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PREFACE.

THIS miscellany was first formed, many years ago, when two of my friends were occupied in those anecdotical labours, which have proved so entertaining to themselves, and their readers. I conceived that a collection of a different complexion, though much less amusing, might prove somewhat more instructive; and that literary history afforded an almost unexplored source of interesting facts. The work itself has been well enough received by the public to justify its design.

Every class of readers requires a book adapted to itself and that book which interests, and perhaps brings much new information to a multitude of readers, is not to be contemned, even by the learned. More might be alleged in favour of works like the present than can be urged against them. They are of a class which was well known to the ancients. The Greeks were not without them; the Romans loved them under the title of Varia Eruditio; and the Orientalists, more than either, were passionately fond of these agreeable collections. The fanciful titles, with which they decorated their variegated miscellanies, sufficiently express their delight.

The design of this work is to stimulate the literary curiosity of those, who, with a taste for its tranquil pursuits, are impeded in their acquirements. The characters, the events, and the singularities of modern literature, are not always familiar even to those who excel in classical studies. But a more numerous part of mankind, by their occupations, or their indolence, both unfavourable causes to literary improvement, require to obtain the materials for thinking, by the easiest and readiest means. This work has proved useful: it has been reprinted abroad, and it has been translated; and the honour which many writers at home have conferred on it, by referring to it, has exhilarated the zealous labour which seven editions have necessarily exacted.

The late William Seward, Esq., and James Pettit Andrews, Esq.

الم

THE

PHILOSOPHY

OF

SLEEP.

BY

ROBERT MACNISH,

AUTHOR OF "THE ANATOMY OF DRUNKENNESS," AND MEMBER OF THE FACULTY OF PHYSICIANS

AND SURGEONS OF GLASGOW.

NEW-YORK:

WILLIAM PEARSON & CO., 106 NASSAU STREET;

SAMUEL COLMAN, BOSTON; AND CHAPPELL AND CO., PHILADELPHIA.

4

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.

The present edition of THE PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP | capable of affording a rational and easy explanation of is so different from its predecessor, that it may almost be regarded as a new treatise. The work has been, in a great measure, re-written, the arrangement altered, and a great accession made to the number of facts and cases: the latter, many of which are now published for the first time, will, I hope, add much to its value. Some of them have occurred in my own practice; and

for others, I am indebted to the kindness of several ingenious friends. Notwithstanding every care, the work is far from being what it ought to be, and what I could have wished; but, imperfect as it is, it may, perhaps, stimulate some other inquirer to investigate the subject more deeply, and thus give rise to an abler disquisition. So far as I know, this is the only treatise in which an attempt is made to give a complete account of Sleep. The subject is not an easy one; and, in the present state of our knowledge, moderate success is probably all that can be looked for.

all the phenomena of mind. It is impossible to account for dreaming, idiocy, spectral illusions, monomania, and partial genius in any other way. For these reasons, and for the much stronger one, that having studied the science for several years with a mind rather hostile than otherwise to its doctrines, and found that nature

invariably vindicated their truth, I could come to no other conclusion than that of adopting them as a mat. ter of belief, and employing them for the explanation of phenomena which they alone seem calculated to elucidate satisfactorily. The system of Gall is gaining ground rapidly among scientific men, both in Europe and America. Some of the ablest physiologists in both quarters of the globe have admitted its accordance with nature; and, at this moment, it boasts a greater num ber of proselytes than at any previous period of its career. The prejudices still existing against it, result from ignorance of its real character. As people get better acquainted with the science, and the formidable evidence by which it is supported, they will think differently.

