PRAYER AND POTATOES. 
" IF a brother or wfNter be n:iV';'I :in<l destitute of 
dully food, mid one of you suy tiuto them, Depart In 
peace, bo yo wurniod mid tilled, notwitlistamllng ye 
give them not those thing* which are needful to the 
body, wlnit doth it profit ?” -Jurne* t* : 15.18. 
An old lady sat In her old arm chair. 
With wrinkled visage und disheveled lialr, 
And hunger-worn features; 
For days and for weeks her only fure, 
As she sat lu her old arm chair, 
Ilud been potatoes. 
But now they were gone; of bad or good 
Not one was left for the old lady’s food 
Of thoso potatoes. 
And she sighed and said : “What shall Ido? 
Where shall I send, and to whom shall 1 go 
For more potatoes?” 
A nd she thought of the deacon over the way, 
The deacon so ready to worship and pray. 
Whose cellar was full of potatoes. 
She said : “ I will send for the deacon to come; 
lie’ll not much mind to give me some 
Of such a store of potatoes.” 
And the deacon came over a* fast ns he could, 
Thinking to do tho old lady some good. 
But never for once of potatoes. 
He asked her at once what was her chief want: 
And she, simple soul, expecting a grant, 
Immediately answered, " Potatoes.” 
But the deacon’s religion didn’t lie that way ; 
He was more accustomed to preach and pray 
Than to give his hoarded potatoes. 
So. not hearing, of course, what the old lady said, 
lie rose to pray with uncovered head ; 
But she only thought of potatoes. 
He prayed for patience, goodness and graoe; 
But when he prayed, “ i.ord give her pence,” 
Sho audibly sighed, “(ilve potatoes.” 
And at the end of each prayer which he said. 
Unheard, or thought ho heard, in its stead 
That same request for potatoes. 
Deacon was troubled, knew not what to do: 
Twits very embarruHsiug to have her act so, 
And about those carnal potatoes. 
So, ending his prayers, he started for home. 
The door closed behind; he heard a deep groan 
"O, give to the hungry, potatoes!” 
And the groan followed lilm all the way home. 
In ihe midst of the night It haunted his room : 
” O, give to the hungry, potatoes!” 
Hu could bear it no longer; arose and dressed, 
From his well-ltllod cellar taking lu haste 
A bag of his best potatoes. 
Again he went to the widow’s lone hut. 
Her sleepless eyes she had not yet shut; 
But there she sat in the old arm chair. 
With the same wan features, same wan air. 
And, entering in, he ponrml on the door 
A bushel or more from Ids goodly store 
of choicest potatoes. 
The widow's heart leaped up for Joy, 
Her face wua pale and haggard no more. 
"Now,” said the deacon, "shall wo pray?” 
“ Vos,” said the widow, “ now you may." 
And he knelt him down on the sanded floor, 
Whore he had poured out bis goodly store. 
And such a prayer the deacon prayed. 
As never before his lips essayed. 
No longer embarrassed, but free and full, 
lie poured out the voice of a liberal soul; 
And the widow responded a loud “amen!” 
But said no more of potatoes. 
Ami would vou who hear this simple tale. 
Fray for this poor, and praying prevail? 
Then preface your prayer with alms and good 
deeds; 
Search out tins poor, their wants and needs; 
Pray for their peace and grace, spiritual food. 
For wisdom and guidance—all these are good ; 
But don’t forget the potatoes I 
rflUlcpCM lb'll/. 
« Cy i 
tones for ilnralists. 
TEE THREE THANKSGIVINGS. 
BY ETHEL GRAHAMI2. 
[Concluded from page .'186, last No.] 
Hebe, after a week’s visit with friends in 
Philadelphia, we shall find them. Aunt 
Dubby had arranged to lie there the day 
before, Lo receive tho furniture and put the 
house in order. So much site could do for 
the young people, and then go home and 
wait for the resull—F red’s doing or un¬ 
doing, A sorrowful foreboding haunted all 
her footsteps, ns she directed everything, 
and wrought hour after hour herself so dili¬ 
gently, that nil might be smooth sailing for 
the inexperienced bride, and look cosy and 
homelike for “ her hoy,’’ as she always called 
him, and felt him lo he. 
