Man has two states of existence in a striking de- gree distinguished from each other: the state in which he is found during his waking hours; and the state in which he is during sleep.
The question has been agitated by Locke and other philosophers, " whether the soul alwaya thinks/' in other words, whether the mind, during those hours in which our limbs lie for the most part in a state of inactivity, is or is not engaged by a perpetual succession of images and impressions. This is a point that can perhaps never be settled. When the empire of sleep ceases, or when we are roused from sleep, we are often conscious that we have been to that moment busily employed with that sort of conceptions and scenes which we call dreams. And at times when, on waking, we have no such consciousness, we can never perhaps be sure that the shock that waked us, had not the effect of driving away these fugitive and unsubstan- tial images. There are men who are accustomed L 146 OF HUMAN VEGETATION. [esiBAY to say, they never dream. If in reality the mind of man, from the hour of his birth, must by the law of its nature be constantly occupied with sensations or images (and of the contrary we can never be sure), then these men are all their lives in the state of persons, upon whom the shock that wakes them, has the eflFect of driving away such fugitive and un- substantial images. — ^Add to which, there may be sensations in the human subject, of a species con* fused and unpronounced, which never arrive at thai degree of distinctness as to take the shape of what we caU dreaming.
So much for man in the state of sleep.
But during our waking hours, our minds are very differently occupied at different periods of the day. I would particularly distinguish the two dissimilar states of the waking man, when the mind is indo*- lent, and when it is on the alert.
While I am writing this Essay, my mind may be said to be on the alert. It is on the alert, so long as I am attentively reading a book of philosophy, of argumentation, of eloquence, or of poetry. It ill on the alert, so long as I am addressing a smaller or a greater audience, and endeavouring either to* amuse or instruct them. It is on the alert, white in silence and solitude I endeavour to follow a traia^' of reasoning, to marshal and arrange a connected set of ideas ) or in any other way to improve my mindy to purify my conceptions, and to advance myself in any of the thousand kinds of intellectual process^" It is ob the alert, when I am engaged in anlYnated- Vlll.3 of HUMAN VlEGfiTAHON. l47 ^nversatlon, whether my cue be to take a part in die •re<^iprocation of alternate facts and remarks ih society) or merely to sit an attentive listener to the fiiets and remarks of others.
This state bf the human mind may emphatically he called the state of activity and attention.
So loftg as I am engaged in any of the ways here eiiumeirkted, or in any other equally stirring metital occupations which are not here set down, my mind 16 in a frame of activity.
^ut there is another state in whieh men pass theit Bdinutes and hours, that is strongly cotitrasted with &is* It depends in some men upon constitution; and in others Upon accident, how their time shall be divided, how nduch shall be given to the state of activity, and how much to the state of indo- lence.
In an Essay I published many years ago there il^ diis passage.
^ The chief point of difference between the man of talent and the man without, consists in the dif- ferent ways in which their minds are employed during the same interval. They are obliged, let us suppose, to walk from Temple-Bar to Hyde-Pfeitk- Comer. The dull man goes straight forward; be has so many furlongs to traverse. He observes if he meets any of his acquaintance; he enquires re- specting liieir health and their family. He glances perhaps the shops as he passes; he admires the fashion of a buckle, and the metal of a tea-um. If l2 148 OF HUMAN VEGETATION. [eSSAY he experiences any flights of fancy, they are of a short extent; of the same nature as the flights of a forest-bird, clipped of his wings^ and condemned to pass the rest of his life in a farm-yard. On the other hand the man of talent gives full scope to his imagination. He laughs and cries. Unindebted to the suggestipns of surrounding objects, hisi whole soul is employed. He enters into nice calculations; he digests sagacious reasonings. In imagination he declaims or describes, impressed with the deepest sympathy, or elevated to the loftiest rapture. He makes a thousand new and admirable combinations. He passes through a thousand imaginary scenes^ tries his courage, tasks his ingenuity, and thus be- comes gradually prepared to meet almost any of the many-coloured events of human life. He consults by the aid of memory the books he has read, and projects others for the future instruction and de- light of mankind. If he observe the passengers^ he reads their countenances, conjectures their past history, and forms a superficial notion of their wis- dom or folly, their virtue or vice, their satisfaction or misery. If he observe the scenes that occur, it is with the eye of a connoisseur or an artist. Every object is capable of suggesting to him a volume of reflections. The time of these two persons in one respect resembles; it has brought them both to. Hyde-Park-Comer. In almost every other respect it is dissimilar*.''
