t　not　with

my　ears。　I　speak；　and　am　spoken　to；　without　the　sound　of　a　voice。　I　am

moved　to　pleasure　by　visions　of　ineffable　beauty　which　I　have　never

beheld　in　the　physical　world。　Once　in　a　dream　I　held　in　my　hand　a　pearl。

The　one　I　saw　in　my　dreams　must；　therefore；　have　been　a　creation　of　my

imagination。　It　oulded　crystal。　As　I　gazed

into　its　shimmering　deeps；　my　soul　was　flooded　with　an　ecstasy　of

tenderness；　and　I　was　filled　with　wonder　as　one　who　should　for　the

first　time　look　into　the　cool；　sweet　heart　of　a　rose。　My　pearl　was　dew

and　fire；　the　velvety　green　of　moss；　the　soft　whiteness　of　lilies；　and

the　distilled　hues　and　sweetness　of　a　thousand　roses。　It　seemed　to　me；

the　soul　of　beauty　was　dissolved　in　its　crystal　bosom。　This　beauteous

vision　strengthens　my　conviction　that　the　world　which　the　mind　builds　up

out　of　countless　subtle　experiences　and　suggestions　is　fairer　than　the

world　of　the　senses。　The　splendour　of　the　sunset　my　friends　gaze　at

across　the　purpling　hills　is　wonderful。　But　the　sunset　of　the　inner

vision　brings　purer　delight　because　it　is　the　worshipful　blending　of　all

the　beauty　that　we　have　known　and　desired。

I　believe　that　I　am　more　fortunate　in　my　dreams　than　most　people；　for

as　I　think　back　over　my　dreams；　the　pleasant　ones　seem　to　predominate；

although　we　naturally　recall　most　vividly　and　tell　most　eagerly　the

grotesque　and　fantastic　adventures　in　Slumberland。　I　have　friends；

however；　whose　dreams　are　always　troubled　and　disturbed。　They　wake

fatigued　and　bruised；　and　they　tell　me　that　they　would　give　a　kingdom

for　one　dreamless　night。　There　is　one　friend　who　declares　that　she　has