Dr. Parr says, "In dreams we seem to reason, to argue, to compose; and in all these circumstances during sleep, we are highly gratified, and think we excel. If, however, we remember our dreams, our reasonings we find to be weak, our arguments inconclusive, and our compositions trifling and absurd." Now these views are applicable to minds of just the capacity for mental energy in the waking state, which he has described when they are asleep. The powerful intellect will reason just as correctly when asleep, upon the premises given, as when awake; but unfortunately, the data are in many instances indistinct and erroneous when the mind is debarred the influence of those means through which facts are presented, and the judgment regulated.

"For if our conscious waking thoughts Weave out so few and worthless ends, Much more a tangled woof is wrought When dream with dream commingling blends; The toilsome scenes of weary days, By night lived o'er, at morn we see Made monstrous in a thousand ways, Like fabled shapes on tapestry."

But when the premises are properly grasped, we are presented with dreams in geometry, poetry, music, and in truth with mental subjects as varied as the objects of thought, and not inferior to products of the mind in wakefulness. The imperfection of memory also, in sleep, is a prolific source of error in regard to what the actual powers of the mind are in this condition.

As an example of the intellectual capacity, of a mind in sleep, endowed by nature and cultivated by study, take the poem of "Kubla Khan," which is the rehearsal verbatim of a dream of the poet Coleridge.

"In Xanadu did Kubla Khan

A stately pleasure-dome decree;

Where Alph, the sacred river, ran

Through caverns measureless to man,

Down to a sunless sea."

"So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round: And here were gardens bright with sinuous rills, Where blossom'd many an incense-bearing tree;

And here were forests ancient as the hills,

Infolding sunny spots of greenery.

But oh that deep romantic chasm which slanted

Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover!

A savage place! as holy and enchanted

As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted

By woman wailing for her demon-lover!

And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,

As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,

A mighty fountain momently was forced:

Amid whose swift half intermitted bursts

Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,

Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail:

And 'mid those dancing rocks at once and ever

It flung up momently the sacred river.

Five miles, meandering with a mazy motion,

Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,

Then reached the caverns measureless to man,

And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean:

And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far

Ancestral voices prophesying war."

We have no power to set up a particular train of thought, that is to say, volition is either impotent, or subserves the bidding of the organs most highly excited. But the power of judging is probably as good as when awake, for it decides only upon the premises presented in either case, and during sleep and in dreams the premises are usually scanty and at fault. When Dr. Johnson, in referring to a dream in which he had a contest of wit with another individual, said, "Now one may mark here the effect of sleep in weakening the power of reflection ; for, had not my judgment failed me, I should have seen that the wit of this supposed antagonist, by whose superiority I felt myself depressed, was as much furnished by me as that which I thought I had been uttering in my own character." We apprehend that the error of judgment and weakening of the reflectite powers arose from a lack of all the circumstances in the case being presented to his mind. Certainly he had lost identity, because in his dream he furnished argument for another person without comprehending that he was doing so, and therefore, a just conclusion could not be arrived at. But the feeling of chagrin or mortification which he experienced, wad a legitimate result of his judgment founded on the premises.

Dr. Binns, to whom we are largely indebted for examples, in his chapter on dreams says, "Magnenus forgot, or rather did not know, that the same organs which are in activity during the day, continue their work during the night, while the external senses are seeking that repose which the exertions of the morning render imperative." The perpetual activity of the mind is here clearly stated, and in our view correctly, but that it is confined to the operations of the day preceding sleep is by no means the case. But when the mind has been intensely excited upon a particular subject preceding sleep, it seems as though the same subject, modified and oftentimes richly embellished, in harmony with the mental constitution of the individual, is prolonged during sleep. A beautiful illustration is to be found in the recital of the toils and privations in the deserts of Africa by Mr. Moffat: "We continued," he says, "our slow and silent march. The tongue cleaving to the roof of the mouth from thirst, made conversation extremely difficult. At last, we reached the long wished-for water-fall; but it was too late to ascend the hill. We laid our heads on our saddles. The last sound we heard was the distant roar of the lion; but we were too much exhausted to feel anything like fear. Sleep came to our relief, and it seemed made-up of scenes the most lovely. I felt as if engaged in roving among ambrosial bowers, hearing sounds of music, as if from angels' harps. I seemed to pass from stream to stream, in which I bathed, and slaked my thirst at many a crystal fount flowing from mountains enriched with living green. These pleasures continued till morning, when we awoke speechless with thirst, our eyes inflamed, and our whole frames burning like a coal."