head upon the scaffold; an act which will always reflect disgrace upon the memory of Richelieu, whose safety might have been secured as well by the banishment as by the death of his victim. REMARKABLE DREAM. Ir may be assumed as a certain fact, that almost every man has, at some period or other of his life, experienced in sleep a consciousness of every action he could have performed when awake. He travels over extended regions; he runs, walks, rides with freedom and agility, and not unfrequently seems endued with new and superior powers; he soars aloft, and is wafted through the air, or gently descending, he glides through the waters, and with such perfect command and security, that when he awakes, he is hardly persuaded it was but a dream. In opposition to these observations it is urged, that exactly similar effects are produced from disease: such is its influence in numberless cases, that the subject seems just as forcibly impressed, as from any ideas that could be received through the medium of the senses. Persons insane will per"severe in exercises beyond their usual strength, seeming all the while to entertain no doubt that they are moving in carriages, on horseback, performing military exercises and evolutions, or buried in philosophical experiments. Multitudes of such cases will readily occur; and it is argued, that as the mind, in those examples, is evidently not disengaged from the controul of the body, so neither, in the other, is there any reason to suppose it different; the circumstance of sleep and insensibility being something not unlike disease, a state of suspension of many of the active powers. Some philosophers imagine that the mind never remains inert, that successions of ideas incessantly present themselves, and that thought is always employed. With respect, however, to this notion, it may be alleged, that it is highly improbable that dreams, which, according to the supposition, must perpetually occur, should be so seldom and so faintly recollected. To this it may be answered, that the same thing happens when we are awake. Let any person try to recal the whole train of ideas that has passed through his mind during the twelve hours that he has been stirring about in the ordinary business of the day: he will be able to remember particular essential transactions; but if he attempts to recover the mass of ideas that filled his mind for that portion of time, or even only a considerable part of the time, he will find it impracticable labour to trace the connection of his thoughts. The same broken confused assemblage will be perceived even by him who possesses the most retentive memory, as when he first awakes with that imperfect consciousness that is usually termed a dream. Were we to commit to writing, in the minutest manner, every idea our remembrance then suggested, it would be difficult, perhaps impossible, to collect such a number as would employ one hour to read over. The popular belief, that dreams are a kind of preternatural admonition, meant to direct our conduct, is a notion extremely dangerous. As happened much more frequently than they have been either noticed or recollected.. 暑 Late 19 # -601-02. Amongst the various histories, of singular dreams and corresponding events, the following seems to merit being rescued from oblivion. Its authenticity will appear from the relation; and a more extraordinary concurrence of fortuitous and accidental circumstances can scarcely be produced or paralleled, i Adam Rogers, a creditable antl decent person, va man of good wense and repute, who kept a publie-house in Portlaw, a small hamlet nine or ten miles from Waterford, in Ireland, nothing can be more ill-founded, it ought to be strenuously combated. Innumerable reasons might be offered; but it will be sufficient to say, that it is inconsistent with the general design of Providence; it would overturn the principles that regulate society. The benign intention of the Author of nature is in no instance more eminently displayed than in withholding from us the certain knowledge of future events. Were it otherwise constituted, man would be the most miserable of beings; he would become indifferent to every action, and incapable, of exertion; overwhelmed with the terrors of impending misfortune, he would en-dreamed one night that he saw two dure the misery of criminals awaiting men at a particular green spot on the the moment of execution. The adjoining mountain, one of thema proof, unanswerable and decisive, that small sickly-looking man, the other dreams are not to be considered as remarkably strong and large. He prognostics, is, that no example can then saw the little man murder the be produced of their successful ef- other, and awoke in great agitation. fect, either in pointing out means of The circumstances of the dream were preventing harm, or facilitating bene- so distinct and forcible, that he confit. Certain instances may be alleg- tinued much affected by them. He ed, where the conformity of a dream related them to his wife, and also to with some subsequent event may severall neighbours, next morning. have been remarkable; but we may Aftersome.tube he went out coursventure to assert that such disco-ing withogreyhounds, accompanied, veries have