receipt, and expect thanks, at the very least, in return. And pray observe, that in these instances the external agencies and appendages are for the purpose of benumbing the attention-not of stimulating it-the thought is whispering from within; therefore, let it not be interrupted by any positive influence from without.

And therefore, so far as I am concerned, I found Olympus no more inspiring of thought than Old Palace Yard. Mind is a kind of wandering voice, talking eternally something new without sequence, and very often without sense--a long babbling soliloquy about every thing save the things immediately before the eye-which habit indicates a slow perception. But then I let him alone— this inner man, who is always so busy, and I fear to meddle with this potent being, who, in fact, knows his business far better than I can teach him. He is not me he is apart-a being by himself. Sometimes he will stare out of my eyes at an object which would stimulate other men to instant attention; but he, " dull and muddy mettled" that he is, takes no more notice of it than my dog Crab; and if I endeavour to force him-as is sometimes the case-he becomes stubborn, and will see nothing; and therefore I am compelled to let him have his own way. He is a

very curious animal-he ruminates, and never talks to me upon any subject immediately present. No, he must chew it by himself-he must wait till he has compared it with something else he must never be bored with it, but after having carelessly thrown it into his memory, he walks away. Then, at the appointed time, when the spirit is on him -when the god inspires him-then he speaks with a voice that might be felt-then he pierces through the depths of time and experience, and shrieks out like another Cassandra, and prophecies of the things that are to be. At times he is frightful—oftentimes he weeps-and ever and anon kicks up his heels and laughs.

The other day, I asked a man-learned and sober minded-about this, for I wanted to know how this perception within me knew more than I did myself-how it can work thus mechanically, comparing, reasoning, arriving at conclusions—a process of which my consciousness is wholly unaware; and then, afterwards, at some certain juncture, reveal the whole thing pat and orderly This is what men experience when they say a thing "occurs" to them, or "strikes" them; the fact is, the whole previous investigation was carried on without their sanction or will.

to me.

Now, this friend of mine said that many learned

men had turned their attention to this matter, and that they termed this perception nothing more nor less than theory, at the same time insinuating that some of these theories of mine were not always of the most lucid and intelligible kind. "For," said he, with a gravity that argued something exceedingly common-place, "you must consider that the Aristotelian logic, which in no way, if strictly and properly considered, militates with the Baconian, considers that the minor proportion must, necessarily, to produce a sound argument, be included in the major. Now, what you have just told me is simply theory, that is, it is a naked minor, referable to no major, and, in fact, I don't believe you have got a major at all.” Nevertheless, I yet hardened my heart the more in the old heathenish faith, such was the confidence I had in the internal conviction, and in opposition to this wise gentleman's opinion I argued thus:

"My Familiar hath done all this drudgery you talk of for me. What is the use of my having a mind unless he work for me-unless he form a conclusion without my troubling myself at all about the matter I tell you he has got a major, but he does not care to expose it. There is reason lurking even beneath the instinct of a dog. All the facts my Familiar receives he puts away in

his memory; there they assimilate and rumble about by themselves, according to certain fixed laws-like with like-contrary with contrary. Presently he grows communicative—tells me a good thing, which I tell to you, and you say you do not and will not believe me, because I am unable to substantiate my position with a whole host of induction. Now, in the first place, no induction can be so ample as to be tantamount to a certainty. It is but a guess after all—although a very good guess; the chances with you are a thousand to one-but that one is a chance against you; you have no positive proof of any thing, and you beg the major before you put the minor into it. In the second place, I have an induction, which, after a little pondering, I can produce. My Familiar has all the facts, otherwise he had never have arrived at the conclusion; but he has the manners of a gentleman, and gives me the conclusion only; if I want proof, I must grub for it where I can; but that he has fairly arrived at a proper conclusion-considering the facts he had -of that I am quite sure. If your examples be numerous, your induction is strong, and you risk the less; if but few, the chances against you are stronger, and you risk the more; but the process in either case is the same.

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Now all this simply proves how good an opinion

I have of my Familiar, or, in other words, of my own understanding, and how trust-worthy I deem him to be; and in very truth he is the only person I can rely upon; for I have found, by experience, that although many of his companions are more noisy and imperious, yet he alone of all the inmates of this house-so often divided against itself-preserves a tone any way approaching the resolute and consistent. Generosity, an exceedingly good fellow in his way, says "Give." My Familiar at once mildly responds "Give not, idiot, else to-morrow thou will want, and who then will give to thee? Hast thou not tried, proved, and convicted this same lying voice a thousand times?" Anger says "Strike," but reason says "Wait." Self-conceit, a very Proteus, says "Brag-show off-lie-strut about, thou peacock, assume the important, and display thyself to all advantage." But my Familiar groans thereat, and growls out, "Out upon thee, this day's action shall rise up against thee in some dark hour, and bring thee into judgment."

Bah! thou cold reasoner, thou art ever right in the long run, and yet I always doubt thee. In my youth I hated thee, and even now I know full well that these companions of thine, being more intuitive, preach up a more natural creed. But then he reasons, and is selfish, and this seems the