It might--if granted--and legitimately. But the course is plain, and the tenor steadfast. As a child, you think that your finger is a part of yourself, and that you feel with it. Afterwards, you find that it can be cut off without _diminishing you_: and physiologists tell you, and you believe, that it does not feel, but sends up antecedents of feeling to the brain. Am I to stop anywhere? Not in the body. As my finger is no part of Me, no more is my liver, or my stomach, or my heart--_or my brain_. When I have overworked myself, I feel a lassitude, distinctly local, in my brain--_inside of my head_--and therewithal an indolence, inertness, inability of thinking. If reflection--as Butler more than insinuates--hesitatingly says--is independent of my brain and body, whence the lassitude? And how did James Watt get unconquerable headaches with meditating Steam-engines? TALBOYS. It is childish, sir, to stagger at degrees, when we have admitted the kind. The Bishop's whole argument is to show, that the thing in us which feels, wills, thinks, is distinct from our body; that I am one thing, and my body another. NORTH. Have we SOULS? If we have--they can live after the body--cannot perish with it; if we have not--wo betide us all! SEWARD. Will you, sir, be pleased to sum up the Argument of the First Chapter of the Analogy? NORTH. No. Do you. You have heard it--and you understand it. SEWARD. I cannot venture on it. NORTH. Do you, my excellent Talboys--for you know the Book as well as I do myself. TALBOYS.