whole thing was mere illusion; we should rejoice all the more in
a reality better than our dreams, or at most, be warned against
misfortunes which, though very remote, were still possible. These,
however, are not the sort of playthings in which imagination delights;
it is only in idle hours that we build castles in the air, and they
are always of a pleasing description. The matter which goes to form
gloomy dreams are mischances which to some extent really threaten us,
though it be from some distance; imagination makes us look larger and
nearer and more terrible than they are in reality. This is a kind of
dream which cannot be so readily shaken off on awaking as a pleasant
one; for a pleasant dream is soon dispelled by reality, leaving, at
most, a feeble hope lying in the lap of possibility. Once we have
abandoned ourselves to a fit of the blues, visions are conjured up
which do not so easily vanish again; for it is always just possible
that the visions may be realized. But we are not always able to
estimate the exact degree of possibility: possibility may easily
pass into probability; and thus we deliver ourselves up to torture.
Therefore we should be careful not to be over-anxious on any
matter affecting our weal or our woe, not to carry our anxiety to
unreasonable or injudicious limits; but coolly and dispassionately to
deliberate upon the matter, as though it were an abstract question
which did not touch us in particular. We should give no play to
imagination here; for imagination is not judgment--it only conjures up
visions, inducing an unprofitable and often very painful mood.

The rule on which I am here insisting should be most carefully
observed towards evening. For as darkness makes us timid and apt to
see terrifying shapes everywhere, there is something similar in the
effect of indistinct thought; and uncertainty always brings with it a
sense of danger. Hence, towards evening, when our powers of thought