When the dream began I was waiting in a high office-like room which I knew to be closely connected with the War Office. Its" walls were painted a light green colour, and whilst I waited I noticed that the prints which hung round it were arranged very irregularly and very high up on the walls. I was expecting a dispatch that I had volunteered to carry to the Army Headquarters in Belgium, flying in the manner in which I fly in my dreams.

There was some delay in its coming, and I flew up round the room partly to test my power of flight, but also to see if the window would make a good startingplace. Whilst I circled round I examined the pictures-one, a small engraving of the second Earl Grey, was framed in a narrow "early Victorian" gold frame, and as it hung crookedly, it caught my attention, and I tried to straighten it, but the nail on which it hung was loose and the picture came off into my hand. At that moment the door opened and an official came in. I descended and began to apologise and explain, but he smiled and said it did not signify. "In fact," he said, " it is rather a lucky coincidence - we were wondering what we could possibly send with you to serve as an introduction or passport Lord Grey's relationship to Sir Edward Grey, our Secretary of State, is well known abroad. His picture will introduce you at once and be a guarantee of your good faith; you must take it with you!" "How tiresome of the War Office!" I thought; "fancy having to carry this framed picture on my flight!" However, I could not well refuse, and I fastened it as well as I could by means of its cord to my waist. I asked for a map of the country as being absolutely necessary to guide my flight.

The official said that they had hunted all over the War Office for a map of Belgium but could only find a very old one; but he added: "This will matter less because all the towns and villages of Belgium are so old that you will find them all marked upon this old map." The map produced was inded very ancient; it was on yellowish paper or parchment, beautifully written, with the names of Flemish towns and villages in old-fashioned characters, but with no railways marked on it and but very few roads. I protested, but it was all I could get. "You will fly over Naville . . . and . . . and Dischemoote," I was told. I wondered anxiously how I should recognise all these places as I flew over them, but I need not have troubled about this. I found afterwards that it was not so difficult as I had imagined, for the country itself, as seen from above, looked singularly like the map.

It was getting dark now, and I was to start when it was dark enough for me to be practically unseen. I flew up to the window, and holding my awkward map before me, I stood on the ledge and flew out over the roofs of a foreign-looking town. I saw below me first of all houses and streets, then a road which passed through various scattered houses and villages. "There is Naville," I thought. ... I flew on and on, and presently began to get tired. I was flying rather low by now, and this made me anxious, for it was beginning to get lighter, and I could see groups of men standing about in the dim light -they were dressed in odd, dark-brown clothes (like Dutchmen, I thought). I was not afraid of them, but I knew that I must get away if I were to take my dispatch safely to its destination. Once I nearly descended amongst them, but I got away in time, and unseen, and entered a house. I ran up its staircase and found my way to an upper window, from which I flew off at a good height from the ground and with a strong steady flight. The sky was getting lighter, and I saw against the dawn a row of ragged wind-swept trees.

There were many other incidents by the way which I forget; but at last I arrived at my destination - the Army Headquarters. The place was a strange castle. ... I entered with the War Office dispatch and found in supreme command there Mr. Winston Churchill, to whom I gave the paper and from whom I had to receive my instructions. I was escorted through the castle passages to where, underground, beneath the castle itself, in strange vaulted halls, a royal court was installed. A stately procession, a king, a queen and attendants, were passing down a high arched corridor of this underground palace into which I looked. Although it was broad daylight above, the halls were lighted artificially and the atmosphere of the whole place seemed curious and unnatural, and a longing came over me to leave the castle as I had come to it, by flight.

No one stopped me, and I followed a boy in Scout's uniform up to the open air into the court-yard, where a party of Belgian Boy Scouts were practising experiments in flying and were achieving short, spasmodic flights under the direction of Mr. Winston Churchill. Their funny attitudes amused me, and I stood laughing and watching - "They look like frogs trying to fly," I thought. I passed on, and made my way up to the great outer walls of the castle, and I then saw how shattered and ruined its ramparts were. The narrow walk leading round the top of the walls was broken away in places and was very dangerous, but the gaps in the path did not trouble me, for where walking is dangerous flying is safe, and from these walls I started afresh and flew away.

Oftenest of all nowadays the flying dream occurs in surroundings of lofty rooms and the great staircases of palatial buildings which I do not know. Sometimes I am in the British Museum or one of the other public galleries. I want to get to the end of the long rooms, and I fly lightly along them. As a bird in a room naturally flies along the ceiling, I float upwards and fly along at that level. One does not realise, until one gets accustomed to flying instead of walking, how big a space there is between the ceiling and the tops of doors and windows. One has to float downwards for some distance and steer through the doorway in order to get from room to room or from one gallery to another. When the flying or gliding dream begins I find myself always now in my "flying dress"- it is a dress of straight close folds which fall three or four inches below my feet. The reason for this is that, once or twice when I have been moving among crowds in busy streets, gliding just clear of the ground, I thought that people must notice that my feet never move like theirs. In Oxford Street one day, when the pavement was very crowded, I feared that it would attract attention disagreeably if people noticed this fact, and that the curiosity of it might lead to an inconvenient amount of notice.

I left the thronged thoroughfare and went quickly down Duke Street to avoid observation. Once in the quieter street, I flew along comfortably, but the next time I began to dream I found that I wore a long dress which hid my feet entirely, and no one can now see that I am not walking just as they are. It has struck me sometimes as a curious thing that, however crowded the rooms may be when I am flying, no notice whatever is taken even of the most daring flights, but I have learnt now that this is almost always the case. Either it is quite unnoticed or more probably I am unseen.

It will be seen from these extracts from my notes on flying dreams that beyond the power of eliminating or ending bad dreams, which has been a great gain, the measure of control that I have been able to acquire is limited, amounting to a certain power of making a favourite dream recur more or less at will, and of being able greatly to increase its pleasurable features. Beyond this I have not gone, and perhaps if our success were greater, if our control were to become more perfect, our pleasure in dreaming would be lessened. If our dreams could be successfully harnessed and brought under even the measure of. discipline to which our wandering thoughts have to submit by day, they would cease to have the charm which their unexpectedness gives them, and with the loss of freedom they would lose one of their greatest attractions. But we need not fear - nature will take only too good care that our control shall not go too far, and that the spontaneity and freedom of our dreams shall never be too seriously crippled.

In making the simple experiments that I have made I have had no idea of bringing my dreams into any strict subjection, but have only tried to ascertain how far will-power really ceases to exercise its functions when we sleep.

To my mind the answer to this question is that it does still exercise considerable authority over the operations of the dream mind, and that its control can, by certain simple methods, and by some concentration of thought, be greatly extended. Memory also, no doubt, takes a part in the causation of such dreams as these. Each dream of flying makes the next flight easier; memories of previous occasions when the dream-consciousness was occupied with these problems tend to act as echoes do and to repeat themselves again and again. And if by day the mind turns from time to time to the same thought and recalls the incidents of some dream adventure, such dreams are apt to reward our remembrance and to come back to us at nightfall at our bidding.