* Enquirer, Part 1, Essay V.
▼III.]. OF HUMAN VEGETATION. 149 This passage undoubtedly contains a true de- scription of what may happen, and has happened.
But there lurks in this statement a considerable error.
It has appeared in the second Essay of this volume, that there is not that broad and strong line of distinction between the wise man and the dull that has often been supposed. We are all of us by turns both the one and the other. Or, at least, the wisest man that ever existed spends a portion of his time in vacancy and dulness; and the man, whose ^ faculties are seemingly the most obtuse, might, ' under proper management from the hour of his birth, barring those rare exceptions from the ordi- nary standard of mind which do not deserve to be taken into the account, have proved apt, adroit, in- tj^igent and acute, in the walk for which his orga- nisation especially fitted him ^.
Many men without question, in a walk of the same duration as that above described between Temple-Bar and Hyde-Park -Comer, have passed their time in as much activity, and amidst as strong and various excitements, as those enumerated in the passage above quoted.
But the lives of all men, the wise, and those whom by way of contrast we are accustomed to call the dull, are divided between animation and comparative vacancy; and many a man, who by the bursts of his genius has astonished the world, ^ See above^ p. 25.
15P OF HUMAN VfiGBTATION. [ESSAY antd commanded the veneration of succesaive ages, ha^ spent a period of time equal to that occupied by a i^alk from TemplcrBax to Hyde-Park-Corner, in a state of mind as idle, and as little affording materials for recollection, as the dullest wan that ey^r breath€4 the vital air.
The two states of man which are here attempted to be distinguished, are, first, that in which reason is said to fill her throne, in which will prevails, and directs the powers of mind or of bodily action in one channel or another; and, secondly, that in which these faculties, tired of for ever exereising their prerogatives, or, being awakened as it were from sleep, and having not yet assumed them, afaan-r don the helm, even as a mariner might be supposed to do, in a wide sea, and in a time when no disaster could be apprehended, and leave the vessel of tbd mind to drift, exactly as chance might direct.
To describe this last state of mind I know not a better term that can be chosen, than that of reverie. It is of the nature of what I have seen denominated brown study ^^ a species of dozing and drowsiness, in which all men spend a portion of the waking part of every day of their lives. Every man must be conscious of passing minutes, perhaps houra of the day, particularly when engaged in exercise in the open air, in this species of neutrality and evira-* tion. It is often not unpleasant at the time, and leaves no sinking of the spirits behind. It is pro- "^ Norris, apud Johnson, Dictionary of the English Language.
Till.] OF HUMAN VEGETATION. 151 bably of a galutary nature, and may be mnqng th^ means, in a certain degree beneficial like ileep^ by ^hich the machine ia restored, and the man comes forth from its discipline reinvigorated, and tlrosh capable of his active duties.
This condition of our nature has considerably less vitality in it, than we experience in a complete and perfect dream. In dreaming we are often conscious of lively impressions^ of a busy scene, and of objects and feelings succeeding each other with rapidity* We sometimes imagine ourselves earnestly speak^ ing: and the topics we treat, and the words we em^ ploy, are supplied to us with extraordinary fluency. But the sort of vacancy and inoccupation of which I here treat, has a greater resemblance to the state of mind, without distinct and clearly unfolded ideas, which we experience before we sink into sleep, Th^ mind is in reality in a condition, more propejrly accessible to feeling and capable of thought, thai; actually in the exercise of either the one or the other. We are conscious of existence and qf little moreu We move our legs, and continue in a peri^- patetic state; for the man who has gone out of h}^ house with a purpose to walk, exercises the ppwer of volition when he seta out, but proceeds in hU motion by a semi-ivolmitary act, by a sort, of v^ umrtue, which will not cease to operate without an express reason for doing so, and advances a thou*^ sand steps without distinctly willing any but the first. When it is necessary to turn to the right or 152 OF HUMAN VEGETATION. [ESSAY the left, or to choose between any two directions on which he is called upon to decide, his mind is so far brought into action as the case may expressly require, and no further.
I have here instanced in the case of the peripa* tetic: but of how many classes and occupations of human life may not the same thing be affirmed? It happens to the equestrian, as well as to him that walks on foot. It occurs to him who cultivates the fruits of the earth, and to him who is occupied in any of the thousand manufactures which are the result of human ingenuity. It happens to the soldier in his march,^ and to the mariner on board his vessel. It attends the individuals of the female sex through all their diversified modes of industry^ the laundress, the housemaid, the sempstress, the netter of purses, the knotter of fringe, and the worker in tambour, tapestry and embroidery. In all, the limbs or the fingers are employed me-* chanically; the attention of the mind is only required at intervals; and the thoughts remain for the most part in a state of non-excitation and repose.
