in our waking hours more is expended than received; and this excess, as all experience teaches, cannot then be replaced. But what does this mean? What is a man when he is asleep? He is a mere plant; and thus must the masterpiece of creation for a while become a plant, in order that for a few hours during the day he may be able to represent the masterpiece of creation. Has anyone, I wonder, ever considered sleep as a condition connecting us with plants? History contains accounts exclusively of waking people ; but are those of the sleeping less important? True, man does not do much in that condition, but it is precisely there that the wakeful psychologist should have most to do.
At their extremities the nerves become pointed, and constitute that which we call organs of sense. They are the outposts that receive the impressions of the external world. These presumably are at work without our knowledge, and continually awake. In man, then, reckoning from the extremities of the nerve-fibres inwards, there is a stratum continuously at work; moreover, while occupied in transmitting impressions to the soul, this layer, as I conjecture, cannot concurrently be occupied in maintaining itself and replacing what has been expended. Hence these parts are left to repose during the time of restoration. We appear to feel only while operative, not while we are accumulating the means to be so. What we experience in the latter case is perhaps no more than an impression of well-being; it is not formulated as an idea, but is the mere feeling of strength, or at least of comfort. To recapitulate: in the finest
