The day of the profound German philosopher, Immanuel Kant, was begun early. Precisely at five minutes before five o’clock, winter or summer, Lampe, Kant’s servant, who had formerly served in the army, marched into his master’s room with the air of a sentinel on duty, and cried aloud in a military tone, “Mr. Professor, the time is come.” This summons Kant invariably obeyed without one moment’s delay, as a soldier does the word of command—never, under any circumstances, allowing himself a respite, not even under the rare accident of having passed a sleepless night. As the clock struck five, Kant was seated at the breakfast-table, where he drank what he called _one_ cup of tea, and no doubt he thought it such; but the fact was, that, in part from his habit of reverie, and in part also for the purpose of refreshing its warmth, he filled up his cup so often, that in general he is supposed to have drunk two, three, or some unknown number. Immediately after, he smoked a pipe of tobacco; during which operation he thought over his arrangements for the day, as he had done the evening before during the twilight. Thomson, who has advocated early rising more eloquently than any other writer, was himself an indolent man; he usually lay in bed till noon, and his principal time for composition was midnight. One of his early pictures is: When from the opening chambers of the east, The morning springs, in thousand liveries drest, The early larks their morning tribute pay, And in shrill notes salute the blooming day. *         *          *          * The crowing cock and chattering hen awakes Dull sleepy clowns, who know the morning breaks. In his Golden Age of Innocence— The first fresh dawn then waked the gladdened race Of uncorrupted man, nor blushed to see The sluggard sleep beneath its sacred beam, Then, his charming Summer morn: Falsely luxurious, will not man awake, And, springing from the bed of sloth, enjoy The cool, the fragrant, and the silent hour, To meditation due, and sacred song? For is there aught in sleep can charm the wise? To lie in dead oblivion, losing half The fleeting moments of too short a life,— Total extinction of the enlightened soul! Or else to feverish vanity alive, Wildered, and tossing through distempered dreams! Who would in such a gloomy state remain Longer than Nature craves; when every muse And every blooming pleasure wait without, To bless the wildly devious morning walk?