APPENDIX.

A.

Mr. Walker’s extravagant admiration of the Grecian mythology has led him to over-estimate its influence upon poetry and the arts. That these were influenced, in a very important degree, by the religion of Greece, no one acquainted with the history of that nation, can doubt; but, that the arts cannot exist where the Grecian mythology is not the popular religion, is an opinion unsupported by the history of the past, and altogether opposed to their present flourishing state in civilized countries. In no age or nation has the art of painting, for example, attained higher perfection, than in Italy during the 13th and 14th centuries; a period which has been called “the golden age of Italian art,” and its high excellence has been justly attributed to the introduction of Christianity. “The walls and cupolas,” says a late writer, “of new and splendid churches were immediately covered, as if by enchantment, with the miracles of paintings and sculpture—the eager multitude were not compelled to wait till genius had labored for years on what it had been years in conceiving. Those eager spirits seemed to breathe out their creations in full and mature beauty—performing at once, by the buoyant energies of well-disciplined genius, more than all the cold precision of mechanical knowledge can ever accomplish.” Allan Cunningham, in his life of Flaxman, the artist, speaking of these paintings, remarks: “Into these Flaxman looked with the eye of a sculptor and of a Christian. He saw, he said, that the mistress to whom the great artists of Italy had dedicated their genius was the Church; that they were unto her as chief priests, to interpret her tenets and her legends to the world in a more brilliant language than that of relics and images. To her illiterate people, the Church addressed herself through the eye, and led their senses captive by the external magnificence with which she overwhelmed them.”

But it is unnecessary to multiply quotations to prove this point. Flaxman never uttered a truer saying, than when he remarked, that “the Christian religion presents personages and subjects no less favorable to painting and sculpture than the ancient classics.” Accordingly, we find among his own immortal productions, that the monument erected in memory of Miss Lushington, in Kent, representing a mother mourning for her daughter, comforted by a ministering angel, was inspired by that text of holy writ, “Blessed are they that mourn;” and the monument in memory of the family of Sir Francis Baring imbodies these words, “Thy will be done—thy kingdom come—deliver us from evil.” To the first motto belongs a devotional figure as large as life—

a perfect image of piety and resignation. On one side, imbodying “Thy kingdom come,” a mother and daughter ascend to the skies welcomed rather than supported by angels; and on the other, expressing the sentiment “Deliver us from evil,” a male figure, in subdued agony, appears in the air, while spirits of good and evil contend for the mastery. This has been considered one of the finest pieces of motionless poetry in England. We hold, then, that Mr. Walker’s remark that “neither poetry nor the arts can have being, without the religion of Greece,” is far from being sustained, either by history or observation.

B.

The remarks of Mr. Walker, in relation to the duty of parents and teachers, seem to us well-founded and judicious. If moral, as well as intellectual and physical education, be part of the parental duty, then it would seem to follow, that it should embrace those subjects which are of the most importance, both to the physical and moral well-being of the child; and surely, the relation of the sexes, and the due subjection of the animal propensities, are not the least important of these. There is a delicacy generally felt and observed on this point, which springs from a principle that we honor and respect, while, at the same time, we doubt whether it leads to favorable and auspicious results. No one, who looks back upon the years of his own childhood, can for a moment doubt that judicious advice and seasonable information on certain subjects, which were probably considered of a too delicate nature to be even hinted at, would have been highly useful. The young will inevitably become initiated into certain vices and evil practices, unless put on their guard, by the warning voice of those they love and respect. There are a variety of passions, affections, and appetites, which belong to our nature, and were intended when properly directed and indulged, to promote our interest and happiness. Those under consideration, early begin to manifest themselves, and, when left without the restraints of enlightened intellect and the moral sense, invariably lead to disastrous consequences. The question then is, shall the young and inexperienced be left to the mere accidents of its condition, without an effort to give it sound principles to govern it, or without bringing some conservative influence to bear upon it? We think, with Mr. Walker, that it should not. Both philosophy and reason prove the danger of such a course. The circumstances which are connected with sexual vices cannot be wholly kept out of view. They meet the eye, or are suggested to the imagination, at almost every turn. A thousand scenes and incidents occur to excite the passions, if the mind is not fortified against their influence. Those who are fastidious, and believe that delicacy forbids all allusion to such subjects, will say, “Keep the youth in ignorance—conceal, if possible, everything from his view, that may excite the passions.” Still, there remain the constitutional susceptibilities; passion and appetite cannot be eradicated, and they will often be excited by incidents, which the most wakeful vigilance will not detect or suspect. The fact is, that long before parents are aware of it, the child has obtained knowledge on these subjects through many corrupt channels; and the associations first formed, are destined to exert, ever afterward, a powerful influence for evil. The early associations might, by judicious instruction on the part of parents, be of such character, as to throw around the youth a barrier almost impregnable. As to the time and manner of imparting this instruction, it must be left to the wisdom and prudence of teachers and parents and, perhaps, as a general rule, it should be left wholly to the latter.

C.

Much has been written on the nature of beauty, from the divine Plato, who dedicated one of his dialogues to this subject, to Lord Jeffries, the editor of the Edinburgh Review; who, in his celebrated article in the Supplement to the Encyclopedia Britannica, has excelled all previous efforts in its elucidation, and produced an essay, which will stand an imperishable monument of his taste, learning, and genius. It is not our design to enter upon a consideration of beauty in the abstract, or to attempt its analysis, as this has been done by our author in a very able, if not satisfactory manner. We take it, however, to denote that quality, or assemblage and union of qualities in the objects of our perception, whether material, intellectual, or moral, which we contemplate with emotions of pleasure; and we refer it to that internal sense, which is usually called taste. When it is asked, why a thing is beautiful, it is not always easy to find a satisfactory answer. We find beauty in color, in sound, in form, in motion, in everything. We have beauties of speech, beauties of thought, beauties in art, in nature, in the sciences, in actions, in affections, and in characters. Dr. Reid well asks, “In things so different, and so unlike, is there any quality, the same in all, which we may call by the name of beauty?” We shall not attempt to fathom this difficulty; indeed, it could not be done, without entering upon a metaphysical discussion, dry in detail, and uninteresting in result.