Fred had a. warm place in her heart, ab¬ 
sorbing all the motherhood that would have 
sufficed for a tribe of sons and daughters; 
so if was no marvel that hope and fear were 
alimiately her guests during tho two days 
thiti sufficed for the modest plenishing, 
(h. aka’s light footsteps were in and out, as 
she could leave her own domain and teeth¬ 
ing bilbo; but those little momenta kept 
hope iriumplianL for a little space thereafter. 
"Only,” Aunt Debuy groaned, " if Julia 
had been raised by Clara’s sensible, practi¬ 
cal motherand her heart would sink again 
for her boy's happiness. With a well- 
ordered, happy home, she was sure of a no¬ 
ble manhood for him; for with all her home¬ 
ly ways, Mrs. Lovell’s 9hrewd mind read 
Fred Templeton as no one else could. He 
bad spent years of his boyhood with Jier, 
alter his father’s death. Love, gentleness, 
anil a true home to bind him, would develop 
the best side of his nature; brightness and 
comfort were absolute essentials to him, and 
she trembled, lest if he find them not within 
the sacred precincts of home, lie might look 
elsewhere. 
”1 wish, while I’m puttin’ up these pretty 
muslin curtains, I could pull down all them 
enticin’ picters and lookin’ glasses I got a 
sight at last night as I came up the street 
with Phil and Clara. I don’t like ’em— 
them shinin’ decanters and things, so near to 
Fred. He don’t go near ’em now, I know ; 
but if this pretty liltlo nest grows dark and 
uniuvitin’, I ain’t so sure of him. It’s mighty 
fresh and pretty now. I only wish to pa¬ 
tience I could iook in two years from now. 
I’d a sight, rather see that than any picter I 
know of. I won’t hang Julia's, ’cause I 
shouldn’t gut T cm light, and Fred says 
they’re her own paintin’. My 1 what sights 
of ’em; shows she ain’t lazy in one way. 
Maybe it’s all for the best; any way, I’ve 
done all I can for ’em, an’ I’ll just leave ’em 
with the Loud. My old heart has bad to 
come to that, many’s the time; an’ lie’s been 
better to me nor my fears; an’ I’ll trust Him 
now.” 
So ended Aunt Derby’s soliloquy, as she 
heard tho clock strike five, and knew that 
the travelers might be expected at any mo¬ 
ment. Little Agnes, with her modest bun¬ 
dle, was the first arrival. 
“ I’ve come to live with Mrs. Templeton, 
ma’am,” was her introduction. 
‘‘That mite.!” said Aunt Debby, to her¬ 
self. 11 Poor Fred, lie will starve I" forget¬ 
ting her resignation. “ Well, it’s good I’ve 
got enough baked up for a week to come. 
Here, child, I’ll show you how to set ihc 
table.” Little Agnes’ alacrity encouraged 
the despondent matron greatly. 
“I do believe I could make something 
out of you if 1 could train you for a while.” 
“Yes’m; Miss Julia thinks she can. I 
mean Mrs. Templeton,” said the child, cor¬ 
recting herself. 
There was no more time to spend in testing 
the powers of the embryo servant, for the car¬ 
riage was at the door, and Fred’s quick 
footsteps brought him to the doorstep before 
Aunt Derby could he there to greet him; 
but she was not far behind in person or in 
hearty welcome. The young people were 
amazed at the transformation of' the iialf- 
furnished house they expected to find, and 
the first tea table, so invitingly spread in 
their new home, afforded a delicious pleasure 
compared to nothing more elaborate at 
which they had before seated them selves. 
Afterwards they set themselves merrily lo 
work to unpack and arrange the little fa¬ 
miliar belongings which were lo give the 
finishing, hoine-likc touches to the little 
domicil so precious to them; their own 
home—the one spot sacred to their own life 
experiences ; their haven of reel— ‘ tho world 
forgetting, by the world forgot.” 
Mrs. Lovell left them the next day, much 
encouraged by a long talk with Julia, after 
Fred’s departure for the store, and her 
earnest desire to learn to perform perfectly 
the new and untried duties before her. She 
persuaded Aunt Debby into looking over 
the new cookery book with which she had 
fort ified herself, and marking the recipes safe 
for her to follow. This pleased the old lady 
greatly, and proved afterward a wonderful 
help to the inexperienced housekeeper At 
the best there were many, many mistakes 
and many appeals to Clara’s fund of house¬ 
hold knowledge, always ready for her at any 
time. So, as the sunny weeks of her early 
married life rolled quickly away, the clouds 
in the domestic horizon were few. There 
was weariness often in her untried sphere. 
