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The report infers from these facts, had forgot, and to erase the fuperflu

'and from many others relative t.> the different fenses, that their functions are not suspended as to what the Sleep-w.alker witties to see, that is, as to ill those perceptions which accord with the objects about which his imagination is occupied; that he may also be disposed to receive those impressions, when his imagination has no other object at the time; that in order to see, he is obliged to open his eyes as much as he can, but when the impression is once made it remains; that objects may strike his fight without striking his imagination, if it is not interested in them j and that he is sometimes informed of the presence of objects without either seeing or touching them.

Having engaged him to write a theme, say the committee, we saw him light a candle, take pen, ink, and paper from the drawer of his table, and begin to write, while his master dictated. As he was writing, we put a thick paper before his eyes, notwithstanding which he continued to write and to form his letters very distinctly; shewing sign?, however, that something was incommoding him, which apparently proceeded from the obstiuction which the paper, being held too rear his rose, gave to his respiration.

Upon another occasion, the ycung somnambulist arose at five o'clock in the morning, and took the necessary materials for writing, with his copybook. He meant to have begun at the top of a page; but, finding it already written on, he came to the blank part of the leaf, and wrote some time from the following words, Fiunt ignari pigrilia-ils dcviinrjr.t igneram far la fcrrjti; and, what is remarkable, after several lines he perceived he had forgot the / in the werd ignorant, and h2d put erroneously a double r in farejl'c l he then gave over writing, to add the J he

ous r.

Another time hejiad made, of his own accord a piece of writing, in ordtr, as he said, to pleale his master. It consisted of three kinds of writing, text, half texi, and small writ; each cs them performed with the proper pen. He drew, in the corner of the same p^per, the figure of a hat; he then allied for a penknife to take out a blot of ink, which he had made between two letters, and he erased it without injuring them. Lastly, he made some arithmetical calculations with great accuracy.

In order to explain some of the facts observed by the academicians which we have here mentioned, they establish two general observations, which result from what they have said with respect to the senses and the dreams of this sleep-walker.

1. 'J liar he is obliged to open his eyes in order to recognize objects which he wishes to see; but the impression once made, although rapid. ly, is vivid enough to supersede the necessity of his opening them again, to view the fame objects a-new; thae is, the fame objects *re afterwards presented to his imagination with as much force and precision as if he actually saw them.

z. That his imagination, thus warmed, represents to him objects, and such as he figures to himself, with as much vivacity as it he really saw them; and, lastly, that all his senses being subordinate to his imagination, leem concentrated in the object with which it is occupied, and have, at that time, no preception of any tiling but what relates to that object.

These two causes united seem to them iuilicicnt for explaining one of the most singular facts that occurred to their oblcrvation, to wit, how the young Dcvaud can write, although he has his eyes fljut, and an obstacle obstacle befcrc them. His paper is imprinted on his imagination, and every letter which he means to write is also painted there, at the place in which it ought to stand on the paper, and without being confounded with the other letters; now it is clear that his hand, which is obedient to the will of his imagination, will trace them on the real paper, in the fame order in which they are represented on that which is pictured in his head. It is thus that he is able to write several letters, several sentences, and entire pieces of writing; and what seems to confirm the idea, that the young Devaud writes according to the paper painted on his imagination, is, that a certain sleepwalker, who is described in the Encyclopædia, (article Somnambulism) having written something on a paper, another piece of piper of the same size was substituted in its stead, which he took for his own, and made upon this blank paper the corrections he meant to have made on the other which had been taken away, precisely in the places where they would have been.

It appears from the recital of another fact, that DevauJ, intending to write at the top of the first leaf of a white paper book, Fruey, le — stopt a moment as if to recollect the day of th: month, left a blank space and then proceeded to December, 1787; aster which he asked for an Almanack: a little book, such as is given tochildren for a new-year's-gift, was offered to him; he took if, opened it, brought it near his eyes, then threw it dawn on the table. An Almanack which he knew was then presented to him; this was in German, and of a form similar to the Almanack of Vevey : he took it, and then said, ' What is this they have given me; here, there is your German Almanack.' At last they gave him the Almanack of Berne; he took

this likewise, and went to examine it at the bottom of an alcove that was perfectly datk. He was heard turning over the leaves, and faying 24, then a moment afterwards 34. Returning to his place, with the Almanack open at the month of December, he laid it on the table and wrote in the space which he had lefc blank, the 24th. This scene happened on the 23d; but as he imagined it to be the 24th, he did not mistake. The following is the explication given of this fact by the authors of the report.

