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with himself, by cvery kind of civil expression that niay be used with truth; such as, “ You undersiand the game better than I, but you are a little inattentive; or, you play too fast; or, you had the best of the game, but something liappened to divert your thoughts, and that turned it in my favour.”
Seventhly, If you are a spectator while others play, observe the most perfect silence. For if you giva advice, you offend both parties; him against whom you give it, because it may cause the loss of his game; and him, in whose favour you gave it, because, though it be good, and he follows it, he loses the pleasure he might have had, if you had permitted him to think until it had occurred to himself. Even after a move, or moves, you must noi, by replacing the pieces, show how it might have been placed bet. ter; for that displeases, and may occasion disputes and doubts about their true situation. All talking to the players lessens or diverts their attention, and is therefore unpleasing. Ner should you give the least hint to either party, by any kind of noise or rootion. If you do, you are unworthy to be a spec tator. If you have a mind to exercise or show your judgment, do it in playing your own game, when you have an opportunity, not in criticising, or meddling with, or counselling the piay of others.
Lastly, If the game is not to be played rigorously, according to the rules abovernentioned, then moderate your desire of victory over your adversary, and be pleased with one over yourself. Snatch not ea. gerly at every advantage offered by his unskilfulness or inattention ; but point out to him kindly, that by such a inove he places or leaves a piece in danger and unsupported ; that by another he will put hom king in a perilous situation, &c. By this generou civility (so opposite to the unfairness above fortid den) you may, indeed, happen to lose the game te your own opponent, but you will win what is bet ter, his esteem, his respect, and his affection; to gether with the silent approbation and good-will impartial spectators.
THE ART OF PROCURING PLEASANT
BEING WRITTEN AT HER REQUEST. As a great part of our life is spent in sleep, during which we have soinetimes pleasing and sometime painful dreams, it becomes of soire consequence to obtain the one kind, and avoid the other; for whe ther real or inaginary, pain is pain, and pleasure is pleasure. If we can sleep without dreaming, it is well that painful dreams are avoided. If, while wo sleep, we can have any pleasing dreains, it is, as the French say, lant gagie, so much added una ples sure of life.
To this end it is, in the first place, necessary to be careful in preserving health, by due exercise and great temperance; for, in sickness, the imagination is disturbed ; and disagreeable, soinetimes terrible ideas are apt to present themselves. Exercise should precede meals, not iinmediately follow them: the first promotes, the latter, unless moderate, obstructs digestion. If after exercise, we feed sparingly, tlie digestion will be easy and good, the body lightsome, the temper cheerful, and ail the animal functions perforined agreeable. Seep, when it follows, will be natural and undisturhed. While indulence, with full feeding, occasions night-mares and horrors inex pressible : we fall from precipices, are assa’uited by wild beasts, murderers, and deinons, and experience every pariety of distress. Observe, however, that he quantities of food and exercise are relative things: hose who move much may, and indeed onghi, to eat more; those who use little exercise, should eat little In general, mankind, since the improvement of cook ery, eat about twice as much as nature requires Suppers are not bad, if we have not dined; but rest less nights naturally follow hearty suppers, after full dinners. Indeed, as there is a difference in consti tutions, some rest well after these meals; it costs them only a frightful dream and an apoplexy, afte:
which they sleep till doomsday. Nothing is more common in the newspapers, than instances of ple, who, after eating a hearty supper, are found dead a-bed in the morning.
Another mearis of preserving health, to be attend. ed to, is the having a constant supply of fresh air in your bed-chainber. It has been a great mistake, the sleeping in rooms exactly closed, and in beds sur
ounded by curtains. No outward air, that may come into you, is so unwholesome as the unchanged air, often breathed, of a close chamber. As boiling water does not grow hotter by longer boiling, if the particles that receive greater heat can escape ; so liv ing bodies do not putrefy, if the particles, as fast as they become putrid, can be thrown off. Nature ex. pels them by the pores of the skin and lungs, and in a free open air, they are carried off; but, in a close room, we receive thein again and again, though they become more and more corrupt. A number of per. sons crowded into a small room, thus spoil the air in a few minutes, and even render it mortal, as in the Black Hole at Calcutta. A single person is said only to spoil a gallon of air per minute, and there. fore requires a longer time to spoil a chamberful, but it is done, however, in proportion, and many putrid disorders have hence their origin. It is recorded of Methusalein, who, being the longest liver, may be supposed to have best preserved his health, that he slept always in the open air; for when he had lived five hundred years, an angel said to him,
Arise, Methusalein, and build thee an house, for thou shalt live yet five hundred years longer.” Bug Methusalem answered and said; “If I am to live but fire hundred years longer, it is not worth whil to build me an house I will sleep in the air as have been used to do.” Physicians after having fo ages contended that the sick should not be indulged with fresh air, have at length discovered that it may do them good. It is therefore to be hoped, that they may in tine discover likewise, that it is not hurtful to those who are in health ; and that we may then be cured of the aerophobia that at present distresser weak ninds, and makes them choose to be stiled and poisoned, rather than leave open the window of a bed chamber, or put down the glass of a coach.
