom more than dim haunting recollections in the morning； and during
the day they are erased by the normal activities of the mind。 Sometimes
immediately on waking； I am so vexed at the memory of a dream…fracas； I
wish I may dream no more。 With this wish distinctly before me I drop off
again into a new turmoil of dreams。
Oh； dreams； what opprobrium I heap upon you……you； the most pointless
things imaginable； saucy apes； brewers of odious contrasts； haunting
birds of ill omen； mocking echoes； unseasonable reminders；
oft…returning vexations； skeletons in my morris…chair； jesters in the
tomb； death's…heads at the wedding feast； outlaws of the brain that
every night defy the mind's police service； thieves of my Hesperidean
apples； breakers of my domestic peace； murderers of sleep。 〃Oh； dreadful
dreams that do fright my spirit from her propriety！〃 No wonder that
Hamlet preferred the ills he knew rather than run the risk of one
dream…vision。
Yet remove the dream…world； and the loss is inconceivable。 The magic
spell which binds poetry together is broken。 The splendour of art and
the soaring might of imagination are lessened because no phantom of
fadeless sunsets and flowers urges onward to a goal。 Gone is the mute
permission or connivance which emboldens the soul to mock the limits of
time and space； forecast and gather in harvests of achievement for ages
yet unborn。 Blot out dreams； and the blind lose one of their chief
forts； for in the visions of sleep they behold their belief in the
seeing mind and their expectation of light beyond the blank； narrow
night justified。 Nay； our conception of immortality is shaken。 Faith；
the motive…power of human life； flickers out。 Before such vacancy and
bareness the shocks of wrecked worlds were indeed wele。 In truth；
dreams bring us the thought independently of us and in spite of us that
the soul
〃may right
Her nature； shoot large sail on lengthening cord；
And rush exultant on the Infinite。〃
DREAMS AND REALITY
XIV
DREAMS AND REALITY
IT is astonishing to think how our real wide…awake world revolves around
the shadowy unrealities of Dreamland。 Despite all that we say about the
inconsequence of dreams； we often reason by them。 We stake our greatest
hopes upon them。 Nay； we build upon them the fabric of an ideal world。 I
can recall few fine； thoughtful poems； few noble works of art or any
system of philosophy in which there is not evidence that dream…fantasies
symbolize truths concealed by phenomena。
The fact that in dreams confusion reigns； and illogical connections
occur gives plausibility to the theory which Sir Arthur Mitchell and
other scientific men hold； that our dream…thinking is uncontrolled and
undirected by the will。 The will……the inhibiting and guiding
power……finds rest and refreshment in sleep； while the mind； like a
barque without rudder or pass； drifts aimlessly upon an uncharted
sea。 But curiously enough； these fantasies and inter…twistings of
thought are to be found in great imaginative poems like Spenser's 〃Faerie
Queene。〃 Lamb was impressed by the analogy between our dream…thinking
and the work of th