Whether it be the action of a faculty, a correlative action of physical functions, or a separate soul in us, the fact is indisputable that when our ordinary waking consciousness or will goes to sleep or rest, or even dozes, that instant an entirely different power takes command of the myriad forces of memory, and proceeds to make them act, wheel, evolute, and perform dramatic tricks, such as the Common Sense of our daily life would never admit. This power we call the Dream, but it is more than that. It can do more than make Us, or Me, or the Waking Will, believe that we are passing through fantastic scenes. It can remember or revive the memory of things forgotten by us; it can, when he is making no effort, solve for the geometrician problems which are far beyond his waking capacity--it sometimes teaches the musician airs such as he could not compose. That is to say, within ourself there dwells a more mysterious Me, in some respects a more gifted Self. There is not the least reason, in the present state of Science, to assume that this is either a "spiritual" being or an action of material forces. It puzzled Wigan as the dual action of the brain; and a great light is thrown on it by the "Physiology" of Carpenter and the "Memory" of David Kay (one of the most remarkable works of modern times), as well as in the "Psycho Therapeutics" of Dr. Tuckey. This power, therefore, knows things hidden from Me, and can do what I cannot. Let no one incautiously exclaim here that what this really means is, that I possess higher accomplishments which I do not use. The power often actually acts against Me--it plays at fast and loose with me--it tries to deceive me, and when it finds that in dreams I have detected a blunder in the plot of the play which it is spinning, it brings the whole abruptly to an end with the convulsion of a nightmare, or by letting the curtain fall with a crash, and--scena est deserta--I am awake! And then "how the phantoms flee--how the dreams depart!" as Westwood writes. With what wonderful speed all is washed away clean from the blackboard! Our waking visions do not fly like this. But--be it noted, for it is positively true--the evanescence of our dreams is, in a vast majority of instances, exactly in proportion to their folly. I am coming to my witchcraft directly, but I pray you have patience with my proeme. I wish to narrate a dream which I had a few years ago (September 5, 1887), which had an intensity of reality. Dreams, you know, reader, vary from rainbow mist to London fog, and so on to clouds, or mud. This one was hard as marble in comparison to most. A few days previously I had written a letter to a friend, in which I had discussed this subject of the dual-Me, and it seemed as if the Dream were called forth by it in answer.