It is a curious question, but extremely difficult of solution, what portion of the day of every human creature must necessarily be spent in this sort of intellectual indolence. In the lower classes of so-^ ciety its empire is certainly very great; its influence is extensive over a large portion of the opulent and luxurious; it is least among those who are intrust* TIIlO. OF HUMAN VEGETATION, 153 ed in the more serious affairs of mankind, and among the literary and the learned, those who waste their lives, and consume the midnight-oil, in the search after knowledge.
It appeared with sufficient clearness in the imme- diately preceding Essay, that the intellect cannot he always on the stretch, nor the how of the mind for ever bent. In the act of composition, unless where the province is of a very inferior kind, it is likely that not more than two or three hours at a time can be advantageously occupied. But in literary labour it will often occur, that, in addition to the hours expressly engaged in composition, much time may be required for the collecting materials, the collating of authorities, and the bringing together a variety of particulars, so as to sift from the mass those cir« cumstances which may best conduce to the purpose of the writer. In ^11 these preliminary and inferior enquiries it is less necessary that the mind should be perpetually awake and on the alert, than in the direct office of composition. The situation is con- siderably similar of the experimental philosopher^ the man who by obstinate and unconquerable ap« plication resolves to wrest from nature her secrets, and apply them to the improvement of social life, or to the giving to the human mind a wider range or a more elevated sphere. A great portion of this employment consists more in the motion of the hands and the opportune glance of the eye, than in the labour of the head, and allows to the operator 1&4 OF HUMAN V£G£TATfON. [ESSAY from time to time an interval of rest £rom the mo- mentous efforts of invention, and discovery, and the careful deduction of consequences in the points to be elucidated.
There is a distinction, sufficiently fiimiliar to all persons who occupy a portion of their time in readU ing, that is made between books of instruction, and books of amusement. From the student of mathe^ matics or any of the higher departments of science, from the reader of books of investigation and argu-> ment, an active attention is demanded* Even in the perusal of the history of kingdoms and nations, or of certain memorable periods of pubUc aOairs, we can scarcely proceed with any satis&ction, unless in so far as we collect our thoughts, compare one part of the narrative ^th another, and hold the mind in a state of activity. We are obliged to rea-* son while we read, and in some degree to construct a discourse of our own, at the same time that we foUow the statements of the author before ui. Un^ less we do this, the sense and spirit of what we read will be apt to shp from under our observation, and we shall by and by discover that we are putting together words and sounds only, when we purposed to store our minds with &cts and reflections. We apprehended not the sense of the writer even when his pages were under our eye, and of consequence have nothing laid up in the memory after the hour of reading is completed.
In works of amusement it is otherwise, and moat VIII.] OF IHIMAN V£6£TArtON. IflS especially in writings of ficticm. These are sought after with avidity hy the idle^ heca»se for the most part they are found to have the virtue of communi* catipg impressions to the reader, even while his mind remains in a state of passiveness. He finds himself agreeably affected with fits of mirth or of sorrow, and carries away the facts of the taliei^ at the same time that he is not called upon for the tjct of attention. This is therefor^ one of the modes of luxury especially cultivated in ii highly civiliK d state of society.
The aame considerations will also explain to us tho principal part of the pleasure that is^ expe-r rieqced by mankind in all states of society from public shews and exhibitions. The spectator is not caUed upon to exert himself; the amusement ai|d f^sure come to him, while he remains voluptur^ Qusly at his ease; and it is certain that the exertion we sqake when we are compelled to contribute to, and became in part the cause of our own entertainment, is more than the human mind is willing to sustain, except at seasons in which we are specially on the alert and awake.