She knew nothing of labor-saving methods; 
but a naturally systemat ic nature soon taught 
her economy of' time and strength; and 
before Aunt Derby’s Thanksgiving visit, the 
pretty hay window in front had donned its 
winter dress of ivy and coliea, trailing over 
the cornice and meeting where a hanging 
basket of lobelia and seduin were doing their 
best to prolong the summer days; and a 
window box, tiny in proportion, but large 
enough for a calla, a fuchsia and a rose or 
two, challenged their twining competitors to 
produce a like army of beauty and fragrance. 
Mrs. Lovell declared herself amazed at 
the transformation of the plain, bare walls 
she bad left. 
“Looks like a fairy story, Fred. Well, 
I’ll give up I I’ve been up stairs and down 
cellar, an’ it’s all of a piece; I shan’t worry 
for you, never again.” 
“ Does it look like a leap in the dark now, 
Aunt Derby?” 
" Don’t bring that speech up agin’ me; I’m 
ashamed of it. Yoursense was better’ll mine. 
I’m free to confess it now. But it did look 
awful like temptin’ Providence,” 
“Yes, I know it did, Aunt Derby. I 
trembled myself, though you and mother did 
not know it.; and the best of it all is, with 
all our little improvements here, we have not 
overstepped our income; and Julia is be¬ 
coming the very princess of housekeepers,” 
added Fred, smiling, as his wife’s band was 
laid upon his shoulder, in summons to din¬ 
ner, and his look of fond appreciation more 
than repaid her for the trying lessons of the 
summer. 
Little Agnes’ smiling welcome of Mrs. 
Lovell, told of full satisfaction with her 
new home and its daily duties, and as she 
deftly waited on the table, gave evidence 
of successful lessons in that and other di¬ 
rections. 
“ Agne 9 and myself get on very nicely, 
auntie; we improve every day, wc flatter 
ourselves,” said Julia, laughing; “ and yet 
we have plenty to learn, as you M ill find out 
in your visit, I am sure. Now we ivill both 
take lessons xvliile Me have a competent 
teacher.” 
The dinner M’as of the nicest, though sim¬ 
ple and unprctemliug. Fred would have 
liked to have gathered the numerous rela¬ 
tives together on this their first Thanksgiv¬ 
ing; but Julia pointed to the diminutive 
dining-room and its appointments for answer. 
“ That’s the skeleton of this household, 
Aunt Debby; it’s not so large as our hearts.” 
“Maybe it’s more agreeable to your ledger 
as it is, Fred,” was the practical reply. 
“ Aren’t you going to grow in the least 
unpractical as you grow older, auntie, and 
look at the sentimental side of life?” asked 
Fred, laughing. 
“I concluded I was, after I said M’hat I 
did to you up stairs. Julia’s pictures and 
posies took me by storm, like, an’ I said I 
should never borrow trouble about you 
again ; but I’m afraid I shall want mightily 
to know how you will stand two years from 
now. And then it’ll be five years, I ’sposc. 
Somehow I don’t seem lo get where I can 
leave things in Our Father’s hands entirely. 
I’m always wantin' to help manage ’em. 
I’d like to get clear o’ that lmbit as 1 grow 
older, but it’s likely I shan’t. It’s hard shapin’ 
an old tree.” 
ill. 
We, too, dear reader, may like to peep at 
our venturesome friends “ two years from 
now.” Julia is sitting alone, or as nearly 
so as a little, unconscious sleeper by her side 
will allow. Siie is taking a long, earnest 
retrospect. To her it lias been two busy 
years, but the happiest of her life. Pain 
sometimes, and oftener weariness, have held 
her in thrall; but out of nil her perplexities 
and trials, site lias come forth a stronger and 
nobler woman. She is in true kindred now, 
with all womanhood—a wife and mother, 
tender, devoted, and true. Often in Fred’s 
anxiety to “get on” faster, she has needed 
all her influence to keep him content with 
the day of small tilings, and remain steadily 
at liis post, where surely, but slowly, lie was 
building up a permanent business. As yet 
there could be no let up on the pressure of 
economy in the household, they dare not 
do that yet. Agnes has grown up into a 
brave little helper, though she is but four¬ 
teen. Julia's patience has been tried most 
severely at times; but she has her reward 
now. Without her what could she have 
done, in her mvn Jong illness, and ot' late, 
the baby’s — little Mabel. To the utter¬ 
most, then, she ; i •'t tender as her 
own, and almost as careful, M’as the little 
handmaid’s touch and handling of the little 
sufferer. Out of all this she had come; and 
system and wise improvement of her time, 
even gave her the long coveted leisure hour 
to think or read, daily What best could 
she do with it? Fuel’s early closing hour 
gave him opportunity for reading aloud to 
her in the quiet evenings in the nursery ; so 
she had kept up with the best literature of 
the day, thanks to a public library, of which 
ihcy were members, for books were necessi¬ 
ties, and as such came Into their list of must- 
haves—diminishing thereby the diminutive 
list of" may-lmves,” on the well conned ex¬ 
pense book. 