When we come to inquire in what female beauty consists, we shall find that there is something which enters into it, beside physical goodness. It is not a mere matter of flesh and blood; but color, form, expression, and grace, are all essential to its perfection. The two first have been called the body, the two latter, the soul of beauty—and without the soul, the body is but a mass of deformed and inanimate matter:—

Color and form are only beautiful, because they are expressive of health, delicacy, and softness, in the female sex. It has been remarked, that expression has greater power than either beauty or form, as it is only the expression of the tender and kind passions that gives beauty; that all the cruel and unkind ones add to deformity, and that, on their account, good-nature may very properly be said to be the best feature, even in the finest face. Modesty, sensibility, and sweetness, blended together, so as either to enliven or correct each other, give almost as much attraction as the passions are capable of adding to a very pretty face. It is owing to this force of pleasingness, which attends all the kinder passions, that lovers not only seem, but really are, more beautiful to each other than to the rest of the world; and in their mutual presence and intercourse, says a French writer, there is a soul upon their countenances, which does not appear when they are absent from each other or even in company that lays a restraint upon their features. Indeed, it will appear that all the ingredients of beauty terminate in expression, and this may be, either perfection of the body, or the qualities of the mind. Dr. Reid indeed goes so far as to say, that beauty originally dwells in the moral and intellectual perfections of mind, and in its active powers. Thus beauty may be ascribed to all those qualities which are the natural objects of love and kind affections, as the moral virtues, innocence, gentleness, condescension, humanity, natural affections, and the whole train of soft and gentle virtues—qualities amiable in their nature, and on account of their moral worth. So also do intellectual talents excite our love and esteem of those who possess them; these are knowledge, good sense, wit, humor, cheerfulness, good taste, excellence in any of the fine arts—as music, painting, sculpture, embroidery, &c. Thus, for example, the beauty of good breeding is not originally in the external behavior in which it consists, but is derived from the qualities of mind which it expresses; for it has been well observed, that though there may be good breeding without the amiable qualities of mind, its beauty is still derived from what it naturally expresses.

Flaxman has truly said, that neither mind nor any one of its qualities or powers, is an immediate object of perception to men. These are perceived through the medium of material objects, on which their signatures are impressed. The signs of these qualities are immediately perceived by the senses, and by them reflected to the understanding; and we are apt to attribute to the sign, the beauty which is properly and originally in the thing signified. Thus, the invisible Creator hath stamped on his works signatures of his divine wisdom, power, and benignity, which are visible to all men. The works of men in science, in the arts of taste, and in the mechanical arts, bear the signatures of those qualities of mind which were employed in their production. Their external behavior or conduct in life, expresses the good or bad qualities of their minds. In every species of animals we perceive, by visible signs, their instincts, appetites, affections, or sagacity; and even in the inanimate world, there are many things analogous to the qualities of mind; so that there is hardly anything belonging to mind which may not be represented by images taken from objects of sense; and, on the other hand, every object of sense is beautiful, by borrowing attire from attributes of the mind. Thus, the beauties of mind, though invisible in themselves, are perceived in the objects of sense, in which their beauty is impressed. Thus, also, in those qualities of sensible objects to which we ascribe beauty, we discover in them some relation to mind, and the greatest in those that are most beautiful. Every beauty in the vegetable creation, of which we can form any rational judgment, expresses some perfection in the object, or some wise contrivance in the author. In the animal kingdom we perceive superior beauties, resulting from life, sense, activity, various instincts and affections, and, in many cases, great sagacity; which are attributes of mind, and possess an original beauty. In their manner of life, we observe that they possess powers, outward form, and inward structure, exactly adapted to it; and the more perfectly any individual is fitted for its end and manner of life, the greater is its beauty. This, also, was manifestly Milton’s theory of beauty; for, in his unrivalled description of our first parents in Paradise, he derives their beauty from those expressions of moral and intellectual qualities which shone forth in their outward form and demeanor:—

From these remarks, it will appear that we do not regard novelty alone as being “the exciting cause of pleasurable emotions, and of the consequent perception of beauty in the relation of things.” The beautiful, both in statuary and painting, we believe to depend chiefly on the perfection with which the artist succeeds in expressing the qualities of the mind, whether good or evil; and it is worthy of notice, that Plato, in his Dialogues, declares that the good and the beautiful are one and the same. Hence, the Greeks called the beautiful ΚΑΛΟΣ.

The influence of novelty has been so well illustrated in an Essay by the author of a Treatise on Happiness, that we trust no apology will be required for transferring a portion of it to our pages:—

“The term novelty applies to everything new—either newly invented, or newly exhibited to us; in the former case the thing is novel to the world, in the latter it is novel to ourselves. Novelty powerfully influences the senses, the passions, and the manners of human beings; it furnishes amusement, employment, and maintenance for man; it accompanies him in his progress through this variable being, from the commencement of life to the period of dissolution.

“Novelty may be either pleasing or unpleasing. When it affects the senses by grateful influences, it occasions admiration and delight. How powerfully must the vision of Adam have been affected, when he was introduced to being! Everything which he beheld was new. There was drawn out before him, the plain, the fruitful valley, the verdant hill. Shrubs and trees were distributed around him. The earth was strewed with flowers: rivulets and rivers diversified the scene—

The ocean, perhaps, was stretched out as a plain of silver in the distant view; the heavens were robed in splendor; the sun shone brilliantly. His own person—himself, was an inextricable mystery. He could move; he could think; he could behold the display of creation; he could close his eyes, and exclude every impression. All was new; and everything, he might naturally have fancied, would remain the same; but, he was destined to behold a series of novelties. In a short time, he saw the sun sinking below the horizon. The heavens were adorned in their most splendid robes, like the gorgeous display of an Eastern monarch. A shade was cast over the valleys, and darkness began to gather among the trees, while their tops and branches were still illumined in the sunbeams. The shadows of evening are now gathered around him; the twinkling stars adorn the heavens; but the beauties of hill, vale, waters, trees, and flowers, are departed! How sensibly must he have been affected! He would now conclude that his future time must be spent in darkness; but he looks toward the East, and across the wide expanse of waters he beholds a gleam of light, which leads the eye to some great luminary, rising above the horizon, to cheer the nightly solitude; and, as it mounts to the zenith, new beauties delight the vision of this lonely and astonished inhabitant of the earth. After a short period the moon sinks, the sun rises in the heavens, and the same delightful scenery is exhibited which was beheld the previous day.

“We can imagine the effect of novelty in producing admiration; when travellers, who having been toiling for many days or weeks on the burning sands of interminable deserts, come suddenly upon some lovely valley, watered by cooling streams, shaded by groves of trees, and beautified with clusters of flowers. Or, we can fancy the pleasure which would be produced on wayworn voyagers, who had been long toiling on the great deep and they come to some blest isle,

To the infant everything is novel, and almost everything is a source of admiration. The people who move to and fro; the walls and furniture of the room; the fire and the candles; the bustle and movement of men and carriages; the heavens, sunshine, and rain. These occasion interest and surprise. Dr. Brown has inquired, ‘What metaphysician is there, however subtile and profound in his analytical inquiries, and however successful in the analyses which he has made, who would not give all his past discovery, and all his hopes of future discovery, for the certainty of knowing, with exactness, what every infant feels?” But he would, probably, meet with few who would sacrifice so much for the purpose; and yet the feelings of an infant must be exceedingly interesting.

