THE PLEASURES OF SLEEP.

"There was that would not let me sleep."

"Words without thoughts never to heaven go."

SHAKESPEARE.POETS have sung the praises of sleep as the restorer of strength to man's wearied frame, probably agreeing with Socrates, that a dreamless night is the pleasantest, and hence neglecting to celebrate the pleasures of sleep as well. These are not to be found in blank oblivion, nor in the incongruous, unreal, and half-recollected shadows of the hours of darkness, but in the hours of early morning. Then, like the light of the dawn going before the full radiance of the sun, the self-consciousness of each human mind precedes the full resumption of the sceptre over its allotted portion of matter that begins another day of life. Then the visions of the night assume consistency and beauty, and our fancies of the daytime reappear endowed with substance. All our dreams are permeated with a consciousness of power to control them, yet no enjoyment could seem more real or be more unalloyed. The frosty air of winter stealing in about our ears and among the tangles of our hair makes us the more sensible of the comfort of warmth and repose. The cool, fresh, fragrant breaths of a summer morning drifting through the open window are most delightfully mingled with our dreams. Vainly will others extol to us the virtues of great draughts of the freshest, clearest hours of the day; these we, too, taste and delicately enjoy with a relish that the votaries of, even anticipating the monarch and definer of the day, cannot appreciate or imagine.

The luxury of feeling our not yet vanished weariness of the day before dissipating with each slightest motion is indescribable, and thought by the ancients worthy of the perpetual enjoyment of the gods. Alas! what infinitely lesser powers now vindicate it as their prerogative, and daily dare to rob us of it, leaving no apology, no consolation behind. There is a fable which tells how an old goose and a young duck once found a hole in the ice in winter-time, and how, though the goose could not be induced to accompany the duck into the water, partly by praises of the bracing and healthful effect sure to follow, and partly by gentle physical suasion, she succeeded in getting the duck in, and how, when once in, the goose would not let her out again. The duck's remonstrances were monosyllabic, partly expletives corresponding to those men use under similar circumstances, and in part adjectives applied to the medical advice of the old goose. Though I should otherwise doubt the truth of this story, men are not supposed to be much worse than beasts, and I so often see an instance of a similar kind among them that it greatly increases my credulity.

Hatim Tai, the Oriental exemplar of sympathy and self-sacrifice, one day happened upon a wolf pursuing a doe, and, unwilling to allow the wolf to go hungry, though wishing to save his prey from his jaws, Hatim cut a slice from his own thigh to satisfy the appetite of the beast.

Even if it were productive of the best health and the most devotional feeling to have to get up early and hear the prayers of another, or watch them from beyond hearing distance, those who compel us to do such things cannot imagine how great an incentive to resignation it would be if a few more of them would keep us company. Misery loves company, and it is a great aggravation to our discomfort that we are never permitted to see tutor or professor with hair unkempt and coat buttoned up around his throat. Men who would show such a lofty disregard for their own comfort might assuredly think themselves entitled to urge self-abnegation upon others; but O that those who have already reached this height might attain a still greater elevation of mind, and, like Tai, show a consideration for others that they do not feel for themselves !