Figs, if green, betoken embarrassment; if dried, money to the poor, and mirth to the rich.
Hearts-ease betokens heart's pain.
Lilies predict joy; water-lilies, danger from the sea.
Lemons betoken a separation.
Pomegranates predict happy wedlock to those who are single, and reconciliation to those who are married and have disagreed.
Quinces prognosticate pleasant company.
Roses denote happy love, not unmixed with sorrow from other sources.
Sorrel. To dream of this herb is a sign that you will shortly have occasion to exert all your prudence to overcome some great calamity.
Sunflowers shew that your pride will be deeply wounded.
Violets predict evil to the single, and joy to the married.
Yellow-flowers of any kind predict jealousy.
Yew-berries predict loss of character to both sexes.
It should be observed that the rules for the interpretation of dreams are far from being universal. The cheeks of the peasant girl of England glow with pleasure in the morning after she has dreamed of a rose, while the paysanne of Normandy dreads disappointment and vexation for the very same reason. The Switzer who dreams of an oak-tree does not share in the Englishman's joy; for he imagines that the vision was a warning to him that, from some trifling cause, an overwhelming calamity will burst over him. Thus do the ignorant and the credulous torment themselves; thus do they spread their nets to catch vexation, and pass their lives between hopes which are of no value and fears which are a positive evil.
Omens. Among the other means of self-annoyance upon which men have stumbled, in their vain hope of discovering the future, signs and omens hold a conspicuous place. There is scarcely an occurrence in nature which, happening at a certain time, is not looked upon by some persons as a prognosticator either of good or evil. The latter are in the greatest number, so much more ingenious are we in tormenting ourselves than in discovering reasons for enjoyment in the things that surround us. We go out of our course to make ourselves uncomfortable; the cup of life is not bitter enough to our palate, and we distil superfluous poison to put into it, or conjure up hideous things to frighten ourselves at, which would never exist if we did not make them. "We suffer," says Addison,[1] "as much from
- ↑ Spectator, No. 7, March 8, 1710-11.
