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it brings vividly forward the means of gratification, and kindles the passions into a flame. The mind occupied by furious lusts, becomes, till imagery is displaced by reality, the lodgment of a Tantalus. Unreal phantoms provoke the eye, stimulate the appetites, and, in the grasping, sink back into tormenting shadows. The mind is consumed momentarily in the red heat of its own passions, which it can neither quell by authority, nor quench by indulgence. Misery in all forms uses the imagination as a means wherewith to irritate and exasperate itself. Discouragement and fear evoke troubles beyond the reality. Not only is the ship battered by the waves about it, the vista of a yet more angry ocean is opened up, and it plunges on from shock to shock, the heart sinking in despair more in view of what is to be, than of what is. Disappointment aggravates the evils it suffers by exaggerated pictures of the good to have been attained. One feels the heat of the desert, and thinks of cooling streams.

On the other hand, pleasure owes its hilarity, its intoxication very much to the imagination. It spreads the rosy, blithesome atmosphere of the present to the very horizon, and makes the distance gorgeous with a play of light, beyond what approach will verify. The eccentricity, the boldness, the poetic inspiration, the enthusiasm of the mind find expression and play chiefly in the fancy. By it we cease to be roadsters along the regular route of existence; we dart ahead, or fall behind, or turn to the right, or to the left: we rise upward, tread paths of air, and return only at intervals to the actual, where the foot-sore senses and judgment are plodding on.

It is evidently this faculty that is yoked to the car of the mind in sleep, and wheels it, in ranging fashion, through possible and impossible scenes, through weird imagery, recollections interlacing fancies in strange and monstrous