with a human constitution. The grand vital current moves only in
one direction, and when it is moving toward muscle it is not
moving toward mind, and when it is moving toward mind it is not
moving toward muscle. This fact is illustrated sufficiently by the
phenomena of digestion. After a man has eaten a hearty dinner, he
becomes dull, even to drowsiness or perfect sleep. Why? Simply
because the tide of nervous energy sets towards digestion, and
there is not enough left to carry on mental or voluntary muscular
operations.

A resident of a city riding into the country, especially if he be
an intellectual man, and engaged in intellectual pursuits, will be
thrilled by what he sees around him. The life of the farmer, planted
in the midst of so much that is beautiful, having to do with nature's
marvellous miracles of germination and growth, moving under the
open heaven with its glory of sky and meteoric change, and
accompanied by the songs of birds and all characteristic rural sights
and sounds, will seem to him the sweetest and the most enviable
that falls to human lot. But the hard-working farmer sees nothing
of this. What cares he for birds, unless they pull up his corn?
What cares he for skies, unless he can make use of them for drying
his hay, or wetting down his potatoes? The beautiful changes of
nature do not touch him. His sensibilities are deadened by hard
work. His nervous system is all imbedded in muscle, and does not lie
near enough to the surface to be reached by the beauty and music
around him. All he knows about a daisy is that it does not make
good hay; and he draws no appreciable amount of the pleasure
of his life from those surroundings which charm the sensibilities of
others.