“We can easily suppose the effect which would be produced on a company of savages, if, in the midst of their woods, one of our best military bands were to strike up a powerful strain of martial music. At first they would sit motionless, or stand as statues; then look toward the place whence the sounds proceeded, where they would behold a company of persons, in many-colored dresses, and splendid ornaments, with curious musical instruments, dropped, as they would fancy, from the clouds.

“But the effect of novelty may be painful; and this feeling will be powerful in the same proportion as the circumstances are important and new. Suppose, for instance, a person who had been trained in the ways of propriety and virtue were introduced, for the first time, to a village-wake, or some such brutal holyday, where he would behold bull-baiting and cock-fighting, boxing and drunkenness; where he would listen to quarrelling and profane swearing; how would his feelings be shocked! He would scarcely have fancied that a spot so small, on the surface of the globe, could have exhibited so great a variety of wickedness.

“Or, we may imagine some one endowed with a delicate ear for music, who had been accustomed to the practice of delightful harmony, obliged, for the first time, to listen to the harsh scraping of some barbarous laborer on the violin, or the useless attempts of some tasteless practitioners to perform a piece of music! How irksome and insufferable must such an ordeal be to a man of refinement; and how would its painfulness be increased by its novelty!

“By the same rule, a person who may have been accustomed to luxury and dainty food, but is obliged, for the first time, to feed on loathsome bread and nauseous water, feels doubly the misery of his condition. And thus the man who has been used to salubrious air and grateful scents, will be the more effected by disgusting smells.

“Novelty operates also in powerfully exciting the passions. Suppose a general to be usually unfortunate in his combats with the enemy, and his army to be consequently dispirited; but, upon some particular occasion, the favors of fortune and of Providence are bestowed upon them, their efforts are successful, and the main body of the enemy begin to waver, how would this inspirit them, and brighten their courage! They would rush forward, unconscious and careless of danger, and the foe must fly before such unconquerable ardor!

“If a man who had lived in poverty, in dependance on others for a subsistence, had constantly wished for independence and comparative influence, and had endeavored to swim against the stream of adversity but had never succeeded, and, all at once, a handsome fortune were left to him, how would his eyes sparkle with exultation! If a person had been separated from his friends and doomed to spend his days in the solitude of a foreign land and he met, unexpectedly, with some of his nearest and kindest friends, how would his countenance beam with delight! The novelty of the circumstance would increase the amount of his joy!

“A traveller in a foreign country would be exceedingly pleased to discover some trinket which had been made in his native city; and especially if he saw on it the name of an intimate friend as the manufacturer. A toy, a dog, or a cat, under some circumstances, has occasioned tears. A beautiful female has appeared more lovely, when interesting events have introduced her to our notice; and one who is not usually attractive, has appeared so, when novelty has thrown its fascinations around her.

“The feeling of hope may be excited most powerfully by novel and unexpected circumstances. When the mariner has been long toiling in storms and dangers; when the heavens have been covered with darkness, and no information or guidance could be gained from the stars or the sun, the tempest suddenly ceases, the cheering sunbeams break upon him, and he finds himself, unexpectedly, near the haven where he would be—how does his heart exult with hope, and the consciousness of security!

“The passions may be excited, also, in an unpleasing manner; the feeling of fear may be powerfully produced by novelty. Suppose, for instance, a youth, who was trained in the ways of tranquillity and enjoyment, with a feeling heart for the sufferings of others, to be brought, all at once, on the field of war and bloodshed. Suppose him passing along some narrow defile, where the distant scenes could scarcely affect him, and where he would perceive only a din of discordant sounds. But, on a sudden, he reaches the termination of the passage, and all the pomp, and circumstance, and horror of war, are exhibited before him. Here he beholds rank opposed to rank, in deadly conflict; troops of horsemen butchering each other; forests of deadly weapons gleaming in the sunbeams. Now he listens to the shouts of victors, the cries of the vanquished, the groans of the wounded and dying; to the swelling notes of some musical band; the discordant sounds of the drum; the clashing of arms, and the shrill clamor of trumpets; to the rattling of musketry and the roaring of artillery! How would his heart sink within him at these novel scenes!

“Novelty will also occasion sorrow; as, when a man has been accustomed to independence, and the comforts which wealth, judiciously managed, may produce, and his riches are suddenly swept away, he is reduced from affluence to dependance, from comforts to privations. And when a person has been used to the society of pleasant friends, and these are removed by the hand of death, and the clay-cold body alone remains as the representative of a cheerful and amiable companion, the novelty of this event will occasion heartfelt sorrow.

“When those who have been accustomed to associate as faithful friends; or, when a monarch has been surrounded by persons who have pretended feelings of attachment, and evinced much hypocritical fidelity, and, all at once, the veil of deception has been drawn aside, and an aspect has presented itself of a new and treacherous kind, how powerful have been the feelings of abhorrence and anger!

“And when a person, who has been nurtured in the lap of ease and comfort, and blessed with that best of all blessings (if it be rightly managed), the gift of liberty, is torn from his home, and his family, and his engagements, and carried into a land of slavery, where he is laden with oppressive chains, and insulted by a cruel task-master, with no chance of freedom, nor any ray of happiness, how will his spirits sink, and how will the haggard lineaments of despair be drawn on that countenance which was formed for cheerfulness! Or, suppose a person who was accustomed to a dwelling in some verdant valley, undisturbed by storms or the hazards of the sea; and he was introduced, for the first time, to some of the most aggravated dangers of that boisterous element. Suppose the winds were driving furiously over the ocean, and the huge billows were breaking on the helpless bark, while the darkness of the night was varied only by the gleam of the lightning, which exhibited breakers, and rocks, and over-hanging precipices, how would this new and dangerous condition agitate his mind, and drive him to despair!

“Novelty influences the customs or habits of mankind. On some occasions novel engagements are pleasing; and thus we practise them again, and acquire a habit of performing them. For instance, the citizen who has walked into the country as a novelty, has been pleased with his ramble, and induced to practise it daily. It sometimes occasions a progress in the arts; and thus the first attempts at music, at painting, and at sculpture, have produced a pleasure which has stimulated the person to future and continued labors.

“Sometimes, when the first impression has been rather unpleasing, a custom has been acquired, because, afterward, it had been found pleasing or advantageous. Thus there are many kinds of food, which were originally ungrateful, but are now esteemed delicious. Port wine is nauseous for a child, but it is pleasing to the taste of a person who has been accustomed to it. Smoking, the taking of snuff, and masticating of tobacco, with many other useless and dirty customs, are not produced by the pleasing influence of novelty; but they are rather opposed to it. They arise principally from the inclination of following injurious examples. In some cases ladies have set their faces against such customs, and have prohibited the practice among those who would gain their esteem: in other cases they have been more lenient, because they have found that a flame of love may burn amid volumes of smoke from cigars or tobacco-pipes. Novelty has occasioned a sensation of unpleasantness, with regard to particular modes of dress; but afterward these fashions have become necessary to our comfort.

