can dive from either end, lift yourself up and straddle the tapering bow or stern, push your bark before you, and follow it down the stream. There is a fascination in this mode of bathing which is only too apt to keep one longer than is desirable in the water.

What a pity that comparatively so few people swim there is not only enjoyment, but splendid exercise in such a form of recreation, and really if health is a consideration, one can find a frequent plunge a curative for many a bodily complaint. Indeed, an early bath and a brisk walk ought to be systematically taken by everybody who has all the facilities at hand. If under the circumstances this is not the case, one may pretty safely judge of the moral character of the individual. Who has not noticed the buoyant spirits, the flashing eye, the quick intelligence that characterize the romping school-boy as he runs up the bank after his refreshing bath? And who has not himself experienced the renewed energy that comes over him after a "dip" and a "rub-down." Surely, even an enthusiast would find something wanting in rural life if he had not the variety of river scenery. Painters are prone to introduce it, and the imagination seems to associate it with the beautiful. As its silent-flowing stream bears us along, we approach one of those picturesque old mills, ere yet the labors of the water-wheel have ceased. The place is extremely interesting; the miller and his sons are interesting, and yet one asks himself why is it? You leave the spot, and the more you think of it the more vividly bright are its associations. Trees bend their drooping boughs over the fall, ducks ply gracefully to and fro, water-rats here and there creep out from their holes in the bank; the birds of the air and insects on the wing are lending their music to the rushing noise of the water. Near by, on a rising ground, where the grass is high and green, and wild flowers enamel the slope with their varied hues, there is a band of merry children, some singing, some playing hide-and-goseek in and around the trees and tall grass, others, to the great interest of the little ones, are decking the lambs with wreaths of leaves and wild flowers. There, no doubt, they find plenty of enjoyment from day to day, and never think of going home before the sheep turn toward their folds, and the little birds "sink sinless to rest."

enjoyment of their frolicksome sport, yet we find a pleasure in strolling about "Nature's green seclusions," in loitering about the farm-yard and listen. ing to the grunting and squealing of the pigs, the gobbling of the hungry turkeys, the cluck of setting hens, the quack, quack of the splashing duck. We love to see the young lanibs leaping hurriedly across our path, huddling in little clusters, and halting with a look of amazement as we pass by. The country fare, too, has all the charm for us now that it had when we were children. We say, "everything tastes better in the country." Of course it does, for "fresh" qualifies all that we eat; a pure, bracing air gives us an appetite; our spirits are high; a sense of freedom and ties of associations sweeten our natures. But a rainy day comes, and then what is to be done! Idle people, to be sure, will always find time hang heavy on their hands; but people of active mind and body will seldom look upon a change of weather as interfering very seriously with their occupation or amusement. The farmer has many little odds and ends to do that have been left for a rainy day. Something must be mended, the axe must have a new handle, the old cartwheel must undergo repairs, and the workshop becomes a scene of busy stir. To join in this work of carpentry is a very agreeable way of spending the time, so agreeable that the dinner horn sounds before you appear to have accomplished any. thing.

One inconvenience that a rainy day brings with it is that you cannot make those pleasant excursions on foot that one is so tempted to make every day in the country. To one fond of exercise, and who can appreciate the beauties of rura life and scenery, is there anything more enjoyable than a good long stroll through woods and mea dows, across fields of ripening grain or of brown fallow land, alongside the shaded river banks of lapping and babbling brooks. Try the experi ment, strap the pedestrian's knapsack across your shoulders, and set out, when your next vacation comes round, on a walking expedition from one village to another; collect flowers, make sketche or take notes by the wayside. The farmer will welcome you, the farmer's wife will give you good cheer, and when you return you will find yoursel renovated in mind and body, and the souvenirs of your trip will form some of the brightest asso

Though we cannot enter with children into the ciations in your whole experience.

FORCE OF IMAGINATION.

BY GEORGE BANCROFT GRIFFITH.

THE majority of readers have no objection occasionally to turn aside from the contemplation of deeply serious and eminently-practical matters to a casual survey of curious facts. Moreover, we are not without hope that the strange incidents here set forth may prove an incalculable boon to some of that unfortunate class called hypochondriacs, by curing them of one of the most painful and distressing maladies that ever afflicted the human brain.

wounded, and have fallen down as dead, without having received the slightest injury.

The following facts will illustrate the power of imagination in diversified forms. How fancy will put life into young limbs Thomas Fuller shows by an incident he gives: "A gentleman having led a company of children beyond their usual journey, they began to be weary, and jointly cried to be carried, which, because of their multitude, he could not do; but he told them he would provide them with horses to ride on. Then, cutting little wands out of the hedges as nags for them, and a large one for himself, they mounted, and those who could scarce stand before, now full of mirth, bounded cheerfully home."

Rev. E. T. Taylor-or, as he was more affectionately called and more extensively known, "Father Taylor"-is said to have related the following amusing incident in a lecture: "It happened years ago, in the days of old-fashioned meetinghouses, with their pews like pens, and their pulpits perched up at an elevation which placed them without the pale of human sympathy, and when a fire for warming a church was a thing unheard of, that some enterprising young men who had worshipped in such a church determined to have the

