arm. A bullfinch, says Bechstein, belonging to a lady, was
subject to very frightful dreams, which made it drop off its perch; but
no sooner did it hear the voice of its affectionate mistress than it
became immediately tranquil, and reascended its perch to sleep again. It
is pretty certain that parrots dream. It is, indeed, a curious
circumstance that the best way of teaching this bird to talk is to cover
the cage over so as to darken it, and while he is going to sleep
pronounce, audibly and slowly, the word he is to learn; if the winged
pupil be a clever one, he will, upon the repetition of the lesson, in a
morning or two, begin to repeat it.

Upon the same principle, school-boys commit their tasks to memory by
reading them over the last thing before they go to bed. It is to be
remembered that during sleep the mind may not be wholly under eclipse;
for, although some of its faculties--such as perception, comparison,
judgment, and especially the will, may be suspended--others (for
example, memory and imagination), are often more active than in the
waking state. But some persons, it is said, never dream. We are assured
by Locke that he knew a gentleman who had an excellent memory, yet could
not recollect ever having dreamed until his twenty-sixth year. Dr. Reid,
for many years before his death, had no recollection of having ever
dreamed. Dr. Eliotson also relates, apparently upon good authority, the
case of a man who never dreamed until after he had a fever, in his
fortieth year; and we ourselves know several persons who are not
conscious of ever dreaming. Nevertheless, many contend that in all such
cases dreams really occur, but that they escape the recollection; for
they contend that it is impossible that the mind can, being an
independent principle, ever be in a state of absolute rest. This is
arguing within a very narrow circle. We must not forget that the
intimate alliance of the mind with the body, subjects it to its general
laws; the "heat-oppressed brain" requires rest to renew its energies,
and the mind, of which it is the organ, in the mean time, may, as in
profound sleep, remain perfectly quiescent. The lids of the outward
senses are closed; a vail is drawn over the immaterial principle of our
nature; and mind and body alike, for a period, lie in a state of utter
unconsciousness.

Here, however, it may fairly be asked, how happens it that the same
person will at one time remember, and, at another, forget his d