Confined air, when saturated with perspirable/ matter, * will not receive niore ; and that matter must remain in our bodies, and occasion diseases: but to give some previous notice of its being about to be Surtful, by producing certain uneasiness, slight in deed at first, such as, with regard to the lungs, is a trifling sensation, and to the pores of the skin a kind of restlessness which is difficuit to describe, and few that feel it know the cause of it. But we may recollect, that sometimes, on waking in the night, we have, if warmly covered, found it difficult to get to sleep again. We turn often, without finding reposa in any position. 'ı his figettiness, to use a vulgar expression for want of a better, is occasioned wholly by an uneasiness in the skin, owing to the retention of the perspirable matter--the bed-clothes having received their quantity, and, being saturated, refusing to take any more. To become sensible of this by an experiment, let a person keep his position in the bed, but throw off the bed-clothes and suffer fresh air to approach the part uncovered of his body; he will nen feel that part suddenly reíresneit; for the air will immediately relieve the skin, by receiring, lick. ing up, and carrying off, the load of perspirable inatser that incommoded it. For every portion of cool air that approaches the warm skin, in receiving its part of that vapoiir, receives therewith a legree of heat, that rarefies and renders it lighter, when it will be pushed away, with its burden, by cooler and there. fore heavier fresh air; which, for a inomenit, sup.
lies its place, and then, being likewise ;hanged, md warmed, gives way to a succeeding quantity. This is the order of nature, to prevent animals beng infected by their own perspiration. He will now be sensible of the difference between the part exposed
What physicians call the perspirable matter, is thus rape thiab passes off from our bodies, from the lungs, and through the
pore The quantity of this is said te be five-eights of whas mp
to the air, and that which, remaining sunk in the bed, denies the air access: for this part now mani. fests its imeasiness more distinctly by the compari son, and the seat of the uneasiness is more plainly perceived, than when the whole surface of the body was affected by it.
Here then is one great and general cause of in pleasing dreams.
For when the body is uneasy, the mind will be disturbed by it, and disagreeable ideas of various kinds will, in sleep, be the natural conse. quences. The remedies, preventive and curative, follow.
I. By eating moderately as before advised for health's sake) less perspirable matter is produced in a given time; hence the bed-clothes receive it longer before they are saturated ; and we inay, therefore, eep longer, before we are made uneasy by their refusing to receive any more.
2. By using thinner and more porous bed-clothes, which will suffer the perspirable matter more easily to pass through them, we are less incommoded, such being loriger tolerable.
3. When you are awakened by this uneasiness, and find you cannot easily sleep again, get out of bed, beat up and turn your pillow', shake the bed clothes well, with at least twenty shakes, then throw the bed open, and leave it lo cool; in the meanwhile, continuing undrest, walk about your chamber, till your skin has had time to discharge its load, which it will do sooner as the air may be drier and colder. When you begin to feel the cold air unpleasant, then return to your bed; and you will soon fall asleep, and your sleep will be sweet and pleasant. All the scenes presented to your fancy will be of the pleasing kind. I am often as agreeably entertained with them, as by the scenery of an opera. If you happen to be too indolent to get out of bed, you may, instead of it, lift your bed-clothes with one arm and leg, so as të draw in a good deal of fresh air, and by letting them fall, force it out again ; this, repeated twenty times, will 80 e.ear thein of the pe spirable matter they bave .mbi ved, as to perir.it vir sleeping, well for