“In some instances, the very things which we commonly hate most, become essential to our happiness. When Louis XVI. ascended the throne of France, the doors of some of the dark cells in the Bastile were opened, and the hapless residents were allowed once more to breathe the pure air of heaven. Among the rest, there was one man who had been immured for nearly fifty years in a wretched cell, the area of which was so small as scarcely to allow him room to move about; but, having a vigorous body and a firm mind, he supported himself, until he had almost forgotten the world in which he lived, having had no intercourse with any one but the jailer, who brought him his daily food. When he received the summons to depart, which seemed like a message in a dream, he was astonished; but when he walked through the spacious passages and the open courts, and saw the heavens extended above him, and the sun shining in his splendor, he was overcome by his feelings. He could badly walk, and badly speak, and he seemed as if he had entered a new world. He went into the city, and found the street in which he had formerly lived, but his friends were dead; there was no living being in the world that knew him, and the poor man wept with sorrow. He was a stranger in a strange country. He went to the minister who had given him his freedom, and said: ‘Sir, I can bear to die, but to live in a world unknown and forlorn, the last human being of my race, is insupportable; do, therefore, send me to my cell, that I may finish my days there!’ No blessing of Providence will be felt as a benefit, unless it be possessed by a person for whom it is adapted.

“Impressions of a novel and pleasing kind soon lose their attraction; and thus the honors which are acquired by civil and literary eminence, quickly fade away. They are like a beautiful cloud in the heavens, or a dew-drop on a leaf, which glitters and exhibits its beauties for a while, but the fervent sun absorbs both; or, they are like a gaudy flower, which a man fixes in his bosom—very lovely at first, but its attractions soon vanish. On the other hand, painful occurrences leave but a faint impression. Although, at first, a man may be bowed down with trouble, yet he will soon regain an erect position and a smiling countenance. A few weeks or months hide most of our sorrows from us; and this is an eminent proof of the wisdom and beneficence of the Deity: for the general amount of human happiness is by this means more equally divided. A state of elation is temporary, and so is a state of depression; and thus, whether a man rises or sinks in worldly possessions and honors, although there will be some difference in the amount of enjoyment, yet there will be much less than we are generally disposed to imagine.

“A taste for novelty affects the engagements of society: it is the source of fashion; it gives labor to the mechanic, to the artist, and to almost every man who obtains his maintenance by industry. And thus there are new buildings, new vehicles, new machines, and new methods of doing most things. There are dresses of various kinds the result of ingenuity and taste. One thing is new and attractive, but it soon becomes stale, and then we look for something novel. Some kinds of food are scarce and costly: these are approved by the great, but they become plentiful and cheap, and then the rich man looks for something rare, some new discovery in the art of cookery. The round of pleasures and amusements is continually varying. Formerly the men, and even the ladies, were delighted by exhibitions of combats among savage beasts—lions, elephants, and tigers; they feasted their eyes on the bloody combats of human beings with each other, or with bulls and other furious animals. They attended dog-fights, cock-fights, and other barbarous diversions. But the taste has become improved; novelty has taken a praiseworthy direction: boxing, wrestling, and other disgraceful exhibitions, are now transferred to the vulgar and disreputable; many innocent amusements have been introduced, and these also have been regulated by the universal love of novelty. The same variety has existed in language. A certain style of speech, and certain phrases, are fashionable in the best society; these are gradually introduced among the lower ranks, and then the better classes look for something novel. Many words and phrases originally introduced for the purpose of expressing things delicately, become vulgar: terms which were primarily intended as a reproach become a designation of honor, and those once deemed honorable become reproachful.

“The love of novelty occasions the great variety of tunes which we possess, and the diversity of musical skill. A newly-constructed instrument, a new or superior mode of performing on it and the last new tune, are objects of universal attraction. The same disposition arises with respect to books. Novelty has occasioned all the variety which the history of literature exhibits, from the bulky folio to the penny pamphlet, and the annual publication to the daily newspaper: it has occasioned, also, in a great degree, the multitude of opinions which have deluged the world. Something new, as the loungers of Athens demanded, has been the requirement of the public in all ages. If it be new, it will be attractive, and if pleasing or convenient, it will be embraced, and then its strength and consistency will soon be deemed demonstrated: but when the writers on the subject, and the readers of those writings, become cool; when reason takes the place of imagination, then the system will be often discovered to be defective, the vapory fabric will fade away, and some other will obtain its place. We are too frequently going round in our progress, rather than forward. In many respects we are not much farther advanced than the ancients, and yet we ought to be, and should be if we had pursued a direct course.

“But one of the most pleasing sources of novelty is that which the Almighty has given us in the seasons of the year; and this distinctly shows us that the love of novelty is not only natural, but it is allowable and praiseworthy, if it be regulated by reason; for the Great Creator himself indulges us in this respect. And thus we have all the variety of summer and winter, of sultry and frosty days, of clear and cloudy skies; of the budding and blooming of spring, and the richness and luxuriance of autumn; the breaking forth of the sun in the morning, and the setting of that glorious luminary; the light of the stars; the silvery splendor of the moon; the glare of lightnings and meteors, the rolling of thunder, with vapors, rain, hail, and snow.

“The love of novelty is injurious only when it is carried beyond what the Almighty intended; when it does not animate a person to perform his necessary engagements, but carries him away from them; when it makes him restless and wavering. Novelty accompanies man in infancy and in youth; it cheers and exalts him in the changing scenes of manhood; and when we leave this earthly sphere, and the soul bursts forth from its corporeal dwelling, it will fly upward to regions of still greater novelty, and never-failing interest!”

D.