She was pondering deeply, just now, the 
casual remark of a friend, one of their new, 
practical ones, who had given the text for 
this reverie; the butterfly sort had availed 
themselves of their wings long since. There 
was no room for their dainty flights in Ox¬ 
ford street, and they had ceased alighting 
there. 
Mr. Archer was a photographer, a rising 
man, but not a risen one. He was speaking 
of the difficulty of securing artists for re¬ 
touching photographs. Ilia own lime was 
too much broken ; lie must give personal at¬ 
tention lo his customers at tills stage of his 
business, though it was not yet sufficiently 
remunerative to allow the securing of an ex¬ 
pensive artist for the purpose. One thought 
had been oppressing Julia for months. She 
was tired of seeing half their income set 
down to an inexorable column headed 
“Rent;” if they only could be doing some¬ 
thing toward a home of their own ! She 
knew that the cottage they both loved so 
M'cll, their first home, Mas in danger of be¬ 
ing sold from them, was in the market for 
sale. Sho wondered if they dare purchase, 
nr rather she had wondered. The balance 
sheet struck last evening had crushed that 
hope for the present. A bright thought had 
come into her mind, the outgrowth of Mr. 
Archer’s remark. Why could she not 
use this leisure hour (she could make it 
two if it were needful) in just this thing. 
Her chief success in painting had been in 
figures, in the class of which she was so long 
a member at the Cooper Institute, as all her 
teachers had assured her, especially in tho 
delicate finish which few had patience to 
give. Mr. Archer had stood in admiration 
before some of her studies in that direction. 
Why not help Frf.d in this struggle for 
home and daily bread ? But would lie suffer 
It? She feared not. Would she be justified 
in undertaking it without liis knowledge? 
She pondered long and deeply on this point. 
Their thoughts and life had all been so trans¬ 
parent. to each other, and she could not bear 
to have it otherwise. This was a weak point 
in Fred, that she knew; though a failing, it 
leaned to virtue’s side. Alone he was deter¬ 
mined to fight the battle for hearth und home. 
She would make the experiment. They 
must have a real home—one of their rejy 
own, and then il sickness came, or misfor¬ 
tune, they could still live. She would he 
equal to so much, at least, of an emergency. 
To decide once, with Julia, was once for all, 
and she hastily equipped herself for a walk, 
calling Agnes to sit, with the baby. A few 
blocks brought her to Mr. Archer’s rooms, 
and an explanation of her errand lo that gen¬ 
tleman, in his private st itdio, brought a smile 
of intelligent pleasure to his expressive face. 
“ 1 have long wished to propose this to 
you, Mrs. Templeton, but I felt that your 
time and strength was taxed sufficiently 
already, and then I knew Mr. Temple¬ 
ton’s views so well. You will succeed, I 
know, and no one need be the wiser at present. 
I can give the sittings myself, and indicate 
your work, sending it over to you and re¬ 
ceiving the finished work, when my errand 
boy goes to his early lunch, to u r hich I think 
your husband never comes.” 
