the abnormal state vanished altogether. Several cases are also on record in which persons have been subject to this double consciousness without any manifestation of somnambulism. In such instances, the individual has suddenly awaked to a recollection of his former life, with the exception of a portion immediately preceding, of which he has no recollection. A period of his existence seems perfectly parenthetical, and his present consciousness connects itself only with that portion of his life which preceded the change in his condition. This peculiar affection will be best illustrated by an example. A few years since, a theological student, represented to be a person of unexceptionable character, was suddenly missing from a city in the interior of New York. All search for him was fruitless, and he was supposed to have been murdered. A few months afterwards, his friends received a letter from him, dated Liverpool, England. He stated that a short time before, he had found himself on board of a vessel bound from Montreal to Liverpool, without the least knowledge of the manner in which he came there. He recollected nothing from the time of his being in the city where he had last been seen by his friends. He however learned from his fellow-passengers that he had embarked on board the vessel at Montreal,- and he must have walked about two hundred miles in order to arrive there, that he sometimes seemed peculiar on the passage, but that there had been nothing in his conduct to excite particular remark.

Consciousness suggests to us the notion of existence. When we are conscious of a sensation there immediately springs from it the idea of self-existence. The consciousness of a perception suggests the idea of the existence both of the object perceived, of the subject perceiving, and frequently of some particular condition of that subject. Thus, suppose I am looking upon a waterfall. I am conscious of

cognizing an external object; I am conscious of the statɩ of mind called perception, and I am conscious of the emotion of beauty or sublimity occasioned by the object which I perceive.

It is obviously in our power to contemplate at will either of these objects of thought. I may direct my attention to the external object, or to the internal mental act, or to the emotion which the object occasions. Thus, in the instance just mentioned, I may direct my whole power of thought to the observation of the waterfall. I may examine it so carefully and minutely, that its image is fixed in my remembrance forever. Or, on the other hand, I may turn my attention to my own intellectual state, and analyze the nature of the act of perception. Or, still more, after having become deeply impressed with the external object, I may contemplate my own emotions, and, following the train of thought which they awaken, may lose all consciousness of the perception of the object, wholly absorbed in the sensibilities which it has called into action. We may do either of these in any particular instance. We may from natural bias, or from the circumstances of education, form the habit of pursuing either the one or the other of these trains of thought.

Hence arises the distinction between objective and subjective writers. The objective writer describes with graphic power the appearances of external nature, the march of pageants, the shock of battles, and whatever addresses itself to the perceptive powers. This habit of mind is also of special importance in all the researches of physical science. The subjective writer turns his thoughts inward, and either, as a metaphysician, analyzes his own mental phenomena, or pours forth in the language of poetry the emotions of his soul. Thomson and Scott, especially the latter, are eminently objective. Young and Byron are equally sub

jective. No one can compare a canto of the Lady of the Lake with a canto of Childe Harold, or with one of Young's Night Thoughts, without observing the difference which I am here attempting to illustrate.

It is, however, obvious that no writer can be either wholly objective or wholly subjective. Were two writers wholly objective, their representations of external nature would be exactly alike. But how dissimilar are the most objective passages of Scott, Thomson and Moore! Each one tinges every description with the hues of his own subjectivity. Nor, on the other hand, can the most subjective writer be wholly subjective. He needs some objective starting-point, and he will choose it in conformity with the peculiar bias of his mind, and pursue that line of thought which best harmonizes with his general temperament. Thus Young commences a train of subjective reflection by reference to an external object.

"The bell strikes one! We take no note of time

Minds of the very highest endowment have the objective and the subjective equally at their command. Not only the descriptions of Shakspeare and Milton, but their delineations of human emotion, are the theme of universal eulogy. And we may also remark that for its power over the human heart genius depends less upon the circumstances by which it is surrounded, than upon its own inherent energies. Cowper has so described the bogs and fens of Olney, that we seem to have been contemplating a picturesque landscape; and "the turning up of a mouse's nest with the plough" is reflected back in images of affecting loveliness from the bosom of Burns.

SECTION II. ATTENTION AND REFLECTION.

I HAVE remarked in the previous section that consciousness, in the ordinary states of the mind, is involuntary. We are sensible of no effort of the will when we either observe the objects around us, or are conscious of the mental changes taking place within us. I have also above alluded to the fact that we may make either the object perceived, or the state of the perceiving subject, an object of thought.

But, besides this, our consciousness may be accompanied by an act of the will. We may, for instance, will to examine, with the greatest possible care, an object of perception, as a mineral, or a flower, or some particular work of art. Excluding every other object of thought, the effort of the mind is concentrated upon the act of perception. We thus may discover qualities which we never before perceived. But in what respect does this state of mind differ from ordinary consciousness? The effort of the will cannot change the image formed on the retina; for it can exert no influence whatever on the laws of light to which this image is subjected. It must consist in a more intense consciousness, by which every impression made on the organ of sense is brought more directly before the mind. Our consciousness is excited and directed by an act of the will. This condition of mind, when directed to an external object, is properly called Attention.

The difference between consciousness and attention may, I think, be easily illustrated. In passing through a street, we are conscious of perceiving every house within the range of our vision. But let us now come to a row of buildings, one of which we desire to find, and which has been previously described to us. We examine every one of these houses earnestly and minutely. We can, if it be necessary,

describe every one of them with accuracy, while of the others which we have passed in our walk we can give no account whatever. We say that we have observed every house in that row attentively, but that on the others we bestowed no attention. Or, to take a too common instance; we read a book carelessly, we see every letter and form a conception of every sentence; but all is done listlessly, and we close the book hardly aware of a single idea that we have gained while we have been thus occupied. Let, however, our whole mental effort be directed to the subject on which we are reading, and we fix it in our recollection, and we can, at will, recall it and make it a matter of thought. We say of ourselves, that in the former case we read without and in the latter case with attention.

We sometimes, I think, speak of attention as practically distinguished from every other act of the mind. Thus, suppose we are striving to catch an indistinct sound that is occurring at intervals, we then listen with attention. We say to another person, "Give all your attention that is possible, and you may hear it." hear it." He may possibly reply, "I am all attention." Here we seem to recognize the condition of attention directed to no present object of perception, but we merely place ourselves in a condition to perceive any object which presents itself.

Sometimes the object to which our thought is directed is internal; that is, it is some state of the mind itself. Ordinary consciousness testifies to the existence of these states without any act of the will; nay, it is not in the power of the will to arrest this continuous testimony. But we sometimes desire to consider some particular mental state, as the act of perception or memory; or some emotion, as that of the beautiful or sublime. It is in the power of the will to detain such mental state, and hold it up before us as an object of thought. When, by volition, we make our own