This is further one of the causes why men in g&< neral feel prompted to seek the society of their fel- lows. We are in part no doubt called upon in select society to bring our own information along with us^ and a certain vein of wit, humour or narrative, that we may contribute our proportion to the general stock. WiQ read the newspapers, the newest pub- 166 OF HUMAN VEGETATION* [ESSAY lications^ and repair to places of fashionable amuse^ ment and resort; partly that we may at least be upon a par with the majority of the persons we arc likely to meet. But many do not thus prepare themselves, nor does perhaps any one upon all oc«^ casions* There is another state of human existence in which we expressly dismiss from our hands the reins of the mind^ and suffer our minutes and Our hours to glide by us undisciplined and at random; This is^ generally speaking, the case in a period (^ sickness. We have no longer the courage to be on the alert, and to superintend the march of ont thoughts. It is the same with us for the most part when at any time we lie awake in our beds. To speak from my own experience, I am in a restless and uneasy state while I am alone in my sitting-^ room^ unless I have some occupation of my own choice^ writing or reading, or any of those employ- ments the pursuit of which was chosen at first, and which is more or less under the direction of the will afterwards. But when awake in my bed, either in health or sickness, I am reasonably content to let my thoughts flow on agreeably to those laws of association by which I find them directed, without giving myself the trouble to direct them into one channel rather than another, or to marshal and actively to prescribe the various turns and muta^ tions they may be impelled to pursue.
It is thus that we are sick; and it is thus that we via.] OF HUMAN VEGETATION. 157 die. The man that guides the operations of his own mind, is either to a certain degree in bodily hedth^ or in that health of mind which shall for a longer or shorter time stand forward as the substi-^ tute of the health of the body. When we die, we give up the game, and are* not disposed to contend any further. It is a very usual thing to talk of the struggles of a man in articulo mortis. But this is probably, like so many other things that occur to us in this sublunary stage, a delusion. The by- stander mistakes for a spontaneous contention and unwillingness to die, what is in reality nothing more than an involuntary contraction and convuU sion of the nerves, to which the mind is no party, atid is even very probably unconscious. — But enough of this, the final and most humiliating stato^ through which mortal men may be called on to pass.
I find then in the history of almost every human creature four different states or modes of existence. First, there is sleep. In the strongest degree of contrast to this there is the frame in which we find ourselves, when we write, or invent and steadily pursue a consecutive train of thinking unattended with the implements of writing, or read in some book of science or otherwise which calls upon us for a fixed attention, or address ourselves to a smaller or greater audience, or are engaged in ani- mated conversation. In each of these occupations the mind may emphatically be said to be on the alert.
I 156 or HUMAN VEGETATION. [essJIT But there are further two distinct states or kiiidii df mental indolence. The first is that which W6' frequdiitly experience during a walk or any othei^ species of bodily exercise, where, when the whdle is at ail end, we scarcely recollect any thing in whidli the mind has been eniplbyed, but haVe beeii iti Whtt I may call a healthful tbi^or, where our limbs halV6' been si^ciently in aetion to continue our ex^ttisii we have felt the fresh breeze playing on our ch<^kl^ and have been in other respects in a frame of my unpleasing neutrality. This may be supposed gretfdy to contribute to our bodily health. It is the holid^f of the feculties: and, as the bow, when it has heeist for k considerable time unbent, is said to recover ite elasticity, so the mind, af^er a holiday of t\iSif sort, comes fresh, and with an increased alacrity, i6f those occupations which advance man most highly in the scale of being.
But there is a second state of mental indolenod^ not so complete as this> but which is still indolence^' inasmuch as in it the mind is passive, and does not assume the reins of empire. Such is the state in which we are during our sleej^less houts in bed j and in this state our ideas, &tid the topics that su(> cessively occur, appear to go f6rward without re-' mission, while it seems that it is this busy condition of the mind, and the involuntary activity Of oui* thoughts, that prevent us from sleeping.
iPhe distinctibn then between these two sorts of indolence is, that in the latter our ideas are perfectly Vni.] OF HUMAN VEGETAtlON* 159 di^inct^ are attended with eonsciousnegs^ and cati, as ire please^ be called up to recollection. This therefore is not what we understand by reverie. In these waking hours which are spent by us in b^d^ the mind is no less busy^ than it is in sleep during a dream. The other and more perfect sort of mental indolence, is that which we often experience during our exercise in the open air. This is of the sattM! nature as the condition of thought which seems to be the necessary precursor of sleep, and is attended with no precise consciousness.
By the whole of the above statement we are led to a new and a modified estimate of the duration of human life.
If by lif? we understand mere susceptibility, a state of existence in which we are accessible at ainy moment to the onset of sensation, for example, of pain — in this sense our life is commensurate, oi^ nearly commensurate, to the entire period, from the quickening of the child in the womb, to the mintite at which sense deserts the dying man, and his body becomes an inanimate mass.