In the first edition Dr Gall's theory, that the brain is composed of a plurality of organs, each organ being the seat of a particular mental faculty, was had recourse to for the purpose of explaining the different phenomena of Sleep; in the present edition, this doctrine is Many persons who deny the possibility of estimating more prominently brought forward. The great objec-individual character, with any thing like accuracy, by tion to the prevailing metaphysical systems is, that none of their positions can be proved; and that scarcely two writers, agree upon any particular point. The disciples of Gall, on the one hand, assume that his system, having ascertainable facts to illustrate it, is at all times susceptible of demonstration-that nothing is taken for granted; and that the inquirer has only to make an appeal to nature to ascertain its fallacy or its truth. The science is entirely one of observation: by that it must stand or fall, and by that alone ought it to be tested. The phrenological system appears to me the only one

the shape of the head, admit the great phrenological principle that the brain is composed of a plurality of organs. To them, as well as to those who go a step farther, the doctrine laid down in the present work will appear satisfactory. An admission that the brain is the material apparatus by which the mind manifests it self, and that each mental faculty is displayed through the medium of a particular part of the brain, is all that is demanded in considering the philosophy of the sciThese points are only to be ascertained by an appeal to nature. No man can wisely reject phrenology without making such an appeal.

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THE

PHILOSOPHY OF SLEEP.

CHAP. I.

INTRODUCTION.

Sleep is the intermediate state between wakefulness and death: wakefulness being regarded as the active state of all the animal and intellectual functions, and death as that of their total suspension.

Sleep exists in two states; in the complete and the incomplete. The former is characterized by a torpor of the various organs which compose the brain, and by that of the external senses and voluntary motion. Incomplete sleep, or dreaming, is the active state of one or more of the cerebral organs while the remainder are in repose the senses and the volition being either suspended or in action according to the circumstances of the case. Complete sleep is a temporary metaphysical death, though not an organic one-the heart and lungs performing their offices with their accustomed regularity under the control of the involuntary muscles.

:

Sleep is variously modified, as we shall fully explain hereafter, by health and disease. The sleep of health is full of tranquillity. In such a state we remain for hours at a time in unbroken repose, nature banqueting on its sweets, renewing its lost energies, and laying in a fresh store for the succeeding day. This accomplished, slumber vanishes like a vapour before the rising sun; languor has been succeeded by strength; and all the faculties, mental and corporeal, are recruited. In this delightful state, man assimilates most with that in which Adam sprang from his Creator's hands, fresh, buoyant, and vigourous; rejoicing as a racer to run his course, with all his appetencies of enjoyment on edge, and all his feelings and faculties prepared for exertion. Reverse the picture, and we have the sleep of disease. It is short, feverish, and unrefreshing, disturbed by frightful or melancholy dreams. The pulse is agitated, and, from nervous excitation, there are frequent startings and twitchings of the muscles. Nightmare presses like an incarnation of misery upon the frameimagination, distempered by its connexion with physical disorder, ranging along the gloomy confines of terror, holding communication with hell and the grave, and throwing a discolouring shade over human life.

Night is the time for sleep; and assuredly the hush of darkness as naturally courts to repose as meridian splendour flashes on us the necessity of our being up at our labour. In fact, there exists a strange, but certain sympathy between the periods of day and night, and the performance of particular functions during these periods. That this is not the mere effect of custom, might be readily demonstrated. All nature awakes with the rising sun. The birds begin to sing; the bees to fly about with murmurous delight. The flowers which shut under the embrace of darkness, unfold themselves to the light. The cattle arise to crop the dewy herbage; and 'man goeth forth to his labour until the evening. At close of day, the reverse of all this activity and motion is observed. The songs of the woodland choir, one after another, become hushed, till at length

twilight is left to silence, with her own star and her falling dews. Action is succeeded by listlessness, energy by languor, the desire of exertion by the inclination for repose. Sleep, which shuns the light, embraces darkness, and they lie down together under the sceptre of midnight.