Mr. Walker, in various places of his work, calls the cerebel or cerebellum, “the organ of volition,” and, at page 145, he attributes ideas, emotions, and passions, to the cerebrum, though he states that acts of the will result from these. Now, if there is any truth established, it is that the will is the result of the simultaneous action of the higher intellectual powers, and supposes attention, reflection, comparison, and judgment, mental operations, which Mr. Walker himself attributes to the cerebrum. Gall has made it very evident, that the will is not the impulse that results from the activity of a single organ, but the concurrent action of many of the higher intellectual faculties—motives must be weighed, compared, and judged, before there can be any will, or determination of mind. The decision resulting from this determination, is called will. We consider it then proved, that there is no particular organ of the will. “Every fundamental faculty,” says Dr. Gall, “accompanied by a clear notion of its existence, and by reflection, is intellect or intelligence. Each individual intelligence, therefore, has its proper organ; but reason supposes the concerted action of the higher faculties. It is the judgment pronounced by the higher intellectual faculties. A single one of these, however, could not constitute reason, which is the compliment, the result of the simultaneous action of all the intellectual faculties. It is reason that distinguishes man from the brute; intellect they have in common to a certain degree. There are many intelligent men, but few reasoning ones. Nature produces an intelligent man; a happy organization, cultivated by experience and reflection, forms the reasoning man.” Nearly all physiologists deserving of the name, are now united in the opinion that the cerebellum is the organ of amativeness, as well as concerned in the regulation of voluntary motion. “It is impossible,” says Dr. Spurzheim, “to unite a greater number of proofs in demonstration of any natural truth than may be presented to determine the function of the cerebellum.”—“Mr. Scott,” says George Combe, “in an excellent essay on the influence of amativeness on the higher sentiments and intellect, observes that it has been regarded by some individuals, as almost synonymous with pollution; and the notion has been entertained, that it cannot be even approached without defilement. This mistake has originated from attention being directed too exclusively to the abuses of the propensity. Like everything that forms part of the system of nature, it bears the stamp of wisdom and excellence in itself, although liable to abuse. It exerts a quiet but effectual influence in the general intercourse between the sexes, giving rise in each to a sort of kindly interest in all concerns the other. This disposition to mutual kindness between the sexes, does not arise from benevolence or adhesiveness, or any other sentiment or propensity alone; because, if such were its sources, it would have an equal effect in the intercourse of the individuals of each sex among themselves, which it has not. ‘In this quiet and unobtrusive state of the feeling,’ says Mr. Scott, ‘there is nothing in the least gross or offensive to the most sensitive delicacy. So far the contrary, that the want of some feeling of this sort is required, wherever it appears, as a very palpable defect, and a most unamiable trait in the character. It softens all the proud, irascible, and antisocial principles of our nature, in everything which regards that sex which is the object of it; and it increases the activity and force of all the kindly and benevolent affections. This explains many facts which appear in the mutual regards of the sexes toward each other. Men are, generally speaking, more generous and kind, more benevolent and charitable, toward women, than they are to men, or than women are to one another.’ The abuses of this propensity are the sources of innumerable evils in life; and as the organ and feeling exist, and produce an influence on the mind, independently of external communication, Dr. Spurzheim suggests the propriety of instructing young persons in the consequences of its improper indulgence as preferable to keeping them in a state of ignorance that may provoke a fatal curiosity, compromising in the end their own and their descendants’ bodily and mental constitution.”

It may be proper in this place, to point out some of the anatomical differences of the sexes more definitely than has been done by Mr. Walker, as they are intimately connected with the form and contour of the body, and must be understood to appreciate fully the bearing of much that is laid down by our author:—

ANATOMICAL SEXUAL DIFFERENCES.

DIGESTIVE SYSTEM.

The stomach is the only portion of the alimentary canal which presents sexual differences. It is larger, shorter, and broader, in the male; smaller, narrower, and longer, in the female. Its muscular coat, like that in the whole alimentary canal, is generally also thinner in the female.

OSSEOUS SYSTEM.

Ribs.—The ribs of the female are generally straighter than those of the male. The posterior segment unites sooner with the anterior; its curve differs less from that of the last, and disappears sooner in the female; hence, the chest is narrower. The ribs are usually thinner; hence, the edges are sharper. Sometimes, however, this is far from being true. Their length is nearly the same; but according to Mechel, the length of the two upper ribs is proportionally, and when the subject is short, absolutely greater in the female than in the male.

Clavicle.—The clavicle is generally straighter, and proportionably smaller in the female than in the male. The greater straightness depends particularly on the lesser curve of its external portion, while in man it extends far backward, and then comes forward. The internal anterior half presents nearly the same curve in both sexes. The clavicle of the female is rounder than that of the male; we however find clavicles of females perfectly like those of males, and vice versa. Sometimes, of the two clavicles in the same body, one is constructed in the type of the male, and the other in that of the female.

Pelvis.—The chief points of difference between the male and female skeleton, beside the disparity in the size and the greater smoothness of the bones, lie in the pelvis. In the female this is less strong and thick, and contains less osseous matter than that of the male. In the female, the arch of the pubis is much the greatest, and the long diameter of the brim of the pelvis is from side to side; in the male it is from before backward; in the female, the brim is more of the oval shape, in the male more triangular; in the female, the ilia are more distant; the tuberosities of the ischia are also more remote from each other, and from the os coccygis, and as these three points are farther apart, the notches between them are consequently wider, and there is of necessity a considerably greater space between the os coccygis and pubis than in the male. The female sacrum is broader and less curved than in the other sex. The ligamentous cartilage at the symphysis pubis is broader and shorter. In consequence of the cavity of the pelvis being wider in woman, the superior articulations of their thigh bones are farther removed from each other, which circumstance occasions their peculiarity in walking; they seem to require a greater effort than men to preserve the centre of gravity, when the leg is raised; owing to the greater length of the crural arch, there is less resistance to the pressure of the abdominal viscera; consequently females are more subject to femoral hernia than males. The angle of union of the ossa pubis in the male is from sixty to eighty degrees, whereas, in the female it is ninety degrees. The mean height of the male, at the period of maturity, is about five feet eight and a half inches, and that of the female about five feet five inches; a well-formed pelvis has a circumference equal to one-fourth of the height of the female.

ORGAN OF VOICE.

The larynx is one of the organs which presents most manifestly the differences of sex. That of the female is usually one third, and sometimes one half smaller than that of the male: all its constituent cartilages are much thinner; the thyroid cartilage also is even flatter, because its two lateral halves unite at a less acute angle. Hence the reason why the larynx in the male forms at the upper part of the neck a prominence which is not visible in the female. The glottis in the female is much smaller than in the male, and the vocal cords are shorter. These sexual differences do not appear till puberty; until then the larynx has precisely the same form in the two sexes, and consequently the voice is nearly the same in both. In eunuchs it is small as in females.

PHYSIOLOGICAL EXPLANATION OF THE BEAUTY OF FORM.

A very ingenious Physiological explanation of the beauty of form, has been suggested by Professor B. T. Joslin, of the University of the city of New York, which is published in the Transactions of the New York State Medical Society for 1836. As this theory is characterized by great originality and genius, and but little known, we shall present our readers with some extracts from the Essay, calculated to elucidate the views of the talented author.

Speaking of material objects, not including the human form, Dr. J. remarks:—

“There is in objects a kind of beauty which is intrinsic and physical, which belongs to them in every association, and whether at rest or in motion; such is the beauty of color, and that of configuration. The contemplation of the beauty of coloring and of form gives physical pleasure, i. e., physical as opposed to mental, but physiological as opposed to physical. Employing physical in its comprehensive sense, I say that this physical pleasure attending vision is of two distinct kinds; 1st, that which depends on the character of the impression on the retina, and consequently on the intensity and nature of the light; and 2dly, that which depends upon the form of the object, and, consequently, on the muscular actions employed in tracing its outlines. As the latter constitutes the proper subject of this essay, I shall dismiss the former with a single remark.

