many
students, like Chief-Justice Parsons, have been accustomed, when
fatigued with the labor of deep research, or exhausted by continued
train of thought upon one subject, to relax the mind with arithmetical
or geometrical problems. Isaac Newton could, month after month, spend in
the profoundest problems of pure mathematics twice as many hours in the
day as Walter Scott could give to the composition of what we call light
reading; and it will be found that mathematicians, theologians, and
metaphysicians have been able to sustain more protracted labor, and with
less injury, than have poets and novelists. There are not wanting
reasons which aid us to understand this paradox, but we will not enter
upon them here.

Irregularities of habit will doubtless disturb the action of the mind.
The mental power that is thrown away and wasted by recklessness in this
respect is incalculable. But there are variations in mental power in the
midst of health, in the absence of fatigue, and under the most regular
habits. Perhaps few authors have more carefully adapted their habits to
their work, or ordered their method of life with a more quiet equality,
than did Milton. He went to bed uniformly at nine o'clock.[C] He rose in
the summer generally at four, and in winter at five. When, contrary to
his usual custom, he indulged himself with longer rest, he employed a
person to read to him from the time of his waking to that of his rising.
The opening of his day was uniformly consecrated to religion. A chapter
of the Hebrew Scriptures being read to him as soon as he was up, he
passed the subsequent interval till seven o'clock in private meditation.
From seven till twelve he either studied, listened while some author was
read to him, or dictated as some friendly hand supplied him with its
pen. At twelve commenced his hour of exercise, which before his
blindness was usually passed in his garden or in walking, and afterward
for the most part in the swing which he had contrived for the purpose of
exercise. His early and frugal dinner succeeded, and when it was
finished he resigned himself to the recreation of music, by which he
found his mind at once gratified and restored. He played on the organ,
and sang, or his wife sang for him. From his music he returned with
fresh vigor to his books or his composition. At six he admitted the
visits of his friends; he took his abstemious supper, of olives or some
light thing, at eight; and at nine, having smok