ed, but at the same time increased his fears by
imitating the groans of the wounded and the dying; and when he asked, as
he sometimes did, who were down, they named his particular friends. At
last they told him that the man next him in the line had fallen, when he
instantly sprang from his bed, rushed out of the tent, and was roused
from his danger and his dream together, by falling over the tent ropes.

By the by, all this is quite contrary to Dryden's theory, who says--

"As one who in a frightful dream would shun
His pressing foe, _labours in vain_ to run;
And his own slowness in his sleep bemoans,
With thick short sighs, weak cries, and tender groans."

And again, in his Virgil--

"When heavy sleep has closed the sight,
And sickly fancy labours in the night,
We seem to run, and, destitute of force,
Our sinking limbs forsake us in the course;
In vain we heave for breath--_in vain we cry_--
_The nerves unbraced, their usual strength deny,
And on the tongue the flattering accents die_."

Now this man seems to have had the use not only of his limbs, but of his
faculty of speech, while dreaming; and it was not till after he awoke
that he felt the oppression Dryden describes; for it is stated, that
when he awoke he had no distinct recollection of his dream, but only a
confused feeling of oppression and fatigue, and used to tell his
companions that he was sure they had been playing some trick upon him.

W.A.R.

P.S. This is a sleepy article; and I would warn its reader to endeavour
not to fall asleep over it, and thus endanger his falling over his
chair; and lest some familiar friend or _chere amie_ should, finding
his instructions in his hand, take the opportunity of making the
experiment, and may be create a little jealous quarrel or so.

* * * * *

SONNET TO THE RIVER ARUN.

(_For the Mirror._)

Pure Stream! whose waters gently glide along,
In murmuring cadence to the Poet's ear,
Who, stretch'd at ease your flowery banks among,
Views with delight your glassy surface clear,
Roll pleasing on through Otways sainted wood;
Where "musing Pity" still delights to mourn,
And kiss the spot where oft her votary stood,
Or hang fresh cypress o'er his weeping urn;--
Here, too, retir'd from Folly's scenes afar,
His powerful shell first studious Collins strung;
Whilst Fancy, seated in her rainbow car,
Round him her flowers Parnassian wi