“Some colors are more agreeable than others, but these differ with different eyes, and with the nature of the color to which the eyes have been previously exposed. A bluish green relieves the eye when over-excited with red, and a mild red is agreeable after the protracted action of intense green; and in general, the complementary colors are most agreeable in succession. Again, it is well known, that no kind of light is painful, unless excessively vivid; we are pleased with a mild radiance in objects of every hue, from the whiteness of the moon to the crimson of the setting sun. But is there no other physical property by which these luminaries directly contribute to the gratification of taste? It is true that light, abstractedly from all objects is agreeable, and agreeable on the same principle that sweetness is to the taste, i. e., from the mere character of the nervous impression. But this is a pleasure merely passive, and in an active being it is, perhaps, on that account, one grade lower than the gratification afforded by the beauty of form, and is more allied to the gross pleasure of literal taste. Hence, we scarcely employ a figurative expression, in declaring that light is sweet. But the highest degree of physical gratification is not enjoyed by the eye, unless this agreeable excitant proceeds from an object of beautiful form. “Light is sweet,” but “it is a pleasant thing for the eyes to behold the sun.” What is the source of this additional pleasure which we receive, when light proceeds either by radiation or reflection from regular curvilinear objects?

“I shall offer what I believe to be an original and satisfactory explanation of the beauty of form, on principles purely physiological. It is based on the proposition, that the action of every muscle is attended with a sensation which, is at first agreeable, but which, if the action is continued for a short time with intensity, and without intermission, becomes painful. That there is pleasure attending those varied motions which depend upon the actions of different muscles in succession after intervals of rest in each, we know from our own consciousness as well as from that instinctive propensity to play which we observe in children and young animals. That the prolonged action of a muscle is painful, we may readily convince ourselves by endeavoring to hold the arm for some time at right angles with the erect trunk. With the arm in this position, a pound weight on the hand or even the weight of the arm itself becomes in a few minutes almost insupportable. We presently begin to feel pain in the shoulder and anterior part of the arm, the former from fatigue of those muscles which originate from the scapula and keep the os humeri elevated, and the latter from fatigue of the muscles which originate from the scapula and os humeri, whose muscular fibres are in front of the os humeri and by their contraction elevate the fore-arm in consequence of their tendinous attachment to its bones. Yet a man may labor all day with his arms without this painful sensation; because a muscle requires but a momentary rest, in order to regain that degree of energy which is momentarily lost by action.

“None but an anatomist can duly appreciate the variety of separate actions, on which depend the motions of a single limb, and the consequently numerous opportunities of rest which the muscles enjoy. To the superficial and unscientific observer, an arm is an arm; it is a single member which may be fatigued by a day’s work and recruited by a night’s rest. But to the anatomist the arm is a complex object, and its muscular energy is that of its component muscles, each of which may be fatigued by a minute’s action and recruited by a minute’s repose. It would be easy to extend this farther, and state reasons for believing that the component fasciculi and fibres of an individual muscle act still more transiently, and that their momentary and successive actions constitute the action of a single muscle.

“But waiving this refinement, it will be sufficient for our purpose to consider a single muscle as having a simple action, an action which cannot be sustained with uniformity a minute of time without actual pain, nor a second of time with positive pleasure. This, however, is not to be understood as an attempt to fix these limits with precision. To express the law in more general terms, as we diminish the duration of a muscle’s action we diminish the pain until we arrive at an action whose attendant sensation is neutral, i. e., neither painful nor pleasurable; as soon as we have passed that point and have begun to execute motions a little more transient, the attendant sensation becomes positively pleasurable, and the pleasure increases as the separate actions become more transient. It is not necessary to infer that there is attending each action of shorter duration a pleasure exceeding that which attends each action of greater duration; for the more transient actions are, in a given time, more numerous; so that with the same amount of pleasure for each muscular contraction, the amount of pleasurable sensation in a given time—say a second—would exceed the amount attending the less frequent and more prolonged actions in the same period: a greater number of separate impressions become—so to speak—crowded together and condensed, and thus produce a more vivid pleasure. Several contiguous impressions thus conspire to heighten the contemporaneous effect, inasmuch as we are unable to distinguish those impressions which are made at very short intervals on the muscular sense, any more than we are those made at very short intervals on the retina. We have an example of the latter in the familiar experiment of swinging a coal of fire in a circle, and in various optical instruments for combining colors and images.

“The proposition which I have endeavored to establish is, that there is a neutral point to which, if constant action is prolonged, its pleasurable character begins to be reversed; that the vividness of the sensation increases with the distance from this point, being on the one side pleasurable, on the other painful; the more transient the actions are, the more pleasurable; the more prolonged they are, the more painful.

“I am of opinion that this physiological principle is susceptible of interesting applications to a class of pleasures, which metaphysicians have regarded as exclusively mental, and dependant upon certain supposed ultimate principles of the constitution of mind, principles not resolvable into others more elementary. As physiology shall advance, it may be expected that many of these imaginary elements will yield to its searching analysis. Whether the writer has been so fortunate as to resolve any of the generally admitted elements of mental taste, the reader will be able to judge from the sequel.

As preparatory to the consideration of the beauty of form, it will be necessary to give an explanation of the gracefulness of motion. Although this has been vaguely and in part referred to ease of execution, yet, the physiological principle on which ease of execution depends, not having been clearly understood and distinctly stated, the gracefulness of all motions could not be referred to their true source. Thus, writers on taste have been under the necessity of admitting, as a distinct and independent source of gracefulness, the curvilinear direction of motions, and have been able to generalize this fact no farther than by referring it to the beauty of curved forms, which beauty was considered an ultimate fact. In applying the principles above developed, to the explanation of the pleasure or pain attending the contemplation of particular motions, we shall defer for the present the investigation of the intrinsic beauty of curved motions, which is the same as that of curved lines, and assume that in general those motions which are physically pleasurable to the agent are agreeable to the observer. The pleasure or pain of the agent will engage the sympathy of the observer; for he associates the observed action with his own experience. To make a single application, suppose a public speaker extend his arm horizontally and move it slowly in a horizontal position, through one third of a circle. This motion would not appear graceful. That it would not be performed with perfect ease, any one might prove by experiment. The principal difficulty is in preserving for a long time the horizontal position.”

