quainted with all of these places, she pointed out with sufficient exactness the details of the spots which her imagination and memory, equally over-excited, represented to her under a real form. She could be instantaneously transported to a distant place she was not acquainted with, the Lake of Como, for example, or the frozen regions of the north pole. Her imagination, left to itself, indulged in descriptions which were not wanting in attractiveness, and were always interesting by their apparent precision; but no greater mistake could be made than to accord to these chimerical conceptions the honor of being truths. Having one day put a friend to sleep, I undertook to send him on a voyage by balloon to the moon. I felt a real surprise when he said to me delightedly, "Oh! oh! what is that great white ball below us?" His imagination represented the earth to him. He saw animals of fantastic shapes, and, when I told him we must take some of them to the earth, he objected: "Why," said he, "you do not know how we are going to get down, and you want to charge yourself with those great animals? I thank you, I will let you do it, and shall certainly not trouble myself with them." He was, nevertheless, aware of the strange character of his visions, and said: "What a fine story we could tell about them; but, unfortunately, they would not believe us!"
The reason of somnambulists is perhaps perverted, but their intelligence is certainly not diminished. It is over-excited and exceedingly active. Varied and engaging conversations may be held with a subject who has been put to sleep. The language of uneducated women, for example, becomes almost elegant, with ingenious turnings of phraseology, and ideas that do not lack in elevation. Without assuming in the slightest degree that they can divine the thought of their interlocutors, it may be remarked that they seem to have acquired a faculty of penetration which enables them to comprehend what has been only half said. The most striking characteristic they present is the wonderful vivacity of their feelings. Thus, nothing is more easy than to make them cry; it is enough only to mention a sad subject to them, when, even if the story which is told them interests them only a little, they will sigh, shed plenty of tears, and sob. In many cases a nervous excitement will be provoked by such narrations, which must be calmed as quickly as possible by causing the subjects to imagine agreeable pictures. This sensitiveness to the troubles of another, these exaggerated compassions, may perhaps be compared to what persons in the first stages of intoxication feel. Sometimes, also, feelings of joy and admiration are pushed to an excess; poetry and music especially will produce a real ecstasy; and it is impossible to forget the spectacle after having once witnessed the power of mimicry which the subjects display. The manifestations of admiration are frequently crossed by childish angers, inexplicable antipathies, and sympathies still more strange than the others. Sometimes the subjects jest, and not without wit; they laugh at the pleasantries they say or commit;
