JUNE.
251
walking on the stars? If I had found a cure for the deadliest curse of humanity, if I had been about to wipe out the most terrible plague of all races, of all nations, of all climes, of all ages, I could not have been one whit more proud and confident. Mesmerism! Hypnotism! Animal magnetism! Electrobiology! Call it what you will. To me it had one name only—sleep; sleep, the healer, sleep, the soother, the comforter—
Sleep, that knits up the ravel'd sleeve of care,
The death of each day's life, sore labor's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast.
And sleep was the good angel that was to snatch my dear one from the grasp of the deadliest fiend out of hell.
( To be continued.)
