Some of the accounts that are given under the head of dreams of lovely and generally unknown scenery are very curious. Thus one correspondent, who writes with much lucid suggestiveness, tells me: "The dream of new and lovely scenery I have pretty often, and also the kindred ones of finding new kinds of flowers or of seeing absolutely unknown colours". This last imagination seems so curious as scarcely to be intelligible (for the evolution of the image of a new colour seems as difficult as the grasp of a fourth dimension) until we begin to consider that "dreaming" of a strange and unknown colour merely means temporarily having the opinion that we are seeing an unknown colour. We do not realise the colour any more than (in my assumption of what happened in his dream) my friend who dreamed that he put pure

Parisian into the mouth of a Frenchman was capable of speaking such "French of Paris". We imagine we have seen an unknown colour, just as we imagine we have performed some great intellectual feat, have composed some charming or epigrammatic verse; but the verse that we have supposed so pointed and so charming proves, to our waking criticism, if we can recall it, the purest drivel undefiled. We cannot recall the imaginary impression of the "unknown" colour, but if we could we should probably find it the Veriest mud colour or a common scarlet

A strange form of the unknown scenery dream is related by another correspondent. It may be said, in passing, that the new scenery or the new flower present nothing of the same difficulty as the unknown colour. The former are but fresh combinations of what we have perceived, the latter, if it really were an unknown colour, would mean a new creation out of nothing. And this is the sort of creation that the finite man is not equal to. "Once," writes a correspondent, "I had a very odd dream experience. I was preparing busily, but not anxiously, for an examination, to pass which I had to go to Edinburgh. Some weeks before the date of the examination I seemed in a dream to be walking through the familiar streets of that city. I was troubled, knowing that it was not yet time for me to be there. As I walked along I suddenly thought 'Perhaps this is only a dream. If so, these houses and streets are not real, and I can change them at will. Therefore I resolve, if I am dreaming, that I shall come to the sea on turning this corner.' And surely enough I stepped round on firm brown sand, with a low tide rising over dark parallel reefs of rock.

I know"the writer adds, "that people often struggle to awake from unpleasant dreams, but never heard of any other instance of deliberately changing one." It is very curious. The identity of the dream place with Edinburgh, and yet attended with such strange circumstances, may be compared with Miss Cobbes dream of Harley Street, which was Harley Street and yet had shops instead of dwelling - houses. Some of my correspondents dream of making up their scenery dreams out of pictures, and the dream pictures and dream scenery seem to run and dissolve into each other without any trouble and with very excellent results. And with these dreams of beautiful scenery may be associated the hearing of beautiful sounds. This, I think, is far more rare; but at least one correspondent writes to me of such musical dreams: "There are dreams of beautiful scenery, such as the waking eyes have never beheld; of extraordinary music mostly heard at a distance". In this connection I may say that dreams of hearing in general are much less common than dreams of scenery. Dreams, in order of frequency, follow the same order of frequency in which impressions of the waking senses are received.

We receive many more sight impressions than hearing impressions, more hearing impressions than smelling impressions, and so on. And dreams in the scale of frequent occurrence follow the same order. Sight dreams are most frequent. Hearing dreams come second. Dreams of smell, touch and taste third in order. And it is interesting to note, in this connection, that naturally blind people, as I am told, never dream of seeing things, and those who have lost their sight by illness or accident soon cease to have dreams containing sight impressions. I presume that it is the same, mutatis mutandis, with those who have lost their hearing; and so in the case of all the senses. One correspondent, who comments quite truly on the greater frequency of visual dreams than those which convey the impression made by any other sense, makes also a noteworthy suggestion, as follows: "With regard to the dream of beautiful and strange scenery, which I know very well, it would, I think, be interesting to discover if it is best known to those who study landscape paintings attentively.

I have been inclined to think that such a study does supply a good deal of the material of these dreams."

Two of my correspondents write of dreaming a great deal of the sea or of large expanses of water, and possibly these should be grouped under the same head (by which I mean, arise from the same occult cause) as dreams of strange and beautiful scenery in general. "At one time in my life" writes one of these (who also notes the common yet curious fact of certain dreams often being repeated at one period of life, and deserting the dreamer in favour of other dreams frequent at another period) "I was constantly dreaming of the sea. I was on it, or by the sea - shore. Sometimes it was calm and the sun shining, but more frequently the waves were rough and tempestuous. We did not live by the sea, I am not fond of it, nor was I interested in any one connected with the sea that would account for it. But now that dream has completely left me, and I never dream of the sea."

The dream scenery is not here, as it is in some cases, more beautiful than any that the waking eye has ever rested on; e.g to quote another correspondent: "I find myself wandering in some ideally lovely country, under skies perhaps glowing with wonderful sunset colours, or in fields full of strange new flowers ". I greatly regret that these charming fancies never come to delight my own sleeping hours, although I believe myself to be gifted with a tolerable appreciation of natural beauties, and greatly admire landscape painting.

In the experience of one of my correspondents the scenery seems to change, as in a magic - lantern show: "Dreams of changing landscape," he writes, "were sufficiently prominent in my experience to be classified as 'dissolving view dreams'. I had often the experience of finding myself in a strange city, and endeavouring in vain to discover where I was. These dreams belong chiefly to the later period of my life." This dreamer also notes the much greater frequency of dreams in youth than in later life. I believe this to be a common experience, and it may perhaps be attributable in some degree to the stronger power of the reason in later life (the abeyance of the reason we have seen to be a condition almost.essential to the unrestrained wanderings of the imagination which composes the dreams) and in part perhaps to the relative loss of delicacy in the nerves as people grow older. So lively is the pleasure that this dream of strange and beautiful scenery brings those who are lucky enough to enjoy it, that one correspondent, previously quoted, says of the delightful "flying dream" itself, that "it is only exceeded in pleasurable sensation by that of one which might be classed as the dream of discovering new and beautiful scenery in familiar haunts of one's waking hours - dream transformation of

My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood."

So much do we unfortunately prosaic people lose who do not have this illusion of lovely dream scenery.