From the position of man in society, toil or employment of some kind or other is an almost necessary concomitant of his nature-being essential to healthy sleep, and consequently to the renovation of our bodily organs and mental faculties. But as no general rule can be laid down as to the quality and quantity of labour best adapted to particular temperaments, so neither can it be positively said how many hours of sleep are necessary for the animal frame. When the body is in a state of increase, as in the advance from infancy to boyhood, so much sleep is required, that the greater portion of existence may be fairly stated to be absorbed in this way. It is not mere repose from action that is capable of recruiting the wasted powers, or restoring the nervous energy. Along with this is required that oblivion of feeling and imagination which is essential to, and which in a great measure constitutes, sleep. But if in mature years the body is adding to its bulk by the accumulation of adipose matter, a greater tendency to somnolency occurs than when the powers of the absorbents and exhalents are so balanced as to prevent such accession of bulk. It is during the complete equipoise of these animal functions that health is enjoyed in greatest perfection; for such a state presupposes exercise, temperance, and the tone of the stomach quite equal to the process of digestion.

Sleep and stupor have been frequently treated of by physiological writers as if the two states were synonymous. This is not the case. In both there is insensibility; but it is easy to awake the person from sleep, and difficult, if not impossible, to arouse him from stupor. The former is a necessary law of the animal economy; the latter is the result of diseased action.

Birth and death are the Alpha and Omega of existence; and life, to use the language of Shakspeare, is rounded by a sleep.'

When we contemplate the human frame in a state of vigour, an impression is made on the mind that it is calculated to last forever. One set of organs is laying down particles and another taking them up, with such exquisite nicety, that for the continual momentary waste there is continual momentary repair; and this is capable of going on with the strictest equality for a half a century.

What is life? Those bodies are called living in which an appropriation of foreign matter is going on; death is where this process is at an end. When we find blood in motion, the process of appropriation is going on. The circulation is the surest sign of life. Muscles retain irritability for an hour or two after circulation ceases, but irritability is not life. Death is owing to the absence of this process of appropriation. Bichat has divided life into two varieties, the organic mal. The first is common to both vegetables

and animals, the last is peculiar to animals alone. Organic life applies to the functions which nourish and sustain the object-animal life to those which make it a sentient being; which give it thought, feeling, and motion, and bring it into communication with the surrounding world. The processes of assimilation and excretion exist both in animals and vegetables: the other vital processes are restricted solely to animals. The digestive organs, the kidneys, the heart, and the lungs, are the apparatus which carry into effect the organic life of animals. Those which manifest animal life are the brain, the organs of the senses, and the voluntary powers. Sleep is the suspension of animal life; and during its continuance the creature is under the influence of organic life alone.

Notwithstanding the renovating influence of sleep, which apparently brings up the lost vigour of the frame to a particular standard, there is a power in animal life which leads it almost imperceptibly on from infancy to second childhood, or that of old age. This power, sleep, however, healthy, is incapable of counteracting. The skin wrinkles, and everywhere shows marks of the ploughshare of Saturn; the adipose structure dissolves; the bones become brittle; the teeth decay or drop out; the eye loses its exquisite sensibility to sight; the ear to sound; and the hair is bleached to whiteness. These are accompanied with a general decay of the intellectual faculties; there is a loss of memory, and less sensibility to emotion; the iris hues of fancy subside to twilight; and the sphere of thought and action is narrowed. The principle of decay is implanted in our nature, and cannot be counteracted. Few people, however, die of mere decay, for death is generally accelerated by disease. From sleep we awake to exertion-from death not at all, at least on this side of time. Methuselah in ancient, and Thomas Parr in modern times, ate well, digested well, and slept well; but at length they each died. Death is omnivorous. The worm which crawls on the highway and the monarch on his couch of state, are alike subjected to the same stern and inexorable law; they alike become the victims of the universal tyrant.

CHAPTER II.

SLEEP IN GENERAL.

Every animal passes some portion of its time in sleep. This is a rule to which there is no exception; although the kind of slumber and the degree of profoundness in which it exists in the different classes are extremely various. Some physiologists lay it down as a general rule, that the larger the brain of an animal the greater is the necessity for a considerable proportion of sleep. This, however, I suspect is not borne out by facts.