“In the ordinary state of the muscular system, and within certain limits, the motion of the eye in any direction is pleasurable. Whenever the power of directing the eye is acquired, the tracing of a line will, to a certain extent and for a certain time, afford some degree of positive pleasure; in other words, any short line will possess some degree of positive beauty, and the infant becomes conscious of an emotion of which he was previously ignorant—the emotion of beauty of form. A point awakens no such emotion; it never will; it can possess no beauty. It must be recollected, that this has been restricted to minute points of inappreciable form. Circular dots will be considered under the head of figures. The colorific property of a dot as compared with that of the ground on which it is placed, may afford that kind of ocular pleasure which is foreign to the present inquiry.

“From points as compared with lines, we naturally proceed to lines as compared with each other.

“When the head is erect, in examining a straight horizontal line we employ one of the lateral recti; if the line be vertical we employ the rectus inferior or superior. In either case, but one muscle acts, and that continuously. The muscle is not relieved, and its action is not attended with the maximum amount of pleasurable sensation. When the vision has been extended along the whole line, if we then immediately proceed to examine it in the opposite direction, the opposite rectus must at one exert a force sufficient to overcome the momentum of the eyeball, and then exert a continuous action. Both these circumstances are unfavorable to pleasure. If the line is oblique, one lateral together with one inferior or one superior muscle is exerted, and the same principles which have been applied to the single muscles, apply to the muscles acting in pairs.

“The Beauty of Curved Lines.—As from the foregoing analysis of the vision of straight lines in general, it results that they are deficient in the elements of ocular agreeableness, in other words, of beauty; little more need be said of regular and gentle curves, than that the survey of them is not attended with the abovementioned disadvantages. In viewing a regular curve, no muscle of the eyeball acts continuously and uniformly, but enjoys partial relief by remissions, or total relief by intermissions of its action; and the regularity of these remissions and intermissions, as well as the equal distribution of exercise, is promoted by the regularity of the curve. Acting in succession, the muscles afford mutual relief after actions of such short duration and variable intensity, as to afford positive pleasure; and in this muscular pleasure of the eye consists the beauty of configuration.

“The successive and accurate survey of distant points is not, however, invariably requisite to a degree of similar pleasure, in viewing a figure of such small angular extent as to be instantly recognised by one location of its image, as analogous to a larger one whose survey has directly afforded muscular pleasure. Although I thus recognise the influence of association, the facts of this very case afford an interesting confirmation of the physiological theory; for a large circle or ellipse is more beautiful than one of diminutive size. The beauty of the one is original, its influence is direct; the beauty of the other is in part borrowed, and this part is weakened by reflection. Or, to express it more literally, the one excites a pleasurable sensation, the other suggests a similar idea; the one affords a perception, the other a conception, of beauty. Such, even with similar color and brilliancy, would be the difference between the full moon and a circular dot (·) or period; such the difference between a rainbow and a diminutive arc () (◠), a short accent inverted. Here the critic might be inclined to charge us with confounding the beautiful with the sublime. But the fact is, that criticism has constructed the sublime—as it has the beautiful—from heterogeneous materials, one of which is identical with one of the elements of beauty, and should, in a physiological arrangement, be referred to the same class. In many instances a magnifying instrument will disclose minute irregularities and blemishes; but in every other case, physiology would show, that, within certain limits, to magnify a beautiful object is to magnify beauty.

“The foregoing statements of general principles preclude the necessity of minute details in relation to particular curves. I shall at present consider those which do not return into themselves, so as to constitute the outlines of figures in the geometrical sense. Let us first select a semi-circumference, for example, that of a rainbow of maximum dimensions. In tracing it once, we employ three out of the four muscles. They are brought into action successively and rapidly, but not abruptly. All these circumstances are favorable to pleasure. Yet they are not conducive to it in the highest possible degree; for each muscle acts only once unless the examination be repeated; and in case of its repetition, the momentum of the eyeball is destroyed in stopping and reversing its motion. The waving line, as Hogarth’s line of beauty, obviates the first difficulty. This ensures not only the successive action of different muscles, but a repetition of action in the same. If the line forms a number of equal waves, these repetitions will be proportional to the number of waves, and will alternately and totally relieve, at least two muscles, and allow, in the action of a third, regular remissions of intensity at equal intervals. We have proved then, that on this physiological theory, a semi-circumference possesses more of the elements of beauty than any straight line, and a regular-waved line more than either. These results are conformable to experience. If there is any difficulty in admitting this, it will vanish on comparing the ocular with other muscles.

“Let us select a joint, which, in its spherical form, and the circular arrangement of its muscles, is analogous to the eye; for example, the shoulder joint. I think it will be uniformly found, that in the use of this joint, the curves most readily traced, are those of gentle and nearly equal curvature, and being such as are most easily traced by the eye, they would appear more beautiful than those drawn by the fingers with the same education. For example, let a man, without bending his wrist or elbow, draw various lines with a light stick or cane on the surface of snow: the lines most easily drawn (or most easily traced if already drawn), will be curves of considerable beauty, and nearly equal curvature; such as waved lines and spirals and looped curves. Circles and ellipses would also be among the figures with most facility and precision traced, and especially in cases of repeated tracing; but we are not at present considering figures in the proper geometrical sense of the term. In writing letters by the above method, a succession of ‘e’s, would be more readily drawn than a succession of ‘i’s, or a zigzag line with acute angles.

“To institute a fair comparison between terminated lines and figures, the component lines of the figures should be as beautiful as the terminated lines with which they are compared. With this precaution, physiology will conduct to the conclusion, that figures are more beautiful than terminated lines. For the survey of any figure requires the successive action of all these ocular muscles, and a repeated survey requires no reversal of the motion.

“We may apply the same principles to figures as compared with each other. Here we shall find the advantage on the side of those which are geometrically regular. We perceive that the circle and ellipse must possess in great perfection the essentials of beauty.

“From figures, the transition is natural and easy to solids or bodies of three dimensions. The form of a body depends on those of all its faces and sections; and these last are plane figures. The elliptical sections of a regular spheroid are all highly beautiful, but its sections are not all elliptical. Unless the spheroid be in certain positions, the sphere possesses still higher beauty, as presenting the same circular and highly beautiful outline in every position; although a variety of positions is not essential to the perception of its peculiar beauty, whenever the observer has learned by different methods, and especially by different degrees of convergence of the two optic axes, to estimate the relative distances of the different points of the visible hemisphere, and thus to recognise the spherical form. I will only add, from the analysis of the beauty of the circle it is evident, that within certain limits, to magnify a sphere is to magnify its beauty.

“The relative beauty of the sphere and spheroid, and of the spheroid as compared with itself in different positions, is modified by symmetry. The principle of symmetry, is in some measure distinct from any other heretofore considered. It may be treated under the heads of 1st, geometrical symmetry, or symmetry of form; 2d, of symmetry of position.

