favour of his remaining where he was when the drug first began to operate. It is certainly impossible for him at the time to conjure up energy sufficient to enable him to write a record of his experiences. But, when all is over, he can remember; and his memory, in such circumstances, is often remarkably vivid. Of the myriads of curious ideas that during a couple of hours of blissful dream have rushed through my brain, I have several times remembered enough to be able to weave from them in my waking moments a tolerably consecutive narrative. Of such dream-stories I have, perhaps, half a dozen in my possession. All of them are, I am aware, more or less imperfect, for the mind that conceived them was, at the instant, conscious of no difference between the real and the ideal. Some of them are, for this reason, too impossible to print. The machinery of them is far too glaringly impracticable, far too obviously unworkable. And in writing out even those which seem to me to partake least of the supernatural, I have been obliged to fill
