# Works of the late Doctor Benjamin Franklin/The Art of procuring pleaſant Dreams

THE
ART OF PROCURING PLEASANT DREAMS,
INSCRIBED TO MISS * * *,
BEING WRITTEN AT HER REQUEST
As a great part of our life is ſpent in ſleep, during which we have ſometimes pleaſing, and ſometimes painful dreams, it becomes of ſome conſequence to obtain the one kind, and avoid the other; for, whether real or imaginary, pain is pain, and pleaſure is pleaſure. If we can ſleep without dreaming, it is well that painful dreams are avoided. If, while we ſleep, we can have any pleaſing dreams, it is, as the French ſay, tant gagné, ſo much added to the pleaſure of life.
To this end it is, in the firſt place, neceſſary to be careful in preſerving health, by due exerciſe, and great temperance; for, in ſickneſs, the imagination is diſturbed; and diſagreeable, ſometimes terrible, ideas are apt to preſent themſelves. Exerciſe ſhould precede meals, not immediately follow them: the firſt promotes, the latter, unleſs moderate, obſtructs digeſtion. If, after exerciſe, we feed ſparingly, the digeſtion will be eaſy and good, the body lightſome, the temper cheerful, and all the animal functions performed agreeably. Sleep, when it follows, will be natural and undiſturbed. While indolence, with full feeding, occaſion night-mares and horrors in- expreſſible: we fall from precipices, are aſſaulted by wild beaſts, murderers, and demons, and ​experience every variety of diſtreſs. Obſerve, however, that the quantities of food and exerciſe are relative things: thoſe who move much may, and indeed ought, to eat more; thoſe who uſe little exerciſe, ſhould eat little. In general, mankind, ſince the improvement of cookery, eat about twice as much as nature requires. Suppers are not bad, if we have not dined; but reſtleſs nights naturally follow hearty ſuppers, after full dinners. Indeed, as there is a difference in conſtitutions, ſome reſt well after theſe meals; it coſts them only a frightful dream, and an apoplexy, after which they; ſleep till doomſday. Nothing is more common in the newſpapers, than inſtances of people, who, after eating a hearty ſupper, are found dead a-bed in the morning.
Another means of preſerving health, to be attended to, is the having a conſtant ſupply of freſh air in your bed-chamber. It has been a great miſtake, the ſleeping in rooms exactly cloſed, and in beds ſurrounded by curtains. No outward air, that may come in to you, is ſo unwholſome as the unchanged air, often breathed, of a cloſe chamber. As boiling water does not grow hotter by longer boiling, if the particles that receive greater heat can eſcape; ſo living bodies do not putrify, if the particles, as faſt as they become putrid, can be thrown off. Nature expels them by the pores of the ſkin and lungs, and in a free open air, they are carried off; but, in a cloſe room, we receive them again, though they become more and more corrupt. A number of perſons crowded into a ſmall room, thus ſpoil the air in a few minutes, and even render it mortal, as in the Black Hole at Calcutta. A ſingle perſon is ſaid to ſpoil only a gallon of air per minute, and therefore requires a longer time to ſpoil a chamberfull; but it is done, however, in ​proportion, and many putrid diſorders hence have their origin. It is recorded of Methuſalem, who, being the longeſt liver, may be ſuppoſed to have beſt preferred his health, that he ſlept always in the open air; for, when he had lived five hundred years, an angel ſaid to him: "Ariſe, Methuſalem; and build thee an houſe, for thou ſhalt live yet five hundred years longer." But Methuſalem anſwered and ſaid: "If I am to live but five hundred years longer, it is not worth while to build me an houſe—I will ſleep in the air as I have been uſed to do." Phyſicians, after having for ages contended that the ſick ſhould not be indulged with freſh air, have at length diſcovered that it may do them good. It is therefore to be hoped that they may in time diſcover likewiſe, that it is not hurtful to thoſe who are in health; and that we may be then cured of the aërophobia that at preſent diſtreſſes weak minds, and make them chooſe to be ſtifled and poiſoned, rather than leave open the window of a bed-chamber, or put down the glaſs of a coach.