But life, in the emphatical sense, and par e^cceh lence, is reduced to much narrower limits. From this species of life it is unavoidable that we should strike oflF the whole of the interval that is spent in sleep; and thus, as a general rule, the natural day of twenty-four hours is immediately reduced to liixteen.
Of these sixteen hours again, there is a portion 160 OF HUMAN VEGETATION. [£SSAY that falls under the direction of will and attention^ and a portion that is passed by us in a state of mental indolence. By the ordinary aiid least culti- vated class of mankind^ the husbandman^ the manu- facturer^ the soldier, the sailor, and the main body / of the female sex, much the greater part of every day is resigned to a state of mental indolence. The will does not actively interfere, and the attention is not roused. Even the most intellectual beings of our species pass no inconsiderable portion of every day in a similar condition. Such is our state for the most part during the time that is given to bodily exercise, and during the time in which we read books of amusement merely, or are employed in witnessing public shews and exhibitions.
That portion of every day of our existence which is occupied by us with a mind attentive and on the alert, I would call life in a transcendant sense. Hie rest is scarcely better than a state of vegetation.
And yet not so either. The happiest and most / valuable thoughts of the human mind will some- times come when they are least sought for, and we least anticipated any such thing. In reading a ro- mance, in witnessing a performance at a theatre, in our idlest and most sportive moods, a vein in the soil of intellect will sometimes unexpectedly be broken up, '^richer than all the tribe" of contem- poraneous thoughts, that shall raise him to whoni: it occurs, to a rank among his species altogether different from any thing he had looked for. Newton yiuJ] OF HUMAN VEGETATION...161 was led to the doctrine of gravitation by the fall of ^an apple^ as he indolently reclined under the tree on which it grew. "A verse may find him, who a sermon flies." Polemon, when intoxicated, entered the school of Xenocrates, and was so struck with the energy displayed by the master, and the thought3 }ie delivered, that from that moment he renounced the life of dissipation he had previously led, and applied himself entirely to the study of philosophy. — ^But these instances are comparatively of rare oc- currence, and do not require to be taken into the account.
It is still true therefore for the most part, that not more than eight hours in the day are passed by the wisest and most energetic, with a mind attentive and on the alert. The remainder is a period of ve- getation only. In the mean time we have all of us undoubtedly to a certain degree the power of en- larging the extent of the period of transcendant life in each day of our healthful existence, and causing it to encroach upon the period either of mental indolence or of sleep. — ^With the greater part of the human species the whole of their lives while awake, with the exception of a few brief and insu- lated intervals, is spent in a passive state of the intellectual powers. Thoughts come and go, as chance, or some undefined power in nature may direct, uninterfered with by the sovereign will, the steersman of the mind. And often the understand- ing appears to be a blank, upon which if any im- M 168 01^ liUMAN VEGETATIOK. [fiSSAt pressions are then made^ they are like figures drawn in the sand which the next tide obliterates^ or ate even lighter and jnore evanescent than this.
Let me add, that the existence of the child for two or three years from the period of his birth, is alniost entirely a state of vegetation. Thq imprds^ sions that are made npon his sensoriuin come aii^ go, without either their advent or. departure being anticipated, and without the interference of the wilt It is only under some express excitement, that the faculty of will mounts its throne, and exercises <kli empire. When the child smiles, that act is inv^i luntary; but, when he cries, will presently comes to mix itself with the phenomenon. Wilfiilnedt, ii^patience and rebellion are infallible symptoms M a mind on the alert. And, as the child in the fiM stages of its existence puts forth the faculty of wiQ 6hly at intervals^ so for a similar reason this peri^ is but rarely accompanied with memory, or leaves aiiy traces of irecollectibn iPor our after-life.
Tliere are other memorable states of the inteilee- tual powers, which if I did not mention, the survey here taken Wotild seenl to be glaringly imperfect. The first of these is madft^ss. In this humiliatin|^ condition of our nature the sovereignty of reasoin is deposed: ^ •.
Chaos umpire sits,. ■. ^.
And by decision more embroils the fray.
The mind is in a state of turbulence and tein^ pest in one instant, and in another subsides into VIII.] OF HUMAN VEGETATION. 163 the deepest imbecility; and, even when the will is occasionally roused, the link which preserved its union with good sense and sobriety is dissolved, and the views by which it has the appearance of being regulated, are all based in misconstruction and delusion.