generally happened after amongst others, by one Mr. Browne, the facts, and that fancy and inge-the Roman Catholic priest wof the nuity have had the chief share in parish. He soon stopped at othe tracing the resemblance, or finding above-mentionedbi gréem spowon the out the explanation. If it be grant-mountain, and calling to Mr. Browne, ed that thought never stops, and pointed it out to him, and told him that the mind is perpetually employ-what had appeared in his dream. ed, the wonder should rather be, that so few cases of similitude have been recorded. If millions of the human species through the whole extent of time have been, during their state of slumber, continually subject to dream, perhaps the calculators of chances would be apt to maintain, that near coincidences have probably During the remainder of the day he thought little more about it. Next morning he was extremely startled at seeing two strangers enter his house, about eleven o'clock in the forenoon. He immediately ran into the inner room, and desired his wife to take particular notice, for they were precisely the two men that he had seen nion. It appeared afterwards, from his own account of the horrid transaction, that as they were getting over a ditch, he struck Hickey on the back part of the head with a stone, and when he fell down into the trench, in consequence of the blow, Caulfield knife, and cut his throat so deeply, that the head was almost severed from the body. He then rifled Hickey's pockets of all the money in them, took part of his clothes, and every thing else of value about him, and afterwards proceeded on his way to Carrick. He had not been long gone, when the body, still warm, was discovered by some labourers who were returning to their work from dinner. in his dream. When they had con- || very near the place observed by Rosulted with one another, their appre-gers in his dream, Caulfield took the hensions were alarmed for the little opportunity of murdering his compaweakly man, though contrary to the appearance in the dream. After the strangers had taken some refreshment, and were about to depart in order to prosecute their journey, Rogers earnestly endeavoured to dissuade the little man from quitting his house and going on with his fellow-stabbed him several times with a traveller. He assured him, that if he would remain with him that day, he would accompany him to Carrick next morning, that being the town to which the travellers were proceeding, and near which the little man's relations lived. He was unwilling and ashamed to tell the cause of his being so solicitous to separate him from his companion; but as he observed that Hickey, which was the name of the little man, seemed to be quiet and gentle in his deportment, and had money about him, and that the other had a ferocious bad countenance, the dream still recurred to him. He dreaded that something fatal would happen; and he wished, at all events, to keep them asunder. However, the humane precautions of Rogers proved ineffectual; for Caulfield, such was the other's name, prevailed upon Hickey to continue with him on their way to Carrick, declaring that, as they had long travelled together, they should not part, but remain together until he should see Hickey safely arrive at the habitation of his friends. The wife of Rogers was much dissatisfied when she found that they were gone, and blamed her husband exceedingly for not being peremptory in detaining Hickey. The report of the murder soon reached to Portlaw. Rogers and his wife went to the place, and instantly recognised the body of him whom they had in vain endeavoured to dissuade from going on with his treacherous companion. They at once spoke out their suspicions, that the murder was perpetrated by the fellowtraveller of the deceased. An immediate search was made, and Caulfield was apprehended at Waterford, the second day afterwards. He was brought to trial at the ensuing assizes, and convicted of the fact. It appeared on the trial, amongst other circumstances, that when he arrived at Carrick, he hired a horse, and a boy to conduct him, not by the usual road, but by that which runs on the north side of the river Suir to WaAbout an hour after they left Port-terford, intending to take his passage law, in a lonely part of the mountain, in the first ship from thence to New REMARKABLE DREAM. After the sentence, Caulfield confessed the fact. It came out that Hickey had been in the West Indies twenty-two years; but falling into a bad state of health, he was returning to his native country, Ireland, bringing with him some money, which his industry had acquired. The vessel on board which he took his passage was, by stress of weather, driven into Minehead. He there met with Frederick Caulfield, an Irish sailor, who was poor, and much distressed. for clothes and common necessaries. Hickey, compassionating his poverty, and finding that he was his countryman, relieved his wants, and an intimacy commenced between them. They agreed to go to Ireland together, and it was remarked on their passage, that Caulfield spoke contemptuously, and often said it was a pity that such a puny fellow as Hickey should have money, and he himself be without a shilling. They landed at Waterford, at which