Confined air, when ſaturated with perſpirable matter, will not receive more: and that matter muſt remain in our bodies, and occaſion diſeaſes: but it gives ſome previous notice of its being about to be hurtful, by producing certain uneaſineſs, ſlight indeed at firſt, ſuch as, with regard to the lungs, is a trifling ſenſation, and to the pores of the ſkin a kind of reſtleſſneſs which is difficult to deſcribe, and few that feel it know the cauſe of it. But we may recollect, that ſometimes, on waking in the night, we have, if warmly covered, found it difficult to get aſleep again. We ​turn often without finding repoſe in any poſition. This fidgettineſs, to uſe a vulgar expreſſion for want of a better, is occaſioned wholly by an uneaſineſs in the ſkin, owing to the retenſion of the perſpirable matter—the bed-clothes having received their quantity, and, being ſaturated, refuſing to take any more. To become ſenſible of this by an experiment, let a perſon keep his poſition is. the bed, but throw off the bed-clothes, and ſuffer freſh air to approach the part uncovered of his body; he will then feel that part ſuddenly refreſhed; for the air will immediately relieve the ſkin, by receiving, licking up, and carrying off, the load of perſpirable matter that incommoded it. For every portion of cool air that approaches the warm ſkin, in receiving its part of that vapour, receives therewith a degree of heat, that rarifies and renders it higher, when it will be puſhed away, with its burthen, by cooler, and therefore heavier freſh air; which, for a moment, ſupplies its place, and then, being likewiſe changed, and warmed, gives way to a ſucceeding quantity. This is the order of nature, to prevent animals being infected by their own perſpiration. He will now be ſenſible of the difference between the part expoſed to the air, and that which, remaining funk in the bed, denies the air acceſs: for this part now manifeſts its uneaſineſs more diſtinctly by the compariſon, and the ſeat of the uneaſineſs is more plainly perceived, than when the whole ſurface of the body was affected by it.
Here, then, is one great and general cauſe of unpleaſing dreams. For when the body is uneaſy, the mind will be diſturbed by it, and diſagreeable ideas of various kinds will, in ſleep, be the natural conſequences. The remedies, preventative, and curative, follow:
​1. By eating moderately (as before adviſed for health's ſake) leſs perſpirable matter is produced in a given time; hence the bed-clothes receive it longer before they are ſaturated; and we may, therefore, ſleep longer, before we are made uneaſy by their refuſing to receive any more.
2. By uſing thinner and more porous bed-clothes, which will ſuffer the perſpirable matter more eaſily to paſs through them, we are leſs incommoded, ſuch being longer tolerable.
3. When you are awakened by this uneaſineſs, and find you cannot eaſily ſleep again, get out of bed, beat up and turn your pillow, ſhake the bed-clothes well, with at leaſt twenty ſhakes, then, throw the bed open, and leave it to coolſ; in the meanwhile, continuing undreſt, walk about your chamber, till your ſkin has had time to diſcharge its load, which it will do ſooner as the air may be drier and colder. When you begin to feel the cold air unpleaſant, then return to your bed; and you will ſoon fall aſleep, and your ſleep will be ſweet and pleaſant. All the ſcenes presented to your fancy, will be of the pleaſing kind. I am often as agreeably entertained with them, as by the ſcenery of an opera. If you happen to be too indolent to get out of bed, you may, inſtead of it, lift up your bed-clothes with one arm and leg, ſo as to draw in a good deal of freſh air, and, by letting them fall, force it out again. This, repeated twenty times, will ſo clear them of the perſpirable matter they have imbibed, as to permit your ſleeping well for ſome time afterwards. But this latter method is not equal to the former.
Thoſe who do not love trouble, and can afford to have two beds, will find great luxury in riſing, when they wake in a hot bed, and going into the cool one. Such ſhifting of beds would alſo be of great ſervice to perſons ill of a fever, as it ​refreſhes and frequently procures ſleep. A very large bed, that will admit a removal ſo diſtant from the firſt ſituation as to be cool and ſweet, may in a degree anſwer the ſame end.
One or two obſervations more will conclude this little piece. Care muſt be taken, when you lie down, to diſpoſe your pillow ſo as to ſuit your manner of placing your head, and to be perfectly eaſy; then place your limbs ſo as not to bear inconveniently hard upon one another, as, for inſtance, the joints of your ancles: for though a bad poſition may at firſt give but little pain, and be hardly noticed, yet a continuance will render it leſs tolerable, and the uneaſineſs may come on while you are aſleep, and diſturb your imagination.
Theſe are the rules of the art. But though they will generally prove effectual in producing the end intended, there is a caſe in which the moſt punctual obſervance of them will be totally fruitleſs. I need not mention the caſe to you, my dear friend: but my account of the art would be imperfect without it. The caſe is, when the perſon who deſires to have pleaſant dreams has not taken care to preſerve, what is neceſſary above all things,
A GOOD CONSCIENCE.