Next to madness occur the different stages of spleen, dejection and listlessness* The essence of tliese lies in^ the passiveness and neutrality of the intellectual powers. In as far as the unhappy sufferer could be roused to act, the disease would be essentially diminished, and might final^ be exr pelleA But long days and months are. spent by t^e patient in the piidst of all harassing imagiiiatipna, smd an everlasting nightmare seems to^^it on llic soul, and lock up its powers in injteri^inable inacr tivity. Almost the only interruptiojOL to this, is when the demands of nature require our attenfion^ or we pay a. slight and uncertain attention to the deceiicies of cleanlinesis and attire.
In, all these coi)9idei*ations then we find abundant occasion to humble the pride and vain-glory of man* But they do not overturn the principles delivered in the preceding Essay respecting t}ie duration of human life, though they certainly interpose addi* tional boundaries to limit the prospects of indi* vidual improvement.
M 2 164 • OF LEISURE. [essay ESSAY IX.
OF LEISURE.
The river of human fife is divided into two streams; ojccupation and leisure — or, to express the thing more accurately, that occupation, which is pre- scribed, and may be called the business of life; and that occupation, which arises contingently, and not so much of absolute and set purpose, not being pre- scribed: such being the more exact description of these two divisions of human life, inasmuch as the latter is often not less earnest and intent in its pur- suits than the former.
It would be a curious question to ascertain which of these is of the highest value.
To this enquiry I hear myself loudly -and vehe- mently answered from all hands in favour of the first ^'This,'' I am told by unanimous acclamation, " is the business of life.** The decision in favour of what we primarily called occupation, above what we called leisure, may in a mitigated sense be entertained as true. Man can live with little or no leisure, for millions of human be- ings do so live: but the species to which we belong, jELud of consequence the individuals, of that species, cannot exist as they ought to exist, without occu- pation.
ixj or LEISURE. 165 Granting however the paramount claims that occupation has to our regard^ let us endeavour to arrive at a just estimate of the value of leisure.
It has been said by some one, with great appear* ance of truth, that sdioolboys learn as much, per^ haps more, of beneficial knowledge in their hours of play, as in their hours of study.
The wisdom of ages has been applied to ascertain \ what are the most desirable topics for the study of the schoolboy* They ate selected for the most part by the parent. There are few parents that do not feel a sincere and disinterested desire for the welfare of their children. It is an unquestionable maxim^ that we are the best judges of that of which we have ourselves had experience; and all patents have been children. It is therefore idle and ridiculous to sup- pose that those stiidies which have for centuries been chosen by the enlightened mature for the oc- cupation of the young, have not for the most part been well chosen. Of these studies the earliest con- sist in the arts of reading and writing. Next follows arithmetic, with perhaps some rudiments of algebra and geometry. Afterward comes in due order the acquisition of languages, particularly the dead Ian- guages; a most fortunate occupation for those years of man, m which the memory is most retentive, and the reasoning powers have yet acquired neither solidity nor enlargement. Such are the occupations of the schoolboy in his prescribed hours of study.
But the schoolboy is cooped up in an apartment, 166 OF LEISURE. [esSAT it may be with a number of his fellows. He ia seated at a desk^ diligently conning the portion of learning that is doled out to him, or, when he has mastered his lesson, reciting it with anxiouft bik>w and unassured lips to the senior, who is to correct his errors, and pronounce upbn the sufficiency of his industry. All this may be well: but it is a' ne^ and more exhilarating spectacle that presents it&(elf to our observation^ when he is dismissed &om Hit temporary labours, and rushes impetuously out to the open air, and gives free scope to his limbs and his voice, and is no longer under the eye of a censot jiat shall make him feel his subordination and dtp- pendence.
n Meanwhile the question under consideration was, not in which ^tfcte he experienced the mosthaj^- pihess, but which was productive of the greatest ii»- proveinent The review of the human subject is convenienliy divided under the heads of body and mind. « There can be no doubt that the health of tbe body is most promoted by those exetcises in whi<^ the schoolboy is engaged during the hours of play. And it is further to be considered that health is re^ quired, not only that we may be serene, contented and happy, but that we may be enabled effectually to exert the faculties of the mind. ^ — But there is another way, in which we are caifed updn to consider the division of the human subject under the heads of body and mind.
r^J OF LJEISURJE. 167 The body, is the ii9plenieBt and instrument of the mind^ the tool by which most of its purpo^^s are to be effected* We live in the midst of a material worlds or of what we, call such. The greater part of the pursuits in which we engage^ are achieved by the actipb of the limbs and n^embers of the body i^pon external matter. Our communications with 9)ir £elU)w-inen.^e>ll of them carried on by mem^s of the body.