The Singular Noise — Sleeping in a Meadow — The Book — Cure for Wakefulness — Literary Tea-Party — Poor Byron

I did not awake till rather late the next morning; and when I did, I felt considerable drowsiness, with a slight headache, which I was uncharitable enough to attribute to the mead which I had drank on the preceding day. After feeding my horse, and breakfasting, I proceeded on my wanderings. Nothing occurred worthy of relating till mid-day was considerably past, when I came to a pleasant valley, between two gentle hills. I had dismounted, in order to ease my horse, and was leading him along by the bridle, when, on my right, behind a bank in which some umbrageous ashes were growing, I heard a singular noise. I stopped short and listened, and presently said to myself, ‘Surely this is snoring, perhaps that of a hedgehog.’ On further consideration, however, I was convinced that the noise which I heard, and which certainly seemed to be snoring, could not possibly proceed from the nostrils of so small an animal, but must rather come from those of a giant, so loud and sonorous was it. About two or three yards further was a gate, partly open, to which I went, and peeping into the field, saw a man lying on some rich grass, under the shade of one of the ashes; he was snoring away at a great rate. Impelled by curiosity, I fastened the bridle of my horse to the gate, and went up to the man. He was a genteely-dressed individual, rather corpulent, with dark features, and seemingly about forty-five. He lay on his back, his hat slightly over his brow, and at his right hand lay an open book. So strenuously did he snore that the wind from his nostrils agitated, perceptibly, a fine cambric frill which he wore at his bosom. I gazed upon him for some time, expecting that he might awake; but he did not, but kept on snoring, his breast heaving convulsively. At last, the noise he made became so terrible, that I felt alarmed for his safety, imagining that a fit might seize him, and he lose his life whilst asleep. I therefore exclaimed, ‘Sir, sir, awake! you sleep overmuch.’ But my voice failed to rouse him, and he continued snoring as before; whereupon I touched him slightly with my riding wand, but failing to wake him, I touched him again more vigorously; whereupon he opened his eyes, and, probably imagining himself in a dream, closed them again. But I was determined to arouse him, and cried as loud as I could, ‘Sir, sir, pray sleep no more!’ He heard what I said, opened his eyes again, stared at me with a look of some consciousness, and, half raising himself upon his elbows, asked me what was the matter. ‘I beg your pardon,’ said I, ‘but I took the liberty of awaking you because you appeared to be much disturbed in your sleep — I was fearful, too, that you might catch a fever from sleeping under a tree.’ ‘I run no risk,’ said the man, ‘I often come and sleep here; and as for being disturbed in my sleep, I felt very comfortable; I wish you had not awoken me.’ ‘Well,’ said I, ‘I beg your pardon once more. I assure you that what I did was with the best intention.’ ‘Oh! pray make no farther apology,’ said the individual, ‘I make no doubt that what you did was done kindly; but there’s an old proverb, to the effect, “that you should let sleeping dogs lie,”’ he added, with a smile. Then, getting up, and stretching himself with a yawn, he took up his book and said, ‘I have slept quite long enough, and it’s quite time for me to be going home.’ ‘Excuse my curiosity,’ said I, ‘if I inquire what may induce you to come and sleep in this meadow?’ ‘To tell you the truth,’ answered he, ‘I am a bad sleeper.’ ‘Pray pardon me,’ said I, ‘if I tell you that I never saw one sleep more heartily.’ ‘If I did so,’ said the individual, ‘I am beholden to this meadow and this book; but I am talking riddles, and will explain myself. I am the owner of a very pretty property, of which this valley forms part. Some years ago, however, up started a person who said the property was his; a lawsuit ensued, and I was on the brink of losing my all, when, most unexpectedly, the suit was determined in my favour. Owing, however, to the anxiety to which my mind had been subjected for years, my nerves had become terribly shaken; and no sooner was the trial terminated than sleep forsook my pillow. I sometimes passed nights without closing an eye; I took opiates, but they rather increased than alleviated my malady. About three weeks ago a friend of mine put this book into my hand, and advised me to take it every day to some pleasant part of my estate, and try and read a page or two, assuring me, if I did that I should infallibly fall asleep. I took his advice, and selecting this place, which I considered the pleasantest part of my property, I came, and lying down, commenced reading the book, and before finishing a page was in a dead slumber. Every day since then I have repeated the experiment, and every time with equal success. I am a single man, without any children; and yesterday I made my will, in which, in the event of my friend’s surviving me, I have left him all my fortune, in gratitude for his having procured for me the most invaluable of all blessings — sleep.’

‘Dear me,’ said I, ‘how very extraordinary! Do you think that your going to sleep is caused by the meadow or the book?’ ‘I suppose by both,’ said my new acquaintance, ‘acting in co-operation.’ ‘It may be so,’ said I; ‘the magic influence does certainly not proceed from the meadow alone; for since I have been here, I have not felt the slightest inclination to sleep. Does the book consist of prose ............