J827,] A Chapter on Dreams. 279 



" Who am I, i'faith ? I was once Hesiod ; then I migrated into Con- 

 fucius ; from thence into Aristotle. I then animated the carcass of an old 

 ass, ridden by Epictetus; but shifted my quarters into Ptolemy till I 

 was weary of sines, and tangents, and ellipses. But, in short, I have to 

 make thee a proposal : if thou wilt be me, I will be thee; we will reciprocally 

 animate one another. What sayest thou ? Shall we come into one 

 another, and each be somebody else?" (!!!) 



" Obstnpui stcteruntque coma, et vox faucibus hcesit." 



This interesting but inexplicable proposal well nigh unmanned me. 

 " Come into one another, and each be somebody else!" Forsooth! was 

 ever such a thing heard of before ? I had rather too great a partiality 

 to myself, to give myself away in this hasty manner. How did I know but 

 that, if I once opened the gate, I might commence an almost endless 

 series of migrations, and end in a flea ? However, on pondering the pro- 

 posal in my mind, it struck me that he might possibly be some person 

 worth interchanging lots with. What might be his wisdom what his 

 power? 



" If I thought it were worth my while " said I, stammeringly. 



" In short, you want to know whether such an old fellow as I, am 

 worth changing with ?" 



" Exactly." 



" Then a trial would set you at ease eh ? What would you wish to 

 know ?" 



Just the issue I wanted. Now it must be known, that my thoughts had 

 been long occupied on an inquiry into the relative claims to profundity of 

 wisdom, which had been allowed to certain great men figuring in the 

 philosophy of my country. I told him this. 



" Very good, i'faith ! a modest demand ! But you shall be gratified for 

 once and then for the metempsychosis." 



With a faint smile, I followed whither he led me, to a large chamber 

 in the interior of the temple if such it might be called; over the 

 entrance of which glittered, in golden letters, 



e AI TH2 ZOOIAS BA0YTHTES. 



I scarcely know how to describe the odd, but striking scene that pre- 

 sented itself. From what seemed a ceiling above, through innumerable 

 punctures, depended a vast number of ropes, of different degrees of thick- 

 ness, to the extremities of which were attached little golden buckets. When 

 I looked beneath, I beheld a stupendous profundity of space, as it were, 

 illuminated with mild but clear effulgence, whose source could be nowhere 

 discerned. The deeper seemed the brighter. Many of the ropes were 

 knotted and twisted together; and some descended to a little depth, and 

 then were enveloped in little clouds, through which their buckets were 

 scarcely visible ; these were sceptics who knew enough to cloud their 

 intellects, and no more. But I am anticipating. 



After gazing on this strange scene in silent wonder, I inquired of my 

 conductor " What can be the meaning of all these bell-ropes ?" 



" Each rope is the measure of the wisdom of any given philosopher. Do 

 you see that central rope, of immense length and thickness ? It is Sir 

 Isaac Newton's." 



I remembered the " PRINCIPIA," and looked with reverence. But I 

 observed with surprise, that, within a few feet of its commencement, it 

 deviated from its rectilinearity, towards another rope, at a little distance, 