No time was lost in commencing the work, 
and a few days sufficed to satisfy both em¬ 
ployer and employed that it was a profitable 
arrangement. Julia imagined, as the deli¬ 
cate strokes brought out, one by one. a new 
life in the incomplete picture, that she was 
building a roof-tree ns well, bite found her 
income from this source varying from ten to 
fifteen dollars a week—as her time at com¬ 
mand varied. She never neglected any 
domestic duty or interest for a moment to 
make it reach the latter figure, content when 
site could not, glad when she could. She 
had an interview with Mr. Mason, the 
landlord, and Ihe result was, that if site 
could pay eight hundred at the close of a 
year, and the same or a greater sum yearly 
he would give her a deed, securing himself 
by a mortgage. How steadily sho held her¬ 
self to her daily work, and how faithfully 
her deposits were made in the Savings Bank 
each month. No more joyful day had she 
ever known than the day when she paid to 
Mr. Mahon the result of her labors, and be¬ 
came bom fide purchaser of their little 
dwelling. Then site Celt it right to tell her 
husband of her undertaking. Fred was 
quite undecided, at first, whether to be vexed 
or to admire his noble wife a degree more, 
if possible, than lie had ever done before. 
Iler bright, loving gaze turned the scale, and 
a more lender embrace she had never known 
from the lover than she received from the 
husband. 
“ I have a secret, too, my lady fair, or I 
might he angry at your dating flight of am- 
hi Lion. Like you, 1 have deeply felt the need 
of a home of our own, and 1 knew, also, that 
I could not take the money from mv busi¬ 
ness. So, when Bill Jones asked me to 
recommend u party to post his hooks and 
make out bis bills, monthly, I took them in 
hand myself, and by improving every odd 
moment, have accomplished it thus far with¬ 
out your knowledge. So 1 have a like sum to 
add to yours cm tho purchase. Hurrah for 
our first payment, on a homestead !” shouted 
Fred, swinging baby Mabel high in the air 
in his exuberance. Aunt. Debby ought to 
be here now! I don’t think the dear old 
soul is easy about us yet. By the way, dar¬ 
ling, I have a letter from her in my pocket. 
Site wants ns to spend Thanksgiving with 
her. What say you, Julia? are we rich 
enough for that ? 
“I think wc might indulge in a trip to 
Westchester, on the strength of our dignity 
as property holders. You can’t think Iiom’ 
grand I feel, xvitli a deed in the house. I 
think Aunt Dicbby will give us up to the 
care of Providence now," said Julia. 
“ I doubt it,” answered Fred. “ Sbe’ll 
wait until the last payment is made for that 
act of resignation.” 
The family gathering at the Lovell’s was 
a numerous one; but Aunt Debby found 
time to rejoice with her children to the very 
uttermost. 
“ I only wish the mortgage was lifted and 
then I’d he satisfied.” 
Husband and wife exchanged merry 
glances. 
“ 1 told J ulia you would not trust us to 
Providence or feel sure of our safety until 
then." 
“Well, I’ve made one step toward it; 1 
believe you have both got plenty of good 
strong sense, and, after all, that’s sayin’ a 
good deal; for common sense is about the 
scaeest thing afloat. An’ I’m willin’ to go 
down into the valley of repentance for a 
spell for ever doubtin’ you.” 
A merrier gathering was not to be found 
than sat down to the dinner table on that 
particular Thanksgiving, with Parson Good- 
hue tit the foot, and none joined more fully 
iu the hearty Thanksgiving than those m-Iio 
had been so blessed in their trust in Him ; 
the Friend who so surely helps those ay ho 
help themselves, and indulge in no idle re- 
piniug9 at the distribution of His gifts. 
For the four following years, with steady 
nerve and untiring will, Fred and Julia 
Templeton met their daily toils, each 
watching the oilier, lest in their labor of 
love there should lack due cure for health 
and strength. Each watched the oppor¬ 
tunity for needful relaxation for the oilier, 
und many a wayfarer crossing their path in 
those gala days, envied the dear, transparent 
look of content and happiness in the coun¬ 
tenances of husband and wife, as M’ell as the 
little ones given to them, and for whom Ag¬ 
nes proves herself a most trustworthy nurse. 
Will Jones, Fred’s mercantile friend, 
met him one day with the exclamation, 
“Why, Templeton! old fellow, where’s 
your trap for catching sunbeams? You 
are a notable exception to most New York 
business men. I never saw a regular busi¬ 
ness frown on your face; how do you man¬ 
age ? ” 
“I made up my mind when I commenced, 
Will, to go slow ami sure; sol don’t get 
brought up at short corners, as 1 might if I 
branched out more. My wife and I resolved, 
at the outset, to live within our income, if it’s 
only sixpence a day. And, as to the trap 
for catching sunbeams — that’s across the 
ferry; I bring away enough in the morning 
to last me all day, and then go home for a 
recruit.” 
