[16] A further interesting question regarding the dream-vision of the partially blind is, How much must they be able to see in order to dream of seeing? In answering this question, the blind give the name "seeing" to what is really a complex of sensations and judgments, and this same complex may enter into their dreams. Cases occur in which there is only the slightest remnant of sight, and yet this forms a factor in dream-life. It is a very imperfect kind of vision, and acts more as a general sense of illumination, and as an anticipatory sense. Generally speaking, those who know color have more frequent and brighter dream-vision than those who distinguish light and shade only. For example, of those partially blind from birth, such as see color tolerably well (there are sixteen such) have regular dream-vision—of course, no clearer than their best days of sight. Of eleven who have some faint notion of color, three have dream-vision regularly; six have it rarely, while two (almost never or) never have it. Of eleven who can see no color at all, ten have no dream-vision, and one has it occasionally.

[17] That even a comparatively slight disturbance of vision, affecting only a small portion of the visual experience, can leave a permanent trace upon the sight-centre is made very probable by a case (recorded by Dr. McCosh, Cognitive Powers, p. 106) of a young man whose defect consisted in his seeing everything double,—a defect which a subsequent operation removed. "If I attempt," he writes, "to recall scenes that I saw while my eyes were out of order, I invariably see them as they appeared during that time, although I may have seen them many times since the operation. For instance, in the case of the minister in the pulpit at home, I see two images of him, no matter how much I may try to get rid of one of them.... My recollection of the office in which the operation was performed, as also of everything in it, is double, although I saw it only twice before the restoration of my sight, and many times after. The objects which I have seen since the operation are always single when recalled."

[18] I have gathered considerable data in regard to the dreams of the deaf, but they are not ready for definite formulation.

[19] From Dr. Hall's manuscript. Dr. Hall had the opportunity of observing her during three short naps, and has incorporated a part of his manuscript into a paper on Laura Bridgman, republished in his Aspects of German Culture, pp. 268-270. From this manuscript I take the following illustrations of her dreams, and her method of describing them. They are recorded verbatim.

"Question. 'Do you dream often?' Answer. 'Very often, many things.' Q. 'Did you think hard yesterday to remember dreams for me?' A. 'I did try, but I always forget very soon.' Q. 'Did you ever dream to hear?' [Her idiom for 'that you could hear.'] A. 'Only the angels playing in heaven.' Q. 'How did it sound?' A. 'Very beautiful.' Q. 'Like what?' A. 'Nothing.' Q. 'Was it loud?' A. 'Yes, very.' Q. 'What instrument?' A. 'Piano.' Q. 'How did the angels look?' A. 'Beautiful.' Q. 'Had they wings?' A. 'I could not know.' Q. 'Were they men or women?' A. 'Don't know.' Q. 'Can you describe their dress?' A. 'No.' Q. 'Was the music fast or slow?' A. 'I cannot tell.' On another occasion she was asked, 'Did you ever dream to see?' A. 'I could see the sun.' Q. 'How did it look?' A. 'Glorious.' Q. 'What color?' A. 'I cannot tell' [with a sign of great impatience]. Q. 'Was it very bright?' A. 'Yes.' Q. 'Did it hurt your eyes?' A. 'Yes, they ached.' Q. 'What was it like?' A. 'Nothing. I saw it with my eyes' [much excited, breathing hard and fast, and pointing to her right eye]. Some days later, after some promptings from her attendants, she renewed the subject of her own accord, as follows: 'I remember once a dream. I was in a very large place. It was very glorious and full of people. My father and mother were standing by. The glorious piano was playing. When I heard the music I raised up my hand so' [standing and pointing impressively upward and forward with the index finger, as the letter g is made in the deaf and dumb alphabet] 'to my heavenly Father. I tried to say God.' Q. 'With your fingers?' A. 'Yes.' Q. 'Where was God?' A. 'So' [pointing as before]. Q. 'Far away?' A. 'No.' Q. 'Could you touch him?' A. 'No.' Q. 'How did you know he was there?' A. 'I cannot tell.' Q. 'How did you know it was God?' A. 'I cannot explain.' Q. 'What was he like?' A. [After a pause] 'I cannot tell everything to everybody' [half playfully, whipping her right hand with her left, and touching her forehead significantly, to indicate that she was unable adequately to express what was in her mind]. Q. 'Could he touch you?' A. 'No. He is a spirit.' Q. 'Did he see you?' A. 'He sees everything. See how melancholy I look because I do not feel interested.' On another occasion she said, 'I often dream that Doctor Howe is alive and very sick,' but no details could be elicited. Again, after imitating the gait of different people, she said, 'I dream often of people walking. I dream many things, but do not remember what I really dream. I used to dream of animals running around the room, and it woke me.'"

It is evident that her dreams of hearing and seeing were either merely verbal, or the substitution and elaboration of kindred sensations (sense of jar and heat) which she experienced. For further examples of her dreams see her Life and Education, by Mrs. Lamson, pp. 88, 154, 166-168, 218, 223, 224, 226, 286, 290, 303, 304.

[20] The Lost Senses, by John Kitto. Dr. Kitto draws an ingenious inference from the sonnet addressed by Milton to his deceased (second) wife, whom he married after the onset of his blindness. From the lines, "I trust to have | Full sight of her in Heav'n without restraint," and "The face was veiled, yet to my fancied sight," etc., he argues that the poet was unable to imagine the face of his wife, which he had never really seen, and so saw the face veiled; but hoped in the future world to have "full sight of her without restraint."

[21] I have evidence to indicate that among the blind (as probably amongst persons at large) women dream more extensively than men, that is, they have more "frequent" and fewer "occasional" dreamers than men. The period from five to nine years is richer in dreams than the period from ten to fourteen years, and from then on a slight decrease with age occurs. It is to childhood, the period of lively imagination and of a highly tinged emotional life (and to women, who present these characteristics more prominently than men), that dream-life brings its richest harvest.

Transcriber's Note

Size references, in captions, to original figures no longer apply to processed illustrations.