place they staid some days, Caulfield being all the time supported by Hickey, who there bought some clothes for him. The assizes being held in the town during that time, it was afterwards recollected that they were both at the court-house, and attend foundland. The boy took notice of some blood on his shirt, and Caulfield gave him half-a-crown to promise not to speak of it. Rogers proved not only that Hickey was seen last in company with Caulfield, but that a pair of new shoes which Hickey wore had been found on the feet of Caulfield when he was apprehended; and that a pair of old shoes which he had on at Rogers' house, were upon Hickey's feet when the body was found. He described with great exactness every article of their clothes. Caulfield, on the cross examination, shrewdly asked him from the dock, whether it was not very extraordinary, that he who kept a public-house should take such particular notice of the dress of a stranger accidentally calling there? Rogers answered that he had a very particular reason, but was ashamed to mention it: the court and prisoner insisting on his declaring it, he gave a circumstantial narrative of his dream, called upon Mr. Browne, the priest, then in the court, to corroborate his statement, and said that his wife had severely reproached him for permitting Hickey to leave their house, when he knew that, in the short footway to Carrick, they must necessarily pass by the green spot on the mountain which had ap-ed the whole of a trial of a shoemakpeared in his dream. A number of witnesses came forward, and the proofs were so strong, that the jury, without hesitation, found the prisoner guilty. It was remarked, as a singularity, that he happened to be tried and sentenced by his namesake, Saint George Caulfield, at that time Lordnance. Chief Justice of the King's Bench, which office he resigned in the summer of the year 1760*. * Frederick Caulfield was tried and found guilty at the Waterford assises, er, who was convicted for the murder of his wife. But this made no impression on the hardened mind of Caulfield; for the very next day he perpetrated the same crime. He walked to the gallows with a firm step and undaunted counte He spoke to the multitude before the Lord Chief Justice Saint George Caulfield, on July 25, 1759, and executed on Wednesday, the 8th August following.-Vide The Gentleman's Maguzine for August 1788. continually coming in sight prevented him. Being frustrated in all his schemes, the sudden and total disappointment threw him, probably, into an indifference for life. Some tempers are so stubborn and rugged, that nothing can affect them but immediate sen who surrounded him; and in the course of his address, mentioned that he had been bred at a charter-school, from which he was taken as an apprentice-servant by William Izod, Esq. of the county of Kilkenny. From this station he ran away, on being corrected for some faults, and had been absent from Ireland six years.sation. If to this be united the greatHe confessed also, that he intended to murder Hickey on the road between Waterford and Portlaw; but though it was in general not much frequented, yet people at that time est ignorance, death to such characters will hardly seem terrible, because they can form no conception of what it is, and still less of the consequences that may follow. LISBON AND THE PORTUGUESE. Feb. 1822. married portion of it, has with the other, one cannot very often help being astonished at the ease with which they behave themselves. If their conversation revolves around trivial subjects, this is certainly not to be charged to their account, but to that of the men, who know nothing better to entertain them with than equivoques and double-entendres; and who, either for want of instruction, or because they disbelieve the existence of female virtue, deem this sex far inferior to their own, and consider its improvement as beneath their attention. THE Portuguese women are short in stature, almost universally brunettes, and if their faces were not animated by such beautiful eyes, one might boldly assert, that they were rather ordinary than handsome; but he who is not deterred at the first glance by a plain set of features will find in them many qualities to make amends for the latter. Fine hair and teeth, small feet, a majestic gait, vivacity in conversation, readiness at repartee, a naïveté in their demeanour, which holds a middle course between a silly or affected prudery and too great freedom, good natural ta- Throughout civilized Europe there lents, especially for music and danc-are not perhaps more unfortunate ing; these are qualities which none wives than the women of Portugal. will deny them, though a stranger The manner in which matches are has but little opportunity to make made here is not much better than himself acquainted with them, unless that prevailing in the East. Here alat places of public resort, where they so they are regarded rather in the will probably appear to him in a still light of slaves than free women. It more advantageous light. Consider- may be safely asserted, that out of ing the little intercourse which the five marriages, scarcely one is the refemale sex, and especially the un-sult of real mutual affection. Parents |