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words limitless； visionless； silent void？ One should be a disembodied
spirit indeed to make anything out of such insubstantial experiences。 A
world； or a dream for that matter； to be prehensible to us； must； I
should think； have a warp of substance woven into the woof of fantasy。
We cannot imagine even in dreams an object which has no counterpart in
reality。 Ghosts always resemble somebody； and if they do not appear
themselves； their presence is indicated by circumstances with which we
are perfectly familiar。
During sleep we enter a strange； mysterious realm which science has thus
far not explored。 Beyond the border…line of slumber the investigator may
not pass with his mon…sense rule and test。 Sleep with softest touch
locks all the gates of our physical senses and lulls to rest the
conscious will……the disciplinarian of our waking thoughts。 Then the
spirit wrenches itself free from the sinewy arms of reason and like a
winged courser spurns the firm green earth and speeds away upon wind
and cloud； leaving neither trace nor footprint by which science may
track its flight and bring us knowledge of the distant； shadowy country
that we nightly visit。 When we e back from the dream…realm； we can
give no reasonable report of what we met there。 But once across the
border； we feel at home as if we had always lived there and had never
made any excursions into this rational daylight world。
My dreams do not seem to differ very much from the dreams of other
people。 Some of them are coherent and safely hitched to an event or a
conclusion。 Others are inconsequent and fantastic。 All attest that in
Dreamland there is no such thing as repose。 We are always up and doing
with a mind for any adventure。 We act； strive； think； suffer and are
glad to no purpose。 We leave outside the portals of Sleep all
troublesome incredulities and vexatious speculations as to probability。
I float wraith…like upon clouds in and out among the winds； without the
faintest notion that I am doing anything unusual。 In Dreamland I find
little that is altogether strange or wholly new to my experience。 No
matter what happens； I am not astonished； however extraordinary the
circumstances may be。 I visit a foreign land where I have not been in
reality； and I converse with peoples whose language I have never heard。
Yet we manage to understand each other perfectly。 Into whatsoever
situation or society my wanderings bring me； there is the same
homogeneity。 If I happen into Vagabondia； I make merry with the jolly
folk of the road or the tavern。
I do not remember ever to have met persons with whom I could not at once
municate； or to have been shocked or surprised at the doings of my
dream…panions。 In its strange wanderings in those dusky groves of
Slumberland my soul takes everything for granted and adapts itself to
the wildest phantoms。 I am seldom confused。 Everything is as clear as
day。 I know events the instant they take place； and wherever I turn my
steps； Mind is my faithful guide and interpreter。
I suppose every one has had in a dream the exasperating； profitless
experience of seeking something urgently desired at the moment； and the
aching； weary sensation that follows each failure to track the thing to
its hiding…place。 Sometimes with a singing dizziness in my head I climb
and climb； I know not where or why。 Yet I cannot quit the torturing；
passionate endeavour； though again and again I reach out blindly for an
object to hold to。 Of course according to the perversity of dreams there
is no object near。 I clutch empty air； and then I fall downward； and
still downward； and in the midst of the fall I dissolve into the
atmosphere upon which I have been floating so precariously。
Some of my dreams seem to be traced one within another like a series of
concentric circles。 In sleep I think I cannot sleep。 I toss about in the
toils of tasks unfinished。 I decide to get up and read for a while。 I
know the shelf in my library where I keep the book I want。 The book has
no name； but I find it without difficulty。 I settle myself fortably
in the morris…chair； the great book open on my knee。 Not a word can I
make out； the pages are utterly blank。 I am not surprised； but keenly
disappointed。 I finger the pages； I bend over them lovingly； the tears
fall on my hands。 I shut the book quickly as the thought passes through
my mind； 〃The print will be all rubbed out if I get it wet。〃 Yet there
is no print tangible on the page！
This morning I thought that I awoke。 I was certain that I had overslept。
I seized my watch； and sure enough； it pointed to an hour after my
rising time。 I sprang up in the greatest hurry； knowing that breakfast
was ready。 I called my mother； who declared that my watch must be
wrong。 She was positive it could not be so late。 I looked at my watch
again； and lo！ the hands wiggled； whirled； buzzed and disappeared。 I
awoke more fully as my dismay grew； until I was at the antipodes of
sleep。 Finally my eyes opened actually； and I knew that I had been
dreaming。 I had only waked into sleep。 What is still more bewildering；
there is no difference between the consciousness of the sham waking and
that of the real one。
It is fearful to think that all that we have ever seen； felt； read； and
done may suddenly rise to our dream…vision； as the sea casts up objects
it has swallowed。 I have held a little child in my arms in the midst of
a riot and spoken vehemently； imploring the Russian soldiers not to
massacre the Jews。 I have re…lived the agonizing scenes of the Sepoy
Rebellion and the French Revolution。 Cities have burned before my eyes；
and I have fought the flames until I fell exhausted。 Holocausts overtake
the world； and I struggle in vain to save my friends。
Once in a dream a message came speeding over land and sea that winter
was descending upon the world from the North Pole； that the Arctic zone
was shifting to our mild climate。 Far and wide the message flew。 The
ocean was congealed in midsummer。 Ships were held fast in the ice by
thousands； the ships with large； white sails were held fast。 Riches of
the Orient and the plenteous harvests of the Golden West might no more
pass between nation and nation。 For some time the trees and flowers
grew on； despite the intense cold。 Birds flew into the houses for
safety； and those which winter had overtaken lay on the snow with wings
spread in vain flight。 At last the foliage and blossoms fell at the feet
of Winter。 The petals of the flowers were turned to rubies and
sapphires。 The leaves froze into emeralds。 The trees moaned and tossed
their branches as the frost pierced them through bark and sap； pierced
into their very roots。 I shivered myself awake； and with a tumult of joy
I breathed the many sweet morning odours wakened by the summer sun。
One need not visit an African jungle or an Indian forest to hunt the
tiger。 One can lie in bed amid downy pillows and dream tigers as
terrible as any in the pathless wild。 I was a little girl when one night
I tried to cross the garden in front of my aunt's house in Alabama。 I
was in pursuit of a large cat with a great bushy tail。 A few hours
before he had clawed my little canary out of its cage and crunched it
between his cruel teeth。 I could not see the cat。 But the thought in my
mind was distinct： 〃He is making for the high grass at the end of the
garden。 I'll get there first！〃 I put my hand on the box border and ran
swiftly along the path。 When I reached the high grass； there was the cat
gliding into the wavy tangle。 I rushed forward and tried to seize him
and take the bird from between his teeth。 To my horror a huge beast； not
the cat at all； sprang out from the grass； and his sinewy shoulder
rubbed against me with palpitating strength！ His ears stood up and
quivered with anger。 His eyes were hot。 His nostrils were large and wet。
His lips moved horribly。 I knew it was a tiger； a real live tiger； and
that I should be devoured……my little bird and I。 I do not know what
happened after that。 The next important thing seldom happens in dreams。
Some time earlier I had a dream which made a vivid impression upon me。
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。