lly their dreams as indicating their natural dispositions,
tendencies, and temptations, and--perhaps with more reason--Burton and
Franklin have proposed 'the art of procuring pleasant dreams' as one of
the great, though little recognised, branches of the science of life.
This is, no doubt, mainly a question of diet, exercise, efficient
ventilation, and a wise distribution of hours, but it is also largely
influenced by moral causes.

Somnia quae mentes ludunt volitantibus umbris,
Nec delubra deum, nec ab aethere numina mittunt,
Sed sibi quisque facit.

To appease the perturbations of the mind, to live a tranquil, upright,
unremorseful life, to cultivate the power of governing by the will the
current of our thoughts, repressing unruly passions, exaggerated
anxieties, and unhealthy desires, is at least one great recipe for
banishing from our pillows those painful dreams that contribute not a
little to the unhappiness of many lives.

An analogous branch of self-culture is that which seeks to provide some
healthy aliment for the waking hours of the night, when time seems so
unnaturally prolonged, and when gloomy thoughts and exaggerated and
distempered views of the trials of life peculiarly prevail. Among the
ways in which education may conduce to the real happiness of man, its
power of supplying pleasant or soothing thoughts for those dreary hours
is not the least, though it is seldom or never noticed in books or
speeches. It is, perhaps, in this respect that the early habit of
committing poetry--and especially religious poetry--to memory is most
important.

In estimating the value of those intermissions of labour which are not
spent in active enjoyment one other consideration may be noted. There
are times when the mind should lie fallow, and all who have lived the
intellectual life with profit have perceived that it is often in those
times that it most regains the elasticity it may have lost and becomes
most prolific in spontaneous thought. Many periods of life which might
at first sight appear to be merely unused time are, in truth, among the
most really valuable.

We have all noticed the curious fact of the extreme apparent
inequalities of time, though it is, in its essence, of all things the
most uniform. Periods of pain or acute discomfort seem unnaturally
long, but this lengthening of time is fortunately not true of all the
melancholy scenes of life, nor is it peculiar to things that are
pain