I shall now try to explain the other determinations of the dream content. _A dried specimen_ of the plant accompanies the monograph as though it were a _herbarium_. A recollection of the _gymnasium_ (school) is connected with the herbarium. The director of our _gymnasium_ once called the scholars of the higher classes together in order to have them inspect and clean the herbarium. Small worms had been found—bookworms. The director did not seem to have much confidence in my help, for he left only a few leaves for me. I know to this day that there were crucifers on them. My interest in botany was never very great. At my preliminary examination in botany, I was required to identify a crucifer, and did not recognise it. I would have fared badly if my theoretical knowledge had not helped me out. Crucifers suggest composites. The artichoke is really a composite, and the one which I might call my favourite flower. My wife, who is more thoughtful than I, often brings this favourite flower of mine home from the market. I see the monograph which I have written lying before me. This, too, is not without its reference. The friend whom I pictured wrote to me yesterday from Berlin: “I think a great deal about your dream book. _I see it lying before me finished, and am turning over its leaves._” How I envied him this prophetic power! If I could only see it lying already finished before me! _The folded Coloured Plate._—While I was a student of medicine, I suffered much from a fondness for studying in _monographs_ exclusively. In spite of my limited means, I subscribed to a number of the medical archives, in which the coloured plates gave me much delight. I was proud of this inclination for thoroughness. So, when I began to publish on my own account, I had to draw the plates for my own treatises, and I remember one of them turned out so badly that a kindly-disposed colleague ridiculed me for it. This suggests, I don’t know exactly how, a very early memory from my youth. My father once thought it would be a joke to hand over a book with _coloured plates_ (_Description of a Journey in Persia_) to me and my eldest sister for destruction. This was hardly to be justified from an educational point of view. I was at the time five years old, and my sister three, and the picture of our blissfully tearing this book to pieces (like an artichoke, I must add, leaf by leaf) is almost the only one from this time of life which has remained fresh in my memory. When I afterwards became a student, I developed a distinct fondness for collecting and possessing books (an analogy to the inclination for studying from monographs, a hobby which occurs in the dream thoughts with reference to cyclamen and artichoke). I became a book-worm (_cf._ herbarium). I have always referred this first passion of my life—since I am engaging in retrospect—to this childhood impression, or rather I have recognised in this childish scene