IIow the year travels on, whether we are 
glad or sorrowful, sick and weary, or well 
and restful, and the year ’09 M as no excep¬ 
tion. To the Templeton household it 
brought a precious Thanksgiving. Under 
the plate of the indefatigable w ife, as well ns 
the tender loving one, there laj’ an envelope, 
which she did not discover until her guests 
were served in the newly enlarged dining 
room. The deep flush and starting tear 
could not he repressed, even before the 
family friends gathered there; it was the re¬ 
lease of the mortgage. Under their own 
roof now, “M'itli none to molest or make 
afraid.” Among the congratulations none 
was worth more to them, or as much, as 
Aunt Debby’s. 
“ Well, children, I’ve asked epecial of (lie 
Lord to let me live to see ibis day, an’ I be¬ 
lieve I can trust Him now lo lake care ot 
you the rest of the way without doublin’. 
I only wish I could feel ns sure of the rest of 
the world; but I do sposc I’ve no call to 
bear everybody’s burdens. Only, if the 
young folks M’as all willin’ to begin where 
yon did, and persevere in it, M’hat a city full 
of sunshine this would be l” 
“Let ns return thanks” said the good 
Pastor of the happy household ; and it found 
a most fervent response in every heart. 
--- 
A NEW NOTION ABOUT DREAMS. 
The Lancet publishes a paper by Dr. 
IIenhy Maudblky, who has devoted him¬ 
self to the study of the reciprocal action be- 
tween mind and body. He attributes to dis¬ 
ease certain psychological as well as physi¬ 
cal effects, and believes that, the consequences 
of a disordered liver and a disordered heart 
will be mentally different. In suggesting a 
mode of ascertaining litis difference, he re¬ 
marks ihai a scientific observation of the 
phenomena of dreams would be of help. 
“The ground tone of feeling in a dream, 
the background on which the phantoms 
move, is often determined by t he state of the 
internal organ, the irritation of which 
awakens into some degree of activity that 
purl of the brain with ndiieh Ihe organ is lu 
specific sympathy; accordingly sympathetic 
ideas, spring out of the feeling, and unite in 
a more or less coherent dream drama." He 
then goes on to say that dreams ought to 
furnish us with a fruitful means of studying 
the specific effects of organs on the mind, 
because, while dreaming, impressions from 
the external senses are shut out by sleep. 
“ As the stars are not visible, although they 
still sliinC in the daytime, so the effects of an 
internal organ may not he perceptible during 
the waking state, while the whole conscious¬ 
ness is actively engaged; but just us, when 
the sun goes down, the stars shine visibly 
which before were invisible, veiled by bis 
greater light, so, when active consciousness 
ia suspended, organic sympathies which be¬ 
fore were insensible declare themselves to 
the mind." 
Dr. MaUDSJ.EY then propounds the view 
that a certain class of dreams, comprehend¬ 
ing those in which people imagine they 
would be seized with a peculiar kind of dis¬ 
ease, may be explained by supposing that 
the organ which would bo attacked in this 
complaint prematurely discloses its weak¬ 
ness under the above conditions. A person 
to whom tills occurs will afterwards wonder 
to find if, as the saying is, bis dream come 
true, so much in advance of the w a kingly 
conscious symptom^ bus been Ihe revelation 
made while active and vigilant consciousness 
was out of Llic way during sleep. 
Of the truth or inaccuracy of Dr. Mauds- 
ley’s theory, or rather suggestion, we shall 
not stop to inquire. No doubt the subject 
will meet with the attention which any 
proposition coming from such an authority 
ought to receive. But here, at least, mo find, 
not merely an effort to discover the nature 
of the stuff of which our dreams are made, 
but an attempt to render serviceable to hu¬ 
manity the vagaries of the mind, which have 
hitherto been regarded ns so fantastic or so 
dim as to elude their being made serviceable, 
either absolutely or relatively. The future 
physician would, if Dr. Maudsley be cor¬ 
rect in liis inferences, possess another 
method of diagnosing the ills to which 
flesh is heir. What, a singular work the 
note-book of a doctor would be after a 
large experience of dreams gathered for the¬ 
rapeutic purposes. He would have, we sus¬ 
pect, no little difficulty in sorting and differ¬ 
entiating his records. 
