And I therefore revere the opinion of Sir Thomas Brown, the ingenious author of the “Religio Medici,” (with whom believed Sir Henry Wotton, Bossuet, and other good men,) “That we are somewhat more than ourselves in our sleeps, and the slumber of the body seems to be but the waking of the soul. It is the legation of sense, but the liberty of reason; and our waking conceptions do not match the fancies of our sleeps.” And also the sentiment of Addison, that “there seems something in this consideration, that intimates to us a natural grandeur and perfection of the soul.” CAST. In your temple of transcendental philosophy you will leave a niche for Shakspere, dearest Ida, who, even in one of his lightest characters, forgets not this perfection of our emancipated spirit. Lorenzo whispers to the fair Jewess, in the garden at Belmont— “Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heav’n Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold! There’s not the smallest orb which thou behold’st, But in his motion, like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-ey’d cherubims. Such harmony is in immortal souls; But, whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we cannot hear it.” PROPHECY OF DREAMS. “I have heard, the spirits of the dead May walk again: if such things be, thy mother Appeared to me last night; for ne’er was dream So like a waking.” WINTER’S TALE. ASTR. Evelyn, you have argued fluently on the _nature_ of mind contrasted with that of matter; but, if desired to _define_ it, how will you answer? EV. That it is a _combination of faculties_, and their _sympathy with the senses_. But this definition presumes not to decide in what intimate part or texture of the brain is seated the essence itself, as we may imagine, of the mind—the principle of _consciousness_; whether this be the “elementary principle” of Stewart, or the “momentary impression of sense or sensation” of Brown, or the “something differing from sensation” of Reid, or the “power of feeling that we differ from the matter around us” of some one else. ASTR. Yet on this point, (if, indeed, such point be more than imaginary,) the whole phenomena of intellect must turn. But even if you can ever hope to determine this locality, it will be long, very long, ere the student of psychology will rise from his studies, with the triumphant exclamation, “Τελος!” ere he conclude his deepest researches, without the humiliating confession that his philosophy wears fetters.