over, and he lies down upon his back, that his soul shall be so seated within him, that whichever way she turns her eyes, the heavens shall look calm and sweet above her—no desire—or fear—or doubt that troubles the air, nor any difficulty past, present, or to come, that the imagination may not pass over without offence, in that sweet secession.
“God’s blessing,” said Sancho Pança , “be upon the man who first invented this selfsame thing called sleep—it covers a man all over like a cloak.” Now there is more to me in this, and it speaks warmer to my heart and affections, than all the dissertations squeez’d out of the heads of the learned together upon the subject.
—Not that I altogether disapprove of what Montaigne advances upon it—’tis admirable in its way—(I quote by memory).
The world enjoys other pleasures, says he, as they do that of sleep, without tasting or feeling it as it slips and passes by.—We should study and ruminate upon it, in order to render proper thanks to him who grants it to us.—For this end I cause myself to be disturbed in my sleep, that I may the better and more sensibly relish it.⸺And yet I see few, says he again, who live with less sleep, when need requires; my body is capable of a firm, but not of a violent and sudden agitation—I evade of late all violent exercises⸺I am never weary with walking⸺but from my youth, I never liked to ride upon pavements. I love to lie hard and alone, and even without my wife⸺This last word may stagger the faith of the world⸺but remember, “ La Vraisemblance (as Bayle says in the affair of Liceti ) n’est pas toujours du Côté de la Verité .” And so much for sleep.