ife, in its minutest incidents, arrayed before her
simultaneously as in a mirror; and she had a faculty developed as
suddenly for comprehending the whole and every part. This, from some
opium experiences of mine, I can believe; I have indeed seen the same
thing asserted twice in modern books, and accompanied by a remark which I
am convinced is true; viz., that the dread book of account which the
Scriptures speak of is in fact the mind itself of each individual. Of
this at least I feel assured, that there is no such thing as _forgetting_
possible to the mind; a thousand accidents may and will interpose a veil
between our present consciousness and the secret inscriptions on the
mind; accidents of the same sort will also rend away this veil; but
alike, whether veiled or unveiled, the inscription remains for ever, just
as the stars seem to withdraw before the common light of day, whereas in
fact we all know that it is the light which is drawn over them as a veil,
and that they are waiting to be revealed when the obscuring daylight
shall have withdrawn.

Having noticed these four facts as memorably distinguishing my dreams
from those of health, I shall now cite a case illustrative of the first
fact, and shall then cite any others that I remember, either in their
chronological order, or any other that may give them more effect as
pictures to the reader.

I had been in youth, and even since, for occasional amusement, a great
reader of Livy, whom I confess that I prefer, both for style and matter,
to any other of the Roman historians; and I had often felt as most solemn
and appalling sounds, and most emphatically representative of the majesty
of the Roman people, the two words so often occurring in Livy--_Consul
Romanus_, especially when the consul is introduced in his military
character. I mean to say that the words king, sultan, regent, &c., or
any other titles of those who embody in their own persons the collective
majesty of a great people, had less power over my reverential feelings. I
had also, though no great reader of history, made myself minutely and
critically familiar with one period of English history, viz., the period
of the Parliamentary War, having been attracted by the moral grandeur of
some who figured in that day, and by the many interesting memoirs which
survive those unquiet times. Both these parts of my lighter reading,
having furnished me often with matter of reflection, now furnished me
with matter