The dates 23d, 24th and 25th of the month of December, had long occupied the mind of the young Devaud. The 23d and 25th were holidays which he expected with the impatience natural to persons of his age, for the arrival of those moment; when their little daily labours are to be suspended. The 25th, especially, was the object of his hopes; there was to be an illumination in the church, which had been described to him in a manner that quite transported him. The 24th was a day of labour, which came very disagreeably ber.veen the two happy days. It may easily be conceived, how an imagination so irritable as that of the young DevauJ, would be struck with those pleasing epochs. Accordingly, from the beginning of the month, he had been perpetually turning over the Almanack of Vevey. He calculated the days and the hours that were to elapse before the arrival os his wiihcd-for holidays; he shewed to his friends and acquaintance the dates of those days which he expected with so much im; patience; every time he took up the Almanack, it was only to consult the month of December. We now fee why that date presented itself to his mind. He was performing a talk, because he imagined the day to be the Monday which had so long engrossed engrossed him. It is not surprising, that it should have occurred to his imagination, and that on opening the Almanack in the dark, he might hare thought he saw this date which he was seeking, and that his imagination might have represented it to him, in as lively a manner as if he had actually seen it. Neither is it surprising, that he should have opened the Almanack at the month of December; the custom of perusing this month must have made him find it in the dark by a mere mechanical operation. Man never seems to be a machine so much as in the state of somnambulism; it is then that habit cemes to supply those of the senses that cannot be serviceable, and that it makes the person act with as much precision as if all his fenses were in the utmost activity. These circumstances destroy the idea of there being any thing miraculous in the behaviour of young Devaud, with respect to the date and the month that he was in quest of; and the reader, who. has entered into our explanations, will not be surprised at his knowing the German Almanack; the touch alone was sufficient to point it out to him; and the proof of this is the shortness of the time that it remained in his hands.

An experiment was made by changing the place of the ink-standish during the time that Devaud was writing. He had a light beside him, and had certified himlelf of the place where his ink-holder was standing, by means of sight. From that time he continued to take ink with precision, without being obliged to open his eyes again: but the inkstandish being removed, he returned as usual to the place where he thought it was. It must be observed, that the motion of his hand was rapid till

it reached the height of the flandisli, and then he moved it slowly, till the pen gently touched tlie table as he was seeking for the ink: he then perceived that a trick had been puc on him, and complained of it; he went in search of his ink-standish and put it in its place. This expe. riment was several times repeated, and always attended with the fame circumstances. Does not what we have here stated prove, that the standish, the paper, the table, Sec. are painted on his imagination in as lively a manner as if he really saw them, as he sought the real ilandifh in the place where his imagination told him it ought to have been? Does it not prove, that the fame lively imagination is the cause nf the most singular actions of this sleep-walker? And lastly, Does it not prove, that a mere glance of his eye is sufficient to make his impressions as lively as durable?

The committee, upon the whole, recommend to such as wish to repeat the fame experiments, i. To make their observations on different sleepwalkers, z. To examine often whether they can read books that are unknown to them, in perfect darkness. 3. To observe whether they can tell the hours on a watch in the dark. 4. To remove, when they write, the inkstandilh from its place, to fee wh.;hcr they will return 10 the fame place in order to take ink. 5. And lastly, to take notice whether they walk with the fame confidence in a daik and unknown place, as in one with which they are acquainted.

They likewise recommend to such as would confirm or invalidate the above observations, to make all their experiments in the dark; because it has been hitherto supposed, that the eyes of sleep-walkers are of no use to them.

TAr HOWEVER inferior natures run down superior ones, they never fail paying them the molt sincere, as the most involuntary homage whenever they meet without disguise.

Tie SPORTSMAN.—From Grbville's Maximj.

What is curiosity? a Jtrong desire of knowing the object that excites it: how then do you reconcile that universal principle of curiosity with that universal reception of falshood in mankind?

I hardly know so melancholy a reflection, as that parents are necessarily the sole directors of the management of children, whether they have or have not, judgment, penetration, or taste, to perform the talk.

Haovk, haiyk, hawrk, hoalow I poor Furio was a little in his b:er, and contrary to his custom, he accosted us, his left fore singer in his left ear, with this sporting, this deafening vociferation: generally he is rather glum, and you fee plainly, for it is plainly to be seen, that the fire and spirit of his character lies a little low: Furio professes himself a lover of his own country, a very patriot; happy turn in a young gentleman possessed of 3000/. per annum! those are the men to do honour to it. D——-n their bags and solitaries, fays Turio, d——n theiroperas, their suppers and their speeches and stuff, there's no taste, no honesty in any ot them ; they have no soul, by g—J, they have no soul! what has a man of fortune and taste to do with any thing but a pack of fox-hounds, well rnan'dand well hors'd, and fume!ling in t. good qualification upon whicu he can sport two or three cool hundreds? D me this is living, and

