This protracted sleep, strange as it is, does not, however, appear so wonderful as the power of voluntarily suspending animation, and returning to life, after a considerable time has elapsed. A remarkable case of this kind is recorded by the celebrated Doctor Cheyne, in his “English Malady.” The patient was a Colonel Townshend, “a man of great honour and integrity,” who had long been suffering under an acute nephritic disorder, attended with constant vomitings, which made life a burden to him. Early one morning, he sent for his two physicians, Dr. Cheyne and Dr. Baynard; they went, accompanied by Mr. Skrine, his apothecary, and found his senses clear, and his mind perfectly collected. He had, he said, sent for them that they might give him “some account of an odd sensation which he had for some time observed and felt in himself, which was, that composing himself, he could die or expire when he pleased, and yet, by an effort, or somehow, he could come to life again, which (says Cheyne) it seems he had sometimes tried before he had sent for us.” The physicians were naturally surprised at this communication, and reluctant to believe a fact which was seemingly so improbable. Yet they hesitated to allow of his making the experiment before them, lest, in his debilitated state, he might carry it too far. He, however, insisted so strongly on their seeing the trial made, that they at last consented. “We all three,” says Cheyne, “felt his pulse first; it was distinct, though small and thready; and his heart had its usual beating. He composed himself on his back, and lay in a still position some time; while I held his right hand, Dr. Baynard laid his hand on his heart, and Mr. Skrine held a clean looking-glass to his mouth. I found his pulse sink gradually, till at last I could not feel any by the most exact and nice touch. Dr. Baynard could not find the least motion in his heart, nor Mr. Skrine the least soil of breath on the bright mirror which he held to his mouth; then each of us by turns examined his arm, heart, and breath, but could not, by the nicest scrutiny, discover the least symptom of life in him. We reasoned a long time about this odd appearance as well as we could, and all of us judging it inexplicable and unaccountable, we began to conclude that he had indeed carried the experiment too far, and at last were satisfied he was actually dead, and were just ready to leave him. This continued about half an hour, by nine o’clock in the morning, in autumn. As we were going away we observed some motion about the body, and, upon examination, found his pulse and the motion of his heart gradually returning: he began to breathe gently, and speak softly; we were all astonished to the last degree of astonishment at this unexpected change, and after some farther conversation with him, and among ourselves, went away fully satisfied as to all the particulars of this fact, but confounded and puzzled, and not able to form any