Two different well-known personalities of the eighteenth century had some interesting views on
sleeping:
The statesman Benjamin Franklin once quipped "Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise." However the American did not practice what he preached and he habitually stayed up late reading scientific books. When bothered by insomnia he got out of bed and let the bed air out. Once the bed was cool, Franklin returned to it and fell asleep again.
Franklin frequently switched beds sleeping on up to four beds every night. He had a theory that a warm bed saps a man's vitality so when one bed became too warm the statesman jumped into another.
Meanwhile John Wesley habitually rose every morning at 4am. In a sermon The Duty And Advantage of Early Rising, he stated that lying in bed was physically unhealthy. The evangelist claimed that "by soaking so long between warm sheets, the flesh is as it were par-boiled, and becomes soft and flabby. The nerves, in the meantime, are quite unstrung."
sleeping:
The statesman Benjamin Franklin once quipped "Early to bed, early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise." However the American did not practice what he preached and he habitually stayed up late reading scientific books. When bothered by insomnia he got out of bed and let the bed air out. Once the bed was cool, Franklin returned to it and fell asleep again.
Benjamin Franklin by Benjamin Wilson, 1759 |
Franklin frequently switched beds sleeping on up to four beds every night. He had a theory that a warm bed saps a man's vitality so when one bed became too warm the statesman jumped into another.
Meanwhile John Wesley habitually rose every morning at 4am. In a sermon The Duty And Advantage of Early Rising, he stated that lying in bed was physically unhealthy. The evangelist claimed that "by soaking so long between warm sheets, the flesh is as it were par-boiled, and becomes soft and flabby. The nerves, in the meantime, are quite unstrung."
In 18th century Britain, attending church wasn’t just a matter of faith—it was a test of stamina. Parishioners who dared to nod off during lengthy sermons risked the wrath of a peculiar figure known as the “sluggard waker.” Armed with a long pole, often tipped with a brass knob or a feather, these watchful guardians were tasked with keeping the congregation awake and attentive. A gentle nudge with the feather for the ladies, perhaps, but for drowsy gentlemen, a sharp whack on the head was the prescribed remedy. It was a strange mix of piety and percussion, ensuring that no one slept through the word of God—at least not without a bump to show for it.
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