like a gentleman, d—— n all their French nonsense say J, by g—d there is not one ol them knows a horse from a gelding, or whether he is fourteen, fifteen or sixteen ha-cis high; old England fay I. Thus Furio ran

on, and hid you heard the tone, the emphasis, with which he utterM it all, it must have impress'd it very deeply on your mind as it did on mine: his carriage and dress were quite correspondent to his discourse j and I lamented that a figure which nature had done so much for, should be thus disgraced by false education and ill-directed spirit; he was light, admirably shaped, and made to be genteel; his dress was adapted to his character, extravagant and minutely exact to every rule of taste and elegance, received by the best judges in the class of men to which he belong'd, from head to foot, from his scratch comb'd down to his eyes, to his walking shoe (not pump) with on«*leather for his heel, and no leather for his toe; he never admitted any, nor did any hints, from the repeated knocks he got from intruding stones, (for the toes were so round and flat, he got many) induce him to alter the fashion. In his carriage he had an agreeable slouch beyond description, a determined merit-conscious air, and stood with his long (hoes almost striight as well as flat on the ground, and his right hand thrust: into his bosom—the elbow a little rounded—within two buttons of the top of hii waistcoat, (I mean the upper, for he always wears sour,) which was only button'd down to the last two buttons, for that also is the id-air; his talk was generally laconick, yet sturdy; but the chief expression of eloquence lay in a pecuiiir ilile of spitting, occasion'd by the best pig-tiil'dquid in the three kingdoms. Alas! poor human nature! how has all the spirit of thy composition been perverted! what an exuberance of fire, life, perhaps taste an i merit, had it been rightly directed! I fell into many reflections on huoian nature, on the force of education. cation, on the negligence of parents and educators, and retir'd; nor thought I more of Furio, when I had once got him out of my head, tilt the next year a character I met with accidentally, recall'd him to my mind, by the opposition arid contrast of it. It was a young man of a pretty figure just landed from France, and to all appearance a

that they could not fail pinching and squeezing h'S toes all togctli; r; he rav'd about clear sauces, Entries, Extremes s, Drffirts, what not j every thiid word was French, Econbi'mdecd sometimes, but the aim was always perfect; if an a came in his way he took care it should be broader than the strongest affectation in a, Frenchman would have ni'de it, je'rt

French coxcomb, the very reverse of fuis bienFAawChe ; notruei French

Furio; he held forth on the intolerable rusticity of theEnglish, ' they

* don't know how to live, th"y can 'neither walk, sit, nor stand, ah!

* quslle disgrace ! how coijptdf how cbaujfitd.'' and indeed h'u shoes were in one respect the very rcvtrse of Furio's, for they were so very piqued

man as tar as hcarr and inclination could go; every common-place remark against his country was run, over, and none was so odious: ah, thinks I, were Furio here—hi* friend comes in and accosts him, with my dear Will Furio! I started, stared, wondered, it was he, it was Furio.

The Pyrenean Hermits: A

ON the mountains that sepaiaije Spain from France lived two hermits, the one a Frenchman the other a Spaniird, at a little distance from each other. Their age was neaily equal, and both were young; their figure was noble, even under the disguise of their coarse habit, and their conduct was perfectly opposite to that of ordinary hermits. They neither begged, nor received gifts or visits; they could read, and they had books. At first they were anxious to shun each other, but something congenial in their minds and their situations soon drew them together; in sliort, they were neighbours without being enemies, a circumstance rather strange in rivals of this, as well as of every other kind.

The French hermit had a companion whose care he could not sufficiently applaud. This disciple was a model of attachment, of zeal and of activity. Tho' hardly fifteen years of age, no hardship could discourage, no duty fatigue him. All the graces of beauty and youth were displayed in his countenance, and he seemed the god of love in disguise.

Vol. III. No. 7.

Tale. By M. Dixmerie.

One day when this youth was absent, the Spaniard came to visit his brother hermit. 'The vile habit, said he, that covers you, cannot conceal from me that you were not born to be thus clothed, thus lodged, thus fed: In a word, that something singular in your history has obliged you to renounce the world, for these inhospitable mountains: and undoubtedly they must have been very cruel, or very extraordinary accidents, that could drive you to such a resolution.' —* Oh ! as for that, replied the other, I am more than justified. But what strange and disastrous adventures have forced you to adopt a resolution so similar to mine?'

«It is true, said the Spaniard, who wished to be communicative, and who saw no danger in being so, that I was not born to be thus muffled in a gown, to feed on roots and sleep on the llravv. It is likewise true that I mitigate in secret this apparent austerity. But a load of disgrace and of faults have made this condition necessary.'— 'Your misfortunes, said the other, cannot be equal tomine.'—' You will judge, said the Spaniard. In the first G place.

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