ack upon the endless succession of thoughts, while in the
dreams of sleep I can recall but few ideas and images. I catch broken
threads from the warp and woof of a pattern I cannot see, or glowing
leaves which have floated on a slumber-wind from a tree that I cannot
identify. In this reverie I held the key to the company of ideas. I give
my record of them to show what analogies exist between thoughts when
they are not directed and the behaviour of real dream-thinking.

I had an essay to write. I wanted my mind fresh and obedient, and all
its handmaidens ready to hold up my hands in the task. I intended to
discourse learnedly upon my educational experiences, and I was unusually
anxious to do my best. I had a working plan in my head for the essay,
which was to be grave, wise, and abounding in ideas. Moreover, it was to
have an academic flavour suggestive of sheepskin, and the reader was to
be duly impressed with the austere dignity of cap and gown. I shut
myself up in the study, resolved to beat out on the keys of my
typewriter this immortal chapter of my life-history. Alexander was no
more confident of conquering Asia with the splendid army which his
father Philip had disciplined than I was of finding my mental house in
order and my thoughts obedient. My mind had had a long vacation, and I
was now coming back to it in an hour that it looked not for me. My
situation was similar to that of the master who went into a far country
and expected on his home coming to find everything as he left it. But
returning he found his servants giving a party. Confusion was rampant.
There was fiddling and dancing and the babble of many tongues, so that
the voice of the master could not be heard. Though he shouted and beat
upon the gate, it remained closed.

So it was with me. I sounded the trumpet loud and long; but the vassals
of thought would not rally to my standard. Each had his arm round the
waist of a fair partner, and I know not what wild tunes "put life and
mettle into their heels." There was nothing to do. I looked about
helplessly upon my great retinue, and realized that it is not the
possession of a thing but the ability to use it which is of value. I
settled back in my chair to watch the pageant. It was rather pleasant
sitting there, "idle as a painted ship upon a painted ocean," watching
my own thoughts at play. It was like thinking fine things to say without
taking the trouble to write them. I felt like Alice in Wonderland wh