There is a curious calculation of Cabanis, that certain organs or senses of the body fall asleep at regular progressive periods; some, therefore, may be active while others are passive, and in this interesting state, I may hint to you, consists the essence of a dream. It seems that in dreamless sleep, the senses fall asleep altogether, as in the case of Plutarch’s friends, Thrasymenes and Cleon, and others who never dreamed.
Astr. So there is some truth in the fanciful conceit of Cardanus, that “Sleep is the rest of the spirits,—waking their vehement motion, and dreaming their tremulous motion.”
Cast. And philosophy plumes herself on her wonderous intuition for this discovery. Let her blush, and kneel before the shrine of poesy. The poets, even of a ruder age than ours, have thought and written before you, Evelyn, and have unfolded these arcana. How doth Chaucer usher in his “Dreme?” —
“Halfe in dede sclepe, not fully revyved;”
and again:
“For on this wyse upon a night
As ye have herd withouten light,
Not all wakyng ne full on slepe,
About such hour as lovirs wepe;”
and in “La Belle Dame sans Mercy,” there is the same thought: