stances of the American Coccyzus, and even the Whitewinged Crossbill, traversing the whole breadth of the Atlantic ocean. The fact is, that even the most feeble flyers are enabled to cross a very wide extent of sea, when borne along by a favourable gale of wind; while, at the same time, the most powerfully-winged of the smaller birds require some assistance of this kind, when they perform a long journey. American species are only observed upon our shores after high winds from the west; and the amazingly extensive flight of Goldcrests, of which Mr. Selby witnessed the arrival upon our Northumbrian coast, he states to have been, "after a very severe gale, from the north-west." Quails have been described always to delay their migratory flights till the wind was propitious; and, indeed, there can be very few individuals but must have often noticed with what rapidity a bird is borne along upon a windy day. They rise over the highest European mountain chains.—Again, I have had occasion to speak of birds being turned out of their course by a chain of mountains, and also of their having accomplished a passage over the Pyrenees. They, undoubtedly, may deviate a little from a direct route, when a line of ridges presents itself to them diagonally; but when a chain latitudinally impedes their progress, they are known to cross the very highest of the European mountain barriers. On this subject, M. Temminck observes, even of the short-winged Grebes, and other species which, as he says, are unprovided with powerful means of flight. The Divers, the Grebes, and other fresh-water fowl, which seldom fly far when occupied with the cares of pairing and breeding, are," he relates, "endowed with wonderful powers for this action. Their flight is vigorous and long sustained; and they rise even above the high mountains, for it is not rare to find individuals of these species on the lakes of the Alps, where the waders and web-footed kinds are often killed." They return, year after year, to the same spot.-Another very general law among migratory birds, but which appears to have been hitherto but little known to most who have written on the subject, is, for them to return, year after year, to the spot where they first took up their abode, and, in most cases, to the place where they were brought up, (but of this I shall speak presently); of the truth of which any one may be convinced who will take the trouble of procuring a few live swallows in autumn, securely fastening some shreds of ribband to their feet, and letting them fly; when some of them (at least), which have met with no mishap during the interim, will be observed to reappear the following spring, with the shreds still attached to them. Of course these should not be affixed to the birds in too conspicuous a manner, or curiosity will very probably impel some person to shoot them. It is an experiment which has been very often tried, and formerly with a view to ascertain whether the swallow tribes passed the winter at the bottom of pools, the shreds having been previously tinged with water-colours, which immersion in water would have washed away. That the Nightingale thus returns to its former locality, a passage, which I have already quoted from Mr. Sweet's writings will attest sufficiently.* It can also be shewn, from various recorded facts, (as the cases which are related by Bewick, in his account of the Woodcock, as well as from other similar ones which might be adduced), that migratory birds likewise revisit, annually, the exact same winter quarters; and although Redwings, and Snowflakes, and other species which pass the winter so far north as in the British islands, may sometimes, by severe weather, be compelled to proceed farther to the south, it does not hence follow but that, in regions where the climate is more settled, our various summer visitants may have a regular winter home, from which they never wander. Reasons why they should do so.-We naturally enough inquire why this should be, and what definite purpose can this serve in the economy of nature, since nothing is ordained in vain ? The answer is sufficiently obvious: that locality in which a brood of migrant birds were reared and brought up one season, will mostly be adapted for the same purpose another; and the same district wherein a sufficient supply of food and other requisites was obtainable throughout one winter, will also, in all probability, furnish an equal supply during the next. [To be concluded in our next number.] * Since writing the above, I have been informed of a lame Redstart which was noticed to return for sixteen years to the same garden. The following fact is also interesting, as proving that the hens also return to their former locality. "Flycatchers," observes the author of a little work on Migration, 1814, "I have known to build eight, nine, and even ten years successively, in a certain crevice of an old wall, not far from my dwelling. Apprehending that it was the same bird which annually and invariably visited the spot, curiosity prompted me to try an experiment, which put the matter out of doubt. When an opportunity offered, I took the female, cut off the extremity of the upper mandible of the bill, and with a knife made several perspicuous marks on its claws: this done, I set her at liberty: the succeeding spring the same bird returned, with the distinguishing marks I had given it, which was at once satisfactory. The point of the bill that was cut off was so very inconsiderable, that the loss of it could hardly be perceptible to the bird, and could not be, in any way, detrimental to its feeding. 46 ON THE EFFECTS OF CERTAIN MENTAL AND BODILY STATES UPON THE IMAGINATION.