Dr. Holland, in a learned and able treatise given to the world some years ago, has pointed out the effects of mental attention on the bodily organs, showing that there are few persons who do not experience irritation, or some imaginary feeling, in parts to which their attention is much directed. If, at night, owing to some unusual position, we feel a beating at the heart or at the temples, we easily imagine there is something alarming; the respirations are altered if we think about it. If we suppose the mouth is dry we immediately swallow the saliva and render it so. If we fancy we have a cough, we cough immediately and clear the air passages. If we suppose any source of irritation exists in the skin, we involuntarily apply our hand to rub the part. Nothing is more common for medical students, when first studying in-house warmed by stoves. But the project encoundividual diseases, than for them to imagine themselves to be the victims of each in succession. Then, in certain conditions of the system, it is well known that actual pain may be produced in any part by fixing our attention upon it. Hypochondriacs are martyrs to these erroneous impressions. Inform a valetudinarian that he will certainly have a rheumatic or neuralgic pain on any given day and it is more than probable that the operations of his imagination will award to you the power of unveiling the future. Sir Benjamin Brodie has given some singular cases where 30-called nervous pains have actually led to tenderness and swelling of the integuments covering the parts. Were a complete history given to the world of the transactions of the "code of honor" we should meet with numerous instances where Individuals have supposed themselves mortally

tered the most violent opposition from all the old people. They declared that it should not be; that the stoves were not a gospel ordinance; that the congregation must suffocate. The young men, however, prevailed; and one Sabbath the congregation beheld in church two formidable black stoves, with the pipe traversing the entire length of the house. The old men and women looked on with horror, and held their breath for the result. The exercises of the morning proceeded Soon a lady fainted away, and another gasped for breath; they were carried out of the church. At last a stout, burly man swooned and fell. The frightened minister at once dismissed the congregation, and there was a general rush of the indignant people toward the stoves. The windows were thrown open, and they were about to precipitate the offenders from the house, when lo, aud

behold the stoves were cold! and not a particle of fire had been kindled in either of them. The masons had not had quite time to finish putting them up, and no fire had been made. The triumph of the young advocates of stoves was complete."

The author remembers an old lady who belonged to the class called "fussy folks," and who would often insist on having a fire kindled in her stove in warm weather, much to the displeasure of the housekeeper. The old lady regarded herself as a feeble invalid, and lay a-bed a large portion of the time. She had a very mischievous grandson, who learned to successfully play the following ruse: When she called for a fire he would place, unperceived by her, a lighted lantern inside the stove. In a few minutes the old lady would call in stentorian tone to the young scapegoat, "Frank, Frank, come and shut off the draft; my room is getting too warm!”

prolonged dream is very striking.

of insanity seem, in fact, little else but a series of such myths accounting for either sensations or sentiments as those ascribed to dreaming. The maniac sees and hears more than a man asleep, and his sensations consequently give rise to numberless delusions. He is also usually possessed by some morbid moral sentiment, such as suspicion, hatred, avarice, or extravagant self-esteem (held by Dr. Carpenter nearly always to precede any intellectual failure), and these sentiments similarly give rise to their appropriate delusions. In the first case, we have maniacs like the poor lady who wrote her confessions to Dr. Forbes Winslow ("Obscure Diseases of the Brain"), and who describes how, on being taken to an asylum, the pillars before the door, the plowed field in front, and other details, successively suggested to her the belief that she was in a Roman convent, where she would be "scourged and taken to purgatory," and in a medical college where the inmates were undergoing a process preparatory to dissection! In the second case, that of morbid sentiments, we have insane delusions, like those which prompted the suspicious Rousseau to accuse Hume of poisoning him, and all the mournfully grotesque train of

with kings, queens, and prophets. Merely suppose these poor maniacs are recounting dreams, and there would be little to remark about them except their persistent character.

Some years ago the following was extensively copied from one paper to another: "Elijah Barnes of Pennsylvania, killed a rattlesnake in his field, without any injury to himself, and immediately after put on his son's waistcoat, both being of one color. He returned to his house, and on attempt ing to button his waistcoat he found to his astonishment that it was too small. His imagination | the victims of pride who fill our pauper hospitals was now wrought to a high pitch, and he instantly conceived the idea that he had been bitten imperceptibly by the snake, and was thus swollen from its poison. He grew suddenly ill, and took to his bed. The family, in great alarm, summoned three physicians, and the usual remedies were prescribed and administered. The patient, however, grew worse and worse every minute, till at last his son came home with his father's waistcoat dangling about him. The mystery was instantly unfolded, and the patient, being relieved from his imaginary apprehensions, dismissed the physicians, and was restored to health.”

It is singular how dreams lend themselves easily to the myth-making process; but preeminently dreams originating in sensation or in sentiment do so. Nothing can better illustrate the sensation myth than the well known story recorded of himself by Reid. "The only distinct dream I had ever since I was about sixteen, as far as I remember, was two years ago. I had got my head blis tered for a fall. A plaster which was put on it after the blister pained me excessively for the whole night. In the morning I slept a little, and

Frances Power Cobbe once visited a friend troubled with a nervous ailment. She lay in a bed facing a large old mirror, whose gilt wood-dreamed very distinctly that I had fallen into the frame, of Chinese design, presented a series of hands of a party of Indians, and was scalped." innumerable spikes, pinnacles, and pagodas. On The longing of affection for the return of the dead being asked how she was feeling, the poor invalid has, perhaps more than any other sentiment, the complained of much internal distress, but added, power of creating myths of reunion, whose diswith touching simplicity, "And it is no great sipation on awakening are among the keenest wonder, I am sure (whisper)! I've swallowed agonies of bereavement. By a singular semi-surthat looking-glass!" vival of memory, through such dreams we seem The analogy between insanity and a state of always to be dimly aware that the person whose

"I guess,' said he, 'you don't know what you tiff. He tried to separate the animals, and reare eating.'

ceived a bite from his own dog, which instantly ran off through the fields. The wound was healed in a few days; but the dog was not to be found,

"Ah!' said the old gentleman, 'it is horse and the peasant, after some time, began to feel beef.'

"It is,' said he; 'I declare it is some of my within a day or two after this idea had struck old mare.'