ite amusement, or when he is
reading any very entertaining book, we may increase the busy hum
around him, we may make what bustle we please, he will probably
continue attentive; it is useful therefore to give him such amusements
and such books when there is a noise or bustle in the room, because
then he will learn to disregard all interruptions; and when this habit
is formed, he may even read less amusing books in the same company
without being interrupted by the usual noises.

The power of abstracting our attention is universally allowed to be
necessary to the successful labour of the understanding; but we may
further observe, that this abstraction is characteristic in some cases
of heroism as well as of genius. Charles the Twelfth and Archimedes
were very different men; yet both, in similar circumstances, gave
similar proofs of their uncommon power of abstracting their attention.
"What has the bomb to do with what you are writing to Sweden," said
the hero to his pale secretary when a bomb burst through the roof of
his apartment, and he continued to dictate his letter. Archimedes went
on with his demonstration in the midst of a siege, and when a brutal
soldier entered with a drawn sword, the philosopher only begged he
might solve his problem before he was put to death.

Presence of mind in danger, which is usually supposed to depend upon
our quick perception of all the present circumstances, frequently
demands a total abstraction of our thoughts. In danger, fear is the
motive which excites our exertions; but from all the ideas that fear
naturally suggests, we must abstract our attention, or we shall not
act with courage or prudence. In proportion to the violence of our
terror, our voluntary exertion must be great to withdraw our thoughts
from the present danger, and to recollect the means of escape. In some
cases, where the danger has been associated with the use of certain
methods of escape, we use these without deliberation, and consequently
without any effort of attention; as when we see any thing catch fire,
we instantly throw water upon the flames to extinguish them. But in
new situations, where we have no mechanical courage, we must exert
much voluntary, quick, abstract attention, to escape from danger.

When Lee, the poet, was confined in Bedlam, a friend went to visit
him; and finding that he could converse reasonably, or at least
reasonably for a poet, imagined that Lee was cured of his madness. The
poet of