* BY LANGSTON PARKER, ESQ. II. THE IMAGINATION OF DREAMERS. IN In my first lecture, I considered the Imagination in the general phenomena of its actions in the waking state, and its modification, in that state, by certain agents, of which we found the most powerful to be solitude, study, wine, and opium. The Imagination is, likewise, most powerfully modified in the condition in which I then considered it, by disease: but this was too exclusively a medical subject to merit much attention in this series of discourses, and, in addition to this, it will demand some portion of my attention when speaking of the Imagination of the insane. This lecture leads me to the history of the Imagination during sleep, as it is displayed to us in the phenomena of dreaming, and the modifications of this faculty, in that state, by certain agents-such as disease, diet, moral causes, the passions, wine, and opium. There are visions that arise without sleep; but, generally speaking, dreaming is confined to this state. Waking dreams are merely the effects of unbridled Imagination, from which none of us are altogether exempt."+ This faculty, when exercised under common circumstances, is kept in strict subordination to the judgment, which guides and restrains us in its flights, and never, for a moment, permits us to suppose that the fictions it calls forth are realities. when this sway of the reasoning power is shaken off when the spirit mounts upwards, unfettered and alone, and we forget that the sights revealed to us are merely illusive visions-then, and then only, are we assailed by waking dreams. But "The train of ideas which fill the mind at this time, depend much upon the age, situation, and character, of the individual. If he pine ardently after wealth, his mind is, probably, filled with visions of grandeur and opulence; and the hallucination is so great, that he supposes these things to be in his actual possession." If he be young, and burn with the fire of genius, all obstacles give way before him; he creates new systems, remodels old ones, gives fresh colouring to truth: whilst Fame, with her olive crown, is seen, in * The following is the second of a series of Lectures delivered at the Birmingham Philosophical Institution, by the author. + Macnish, The Philosophy of Sleep, Glasgow, 1830. Macnish, op. cit. perspective, through the deep vista of coming years, waiting to reward him with a crown as unstable and powerless as the vision which created it. "Whatever emotion prevails has a character of extravagance: we see everything through the serene atmosphere of the Imagination, and imbue the most trite circumstances with poetical colouring. The aspect which things assume, bears a strong resemblance to that impressed upon them by ordinary dreams. They are equally full of pathes and beauty, and only differ in this, that, verging continually on the limits of exaggeration, they seldom exceed possibility."* Dreaming is, however, generally limited to the sleeping state. General or complete sleep is a species of temporary death: the continuance of the functions of the organic life, of respiration, circulation, and a few others, merely indicate that the man thus influenced is still an inhabitant of earth. The whole of those actions which constitute the pride and pleasure of our existence, are extinct during complete sleep. The life of relation, as it has been termed by physiologists—the mind and the senses-for this period actually cease to live; they are not in action, and their action alone constitutes their being. Complete sleep is, comparatively, a rare condition of our animal existence, and is only compatible with the most perfect mental and bodily health, or with that state in which both have been exhausted by continued or intense fatigue. The body may * Macnish, op. cit.—The waking dream is not inaptly illustrated by Sir W. Scott, in the description which the White Maid of Avenel gives of herself to the Monk, Eustace: ""Twixt a waking thought and a sleeping dream, A form that men spy, With the half-shut eye," &c.-The Monastery. Also by Thomson, in The Castle of Indolence: "A pleasing land of drowsy-head it was, Susan, is a light, but perfect, il- Wordsworth's ballad of The Reverie of Poor lustration of this mood of the Imagination. + Shakspeare well describes the perfect or complete sleep of fatigue and mental health, i. e. a mind free from all anxiety, care, and guilt: the first in the words of Claudio, in Measure for Measure: "As fast locked up in sleep as guiltless labour, the second, in the address of Brutus to his page, Lucius, in Julius Cæsar: "The honey heavy dew of slumber; Thou hast no figures nor no phantasies, sleep without the mind-one sense may be in action, and the remainder chained in the fetters of undisturbed repose. The memory may be active, the imagination dormant; the latter may be "girdling the earth," whilst the former, together with the judgment, have left the mind governed by the fancy alone. The latter is by far the most ordinary state during sleep. The Imagination being endowed with tenfold life and power, whilst, it should seem, the remaining faculties have given up the peculiarities of their existence for a time, in order to concentrate the whole mental force in the brilliancy and vigour of the Imagination. Byron, with his usual characteristics of poetical beauty and mental or physical truth, has admirably depicted this activity of the Imagination during sleep : "Sleep hath its own world, A boundary between the things misnamed And dreams, in their development, have breath, They pass like spirits of the past-they speak A breath to forms which can outlive all flesh."* To remark upon one idea in this most beautiful passage. It does not appear that the mind has the power of creation-of forming things actually new from materials of its own production. The Imagination, which, if creation there be, possesses solely the creative power, does, indeed, form scenes which have never before existed; but the materials of these scenes are derived, as I have before stated, from objects which have been presented to the mind through the *The Dream. |