obably attest the existence of such variations where none of
these causes can be assigned. There are moods which we cannot trace to
illness, or weariness, or external circumstances. Men are prone to
regard them as whims, which sometimes they struggle against and
sometimes they yield to, but at all times wonder at.

The connection of the mind and body, and the dependence of the mind upon
the health and vigor of the body, have been much dwelt upon; and we
cannot be too deeply sensible of the debt which the student owes to
those who have made this truth prominent to him. But, after all, it is
wonderful with how much independence of bodily suffering--and even of
suffering in the brain--the mind carries itself, and this fact seems
worthy of more distinct recognition than it has received. It
significantly confirms our belief in the existence of an immaterial
principle, or soul, superior to the mere functions of the brain. Great
and healthful mental activity often exists in a disordered body; and
biographical literature is full of illustrations of the power of a
strong will to accomplish brilliant results while the system is agitated
by physical distress.

Campbell, the poet, pursued his regular habit of writing every day, even
under the pressure of much bodily pain.

Cowper never, when it was possible to perform his task, excused his
frail and desponding body from attendance in his little summer-house,
morning and afternoon, until his forty lines of Homer were arrayed in
English dress. The ballad of "John Gilpin" originated during one of his
illnesses. With the hope of diverting his mind during an unusually
severe attack of gloom, Lady Austen related to him the history of the
renowned citizen, which she had heard in her childhood. The tale made a
vivid impression, and the next morning he told her that the ludicrous
incident had convulsed him with laughter during the night, and that he
had embodied the whole into a ballad.

Paley's last, and perhaps, for his day, his greatest work,--his "Natural
Theology,"--was principally composed during the period in which he was
subject to attacks of that terribly malady, nephralgia.

So great was the delicacy of John Locke's constitution, that he was not
capable of a laborious application to the medical art, which was his
profession; and it is not improbable that his principal motive in
studying it was that he might be qualified, when necessary, to act as
his own physician. His diffic