When a person has fasted for a short time only, his mind is usually more active and susceptible of impressions, but at the same time it is more volatile. It soon, however, becomes steadier, and, if we except the attendant languor, it enjoys the same cheerful serenity that follows a moderate dinner. At a still longer interval, the fauces, which seem to be much more sensible of hunger than the stomach, become lined with mucus, and afterwards quite dry, as in a very short time every kind of secretion in the cavity of the mouth, and from the adjacent glands, ceases. Now the breath becomes fœtid, and there is nausea, and not unfrequently vomiting, particularly when there is an attempt made to swallow. The pulse becomes slower and weaker, although motion and labour easily excite it to greater quickness. The body is keenly sensible of cold. The muscular strength fails. Several of the secretions cease; and the bowels are no longer moved, although they may contain both bile and fæces. The emaciation is extreme; and it often comes on very rapidly, a person having been known to lose the weight of four pounds in twenty-four hours. Hectic fever soon supervenes.

Such is a brief outline of the general phenomena of fasting carried to too great an extent, which, however, vary according to the age, constitution, and state of mind of the sufferer. He who wishes to die of hunger, for a long time expects death patiently and in silence; and the religious fanatic, pretending to be under a miraculous influence, lies sleepless on his bed, but with a cheerful countenance, even after he is unable to move

a limb without assistance. Both of these obstinately refuse food.

When the abstinence is not voluntary, the mental energy decays as the body becomes emaciated; but the pangs of hunger soon rouse it to madness and convulsion. Some appear to suffer little pain, whilst others are in great torment; but, in general, the most distressing symptom is an inexpressible feeling of anxiety. It is thirst, however, for the most part, rather than hunger, which is troublesome. The length of time that a person is capable of existing under such circumstances is various. Children die in a few days; but adults have fasted for weeks, months, and even, it is said, for years.

SECTION XXXI.

A CODE OF RESOLUTIONS FOR DECLINING LIFE.

* EXCEPT the reasons for a change be inevitable, to live and die in the public profession of the religion in which one was born and bred.

To avoid all profane talk, and intricate debates on sacred topics.

To endeavour to get the better of the intrusions of indolence of mind and body, those certain harbingers of enfeebling age.

Rather to wear-out than to rust-out.

To rise early, and, as often as possible, to go to bed before midnight.

Not to nod in company, nor to indulge repose too frequently on the couch in the day.

To waste as little of life in sleep as may be; for we shall have enough in the grave.

Not to give up walking; nor to ride on horseback to fatigue. Experience and a staid medical authority, determines five miles a day. Nothing contributes more to the preservation of appetite and the prolongation of life.

Cheyne's Directions to the Vateludinary, to “make

exercise a great part of their religion" to be religiously observed.

To continue the practice of reading, pursued for more than fifty years, in books on all subjects; for variety is the salt of the mind, as well as of life.

Other people's thoughts, like the best conversation of one's companions, are generally better and more agreeable than one's own.

Frequently to think over the virtues of one's acquaintance new and old.

To admit every cheerful ray of sunshine on the imagination.

To avoid retrospection on a past friendship, which had much of love in it; for memory often comes when she is not invited.

To try to think more of the living, and less of the dead; for the dead belong to a world of their own. To live within one's income, be it large or small. Not to encourage romantic hopes or fears.

Not to drive away hope, the sovereign balm of life, though it be the greatest of all flatterers.

Not to be under the dominion of superstition or enthusiasm.

Not wilfully to undertake any thing for which the nerves of the mind or the body are not strong enough. Not to run the race of competition, or to be in another's way.

To avoid being jostled too much in the streets, being overcome by the noise of the carriages, and not to be carried, even by curiosity itself, into a large crowd.

To strive to embody that dignified sentiment "to write injuries in dust, but kindness in marble."

Not to give the reins to constitutional impatience for it is apt to hurry on the first expressions into the indecency of swearing.

To recollect that he who can keep his own temper may be master of another's.

If one cannot be a stoic, in bearing and forbearing on every trying occasion, yet it may not be impossible to pull the check-string against the moroseness of spleen or the impetuosity of peevishness. Anger is a short madness.

Not to fall in love, now on the precipice of three score, nor to expect to be fallen in love with. A connexion between summer and winter is an improper one. Love, like fire, is a good servant, but a bad master. Love is death, when the animal spirits are gone.

To contrive to have as few vacant hours upon one's hands as possible, that idleness, the mother of crimes and vices, may not pay its visit. To be always doing something, and have something to do. To fill up one's time, and have a good deal to fill it up with; for time is the material of which life is made.

If one is not able by situation, or through the necessity of raising the supplies within the year, or by habit (for virtue itself is but habit), to do much ostentatious good, yet do as little harm as possible.

To make the best and the most of every thing.

Not to indulge too much in the luxury of the table, nor yet to underlive the constitution.

The gout,