sence of mind.

"Bacon was remarkably neat in his dress, and, according to the costume of the old school, wore, in fine weather, a powdered wig, ruffles, silver buckles, with silk stockings, &c., and walked with his goldheaded cane. Thus attired, he one day called at St Paul's, shortly after having erected the statue of the benevolent Howard, and before the boarding which enclosed the statue had been removed. at this time, in finishing the statue. After remaining a short time, he complained of feeling somewhat cold, on which the son proposed, as no one could overlook them, that he should put on, as a kind of temporary spencer, an old, torn, green shag waistcoat, with a red stuff back, which had been left there by one of the workmen. He said it was a 'good thought,' and accordingly buttoned the waistcoat over his handsome new coat. Shortly afterwards, he was missing, but returned in about an hour, stating that he had been to call on a gentleman in Doctor's Commons, and had sat chatting with his wife and daughters, whom he had never seen before; that he found them to be

One of his sons was employed,

exceedingly pleasant women, though perhaps a little disposed to laugh and titter about he knew

6

not what. 'Sir,' said the son, ‘I am afraid I can explain their mysterious behaviour; surely you have not kept on that waistcoat all the time?' 'But, as sure as I am a living man, I have,' said he laughing heartily, and I can now account not only for the strange behaviour of the ladies, but for all the jokes that have been cracked about me as I walked along the street -some crying, Let him alone, he does it for a wager, &c., &c.; all which, from being quite unconscious of my appearance, I thought was levelled at some other quiz that might be following near me; and I now recollect that, whenever I looked round for the object of their pleasantry, the people laughed, and the more so, as, by the merry force of sympathy, I laughed also, although I could not comprehend what it all meant.""

I shall conclude by mentioning an anecdote of Mr Warton, the accomplished Professor of Poetry in the University of Oxford. "This good divine, having dined with some jolly company at a gentleman's house in that city,

passing through the streets to the church, it being summer-time, his ears were loudly saluted with the cry of 'Live mackerel!' This so much dwelt upon the Doctor's mind, that after a nap while the psalm was performing, as soon as the organ ceased playing, he got up to the pulpit, and, with eyes half open, cried out, All alive, alive oh!' thus inadvertently keeping up the reputation of a Latin proverb, which is translated in the following lines:

'Great wits to madness nearly are allied,

And thin partitions do their bounds divide.'

"The Professor of Poetry perhaps supposed himself yet with his companions at the convivial table."

Mental absence is generally incurable. In stout subjects, depletion, purging, and low diet, will sometimes be of use. Where the affection seems to arise from torpor of the nervous system, blistering the head and internal stimuli afford the most probable means of relief. The person should associate as much as possible with noisy, bustling people, and shun solitude and all such studies as have a tendency to produce abstraction.

CHAPTER XVIII.

SLEEP OF PLANTS.

DURING night, plants seem to exist in a state analogous to sleep. At this period they get relaxed, while their leaves droop and become folded together. Such is peculiarly the case with the tamarind tree, and the leguminous plants with pinnated leaves; but with almost all plants it takes place in a greater or lesser degree, although in some the change is much more striking than in others. The trefoil, the Oxalis and other herbs with ternate leaves, sleep with their leaflets folded together in the erect posture. The cause of the different states in which plants exist during the day and night has never been correctly ascertained— some attributing it to the influence of light,

some to the vicissitudes of temperature, and others to atmospherical humidity. Probably the whole of these influences are concerned. It is very evident that the presence of certain stimuli during the day puts the leaves in a state of activity, and excites their development; while the want of such stimuli in the night time throws them into repose, relaxes them, and occasions them to be weighed down, as if the sustaining principle which kept them in energy was suspended in the torpor of sleep. The principal of these stimuli is unquestionably light; indeed, Linnæus, from the observation of stove plants, seems to have demonstrated that it is the withdrawing of light, and not of heat, which produces the relaxation or Sleep of Plants, as it is commonly denominated. The effect of light upon the leaves of the Acacia is peculiarly striking. At sunrise they spread themselves out horizontally; as the heat increases they become elevated, and at noon shoot vertically upwards; but as soon as the sun declines they get languid and droop, and during night are quite pendent and relaxed. During day, the leaves of most plants are