Man, for instance, and some birds, such as the sparrow, have the largest brains in proportion to their size, and yet it is probable that they do not sleep so much as some other animals with much smaller brains. The serpent tribe, unless when stimulated by hunger, (in which case they will remain awake for days at a time waiting for their prey,) sleep much more than men or birds, and yet their brain are proportionally greatly inferior in size: the boa, after dining on a stag or goat, will continue in profound sleep for several days. Fishcs,* indeed, whose brains are small, require little sleep; but the same remark applies to birds, which have As a proof that fishes sleep, Aristotle, who seems to have paid more attention to their habits than any modern author, states, that while in this condition they remain motionless, with the ex. ception of a gentle movement of the tail-that they may then be readily taken by the hand, and that, if suddenly touched, they instantly start. The tunny, he adds, are surprised and surrounded by nets while asleep, which is known by their showing the white of their eyes.

The sleep of some birds is amazingly light. Such is the

large brains, and whose slumber is neither profound nor of long continuance. The assertion, therefore, that the quantum of sleep has any reference to the size of the brain may be safely looked upon as unfounded That it has reference to the quality of the brain is more likely, for we find that carnivorous animals sleep more than such as are herbivorous; and it is probable that the texture, as well as form, of the brains of these two classes is materially different. This remark, with regard to the causes of the various proportions of sleep required by the carnivorous and herbivorous tribes, I throw out not as as a matter of certainty, but merely as surmise which seems to have considerable foundation in truth

In proportion as man exceeds all other animals in the excellency of his physical organization, and an intellectual capability, we shall find that in him the various phenomena of sleep are exhibited in greater regularity and perfection. Sleep seems more indispensably requisite to man than to any other creature, if there can be supposed to exist any difference where its indispensability is universal, and where every animal must, in some degree or other, partake of it; but, as regards, man, it is certain that he sustains any violation of the law ordaining regular periods of repose with less indifference than the lower grades of creation-that a certain proportion of sleep is more essential to his exist ence than theirs-that he has less power of enduring protracted wakefulness, or continuing in protracted sleep-and that he is more refreshed by repose and more exhausted by the want of it than they. The sleep of man, therefore, becomes a subject of deeper interest and curiosity than that of any other animal, both on account of the more diversified manner in which it displays itself, and the superior opportunity which exists of ascertaining the various phenomena which in the inferior animals can only be conjectured or darkly guessed at.

Sleep, being a natural process, takes place in general without any very apparent cause. It becomes, as it were, a habit, into which we insensibly fall at stated periods, as we fall into other natural or acquired habits But it differs from the latter in this, that it cannot in any case be entirely dispensed with, although by cus tom we may bring ourselves to do with a much smaller portion than we are usually in the practice of indulging

in.

In this respect it bears a strong analogy to the appetite for food or drink. It has a natural tendency to recur every twenty-four hours, and the periods of its accession coincide with the return of night.

But though sleep becomes a habit into which we would naturally drop without any obvious, or very easi ly discovered cause, still we can often trace the ongm of our slumbers; and we are all acquainted with many circumstances which either produce or heighten them. I shall mention a few of these causes.

Heat has a strong tendency to produce sleep. We often witness this in the summer season; sometimes in the open air, but more frequently at home, and above all in a crowded meeting. In the latter case the soporific tendency is greatly increased by the impurity of the air. A vitiated atmosphere is strongly narcotic, and when combined with heat and monotony, is apt to induce slumber, not less remarkable for the rapidity of its accession than its overpowering character. In such a situation, the mind in a few minutes ceases to act, and sinks into a state of overpowering oblivion. The slumber, however, not being a natural one, and seldom occurring at the usual period, is generally shart: it rarely exceeds an hour; and when the person awakes from it, so far from being refreshed, he is unusually dull, thirsty, and feverish, and finds more than comcase with the goose which is disturbed by the alightes neese, and more useful than any watch-dog for giving warning of dan ger. It was the cackling of the sacred geese that saved the cape. tol of Rome from the soldiers of Brennus, when the watch-noga failed to discover the approach of an enemy.

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