much must depend
upon habit, constitution, and the nature and duration of our occupations.
A person in good health, whose mental and physical occupations are not
particularly laborious, will find seven or eight hours' sleep quite
sufficient to refresh his frame. Those whose constitutions are
debilitated, or whose occupations are studious or laborious, require
rather more; but the best rule in all eases is to sleep till you are
refreshed, and then get up. If you feel inclined for a snug nap after
dinner, indulge in it; but do not let it exceed _half an hour;_ if you do,
you will be dull and uncomfortable afterwards, instead of brisk and
lively.

In sleeping, as in eating and drinking, we must consult our habits and
feelings, which are excellent monitors. What says the poet?--

"Preach not to me your musty rules,
Ye drones, that mused in idle cell,
The heart is wiser than the schools,
The senses always reason well."

One particular recommendation I would propose in concluding this subject,
from the observance of which much benefit has been derived--it is to sleep
in a room as large and as airy as possible, and in a bed but little
encumbered with curtains. The lungs must respire during sleep, as well as
at any other time; and it is of great consequence that the air should be
as pure as possible. In summer curtains should not be used at all, and in
winter we should do well without them. In summer every wise man, who can
afford it, will sleep out of town--at any of the villages which are
removed sufficiently from the smoke and impurities of this overgrown
metropolis.

* * * * *

THE NOVELIST.

* * * * *

AN INCIDENT AT FONDI.

"Away--three cheers--on we go."

The morning was delightful; neither Corregio, nor Claude, with all their
magic of conception could have made it lovelier. The heaven expanded like
an azure sea--and the dimpling clouds of gold were its Elysian isles--not
unlike the splendid images we are apt to admire in the poems of _Petrarch_
and _Alamanni_. The music of the birds kept time to the sound of the
postilions' whips--the streams sung a fairy legend, and the merry woods,
touched with the brilliant glow of an Italian sun, breathed into the air
a delicious sonata. Such a morning as this was formed for something
memorable! The Grand Diavolo and his bravest ruffians awaited the
travellers' approach.

The carriage