“Symmetry of form, though implied in geometrical regularity, is not identical with it, and requires a separate consideration. The beauty of forms geometrically symmetrical, in contradistinction from those deficient in the correspondence of opposite halves, depends upon two similar series of actions in different pairs or muscles. For example, the survey of an ovate leaf, or indeed that of almost any vegetable leaf—so numerous are the provisions for our gratification—requires for its opposite halves two series of muscular actions, the different parts of the one corresponding with those of the other in duration, intensity, and order of succession. The gratification in this case results from the harmony of muscular sensations individually pleasurable. The agreeableness of this harmony may depend upon a principle more psychological than that of the agreeableness of its elementary sensations. Yet the former is to a certain extent susceptible of a physiological generalization. This harmony would probably have been impaired by any considerable inequality in the distances between the points of insertion of the recti muscles, or in the strength of the antagonists. It is a curious coincidence, that in both these respects, these muscles are more nearly symmetrical than any others in the human body. Physiology, then, explains, not only the agreeableness of the elementary sensations, which give rise to the perception of beauty in regular curves, but unfolds the provisions for two similar series of such sensations, not only in figures simply regular, but in those which are simply symmetrical, and in those which are both symmetrical and regular. The principles of muscular action explain the agreeableness of a rapid succession of varied actions equally distributed among the muscles, and the structure of the optical apparatus explains why the curvature and regularity of an object require such actions in vision. Again, we discover in the symmetrical structure and arrangement of the ocular muscles, a provision for two similar series of pleasurable sensations in the survey of a symmetrical figure, in whatever position it may be placed, provided it retains its symmetry with respect to some visual plane. The coincidence between the location of the ocular muscles diametrically opposite, on the one hand, and our propensity to compare the opposite halves of bodies, and the pleasure afforded by their similarity on the other hand, is curious, and to a certain extent affords a physiological explanation of the beauty of symmetrical forms.

“The same principles which apply to the beauty of form of inanimate objects are applicable to the paths described by them in motion. The intrinsic beauty of their motions is exclusively referrible to sensations in the ocular muscles of the observer, while the gracefulness of human motions is referrible in part to these, and in part to sensations in other muscles.

“It would be foreign to the subject of the present memoir, to consider the beauty of expression of the human countenance; although this species of beauty is in a great degree referrible to muscular action. That muscular action which belongs to the present topic is not that of the object, but that of the observer. It may be scarcely necessary again to disclaim any design of giving a complete analysis of beauty in general, or to repeat the concession that man’s notions of beauty are modified by various associations.

“Final Cause.—The benevolence of the Author of nature is strikingly manifested in connecting present pleasure with obedience to the natural laws. It has been shown that vision is attended with muscular action which is generally pleasurable. If seeing had required no muscular action, we should have wanted one of our present stimuli to the acquisition of knowledge. This stimulus is especially necessary in infancy, and then powerfully prompts to observation, even anterior to the dawnings of intellectual curiosity, with which it subsequently co-operates. We see, in this arrangement, the exemplification of a principle which extensively pervades the laws under which we are placed by the Creator—which is, that mental attainments, as well as other acquisitions, shall require action; and that action shall be attended with pleasure. Whether the acquisition is to be made by the manual labor of the artisan, by the manipulations of the artist, the chymist, or the experimental philosopher, by the sedentary student of books, or by the observer of natural phenomena in his original survey of the universe—in every case it is muscular action.

“This application to natural theology, has thus far had reference to that degree of intrinsic agreeableness which is common to forms in general. But the laws of nature specially tend to the production of curved, regular, and symmetrical objects and motions, in inorganic vegetable and animal bodies; and impose the necessity of similar forms in artificial structures. With a different structure and arrangement of the ocular muscles, those forms peculiarly conducive to our welfare and that of the universe, had possessed no peculiar attractions; and we had felt no special impulse of this kind to conform our own artificial structures to those laws of nature, or to investigate many of the most important works of the Creator. Yet neither gravity or any other law of the external world could have determined the peculiar formation of the muscles of the human eye. We must, therefore, refer their actual structure and location to that Being who gives to the objects of his creative power, and to the principles by which he governs them, such a mutual adaptation as conduces to the greatest achievable good. Thus, while muscular pleasure originally prompts to the observation of the Creator’s works, this observation is rewarded and subsequently prompted by a pleasure of an incomparably higher order, of a character purely mental, by the discovery of moral beauty, which in rank and refinement surpasses all others. Still, the muscular pleasure of the eye strongly incites to the examination of the numberless forms of beauty in the organic and inorganic kingdoms, such as the symmetrical leaf, the bending bough, the symmetry of the tree itself that of inferior animals, and of the human form. Or we may extend our view to the circular or undulating horizon, the apparent limits of the apparently round world; or we may elevate the eyes to the arched dome of the firmament, on which the arches of the iris and aurora occasionally confer additional beauty. Or with the telescope we may pierce this apparent limit of upward vision, and discover beyond it a universe of spherical and spheroidal worlds, revolving in circular and elliptical orbits, worlds and orbits which present, even in our diminutive diagrams, a high order of beauty, designed to incite us to the contemplation of these most magnificent works of the Creator.

“All this beauty had been lost to man, but for the property of the eye, which, on a superficial reflection, might seem a defect. It is no less true than paradoxical, that the perception of these beauties depends on indistinctness of vision. To a being so constituted as to see with equal distinctness by oblique and direct vision, the same forms might be presented, but not as forms of beauty. Has the Creator, then, sacrificed a portion of our perceptive powers to our sensual gratification? I answer no. Has he, then, sacrificed a portion of our direct means of acquiring knowledge, to afford an incitement which should ultimately and indirectly enhance our attainments? Again I am compelled to answer in the negative. There is, in this arrangement, no intellectual sacrifice whatever, direct or indirect. This indistinctness of oblique vision, which might seem a defect, I consider an excellence. A simultaneous and distinct impression received from the whole field of vision, would distract the attention and preclude a minute and accurate examination of any particular part. But as our eyes are so constituted as to receive a strong and distinct impression only from the images of those objects toward which their axes are directed, and as our minds are so constituted that we can in a great measure neglect the weaker or less distinct impressions, we are able to acquire a more exact knowledge of any part of the field to which we choose to attend. To see every thing at once, would be to examine nothing. Such a constitution of the eye would be to vision what an indiscriminating memory is to the understanding.

E.

STANDARD OF BEAUTY.

To show that the sentiments of mankind with regard to female beauty, have been very various in different ages and nations, and that it is not possible to establish a standard which shall comprehend all, without discriminations, a few facts may be mentioned. Among the ancients, a small forehead and joined eyebrows were much admired in a female countenance; and in Persia, large joined eyebrows are still highly esteemed. In some parts of Asia, black teeth and white hair, are essential ingredients in the character of a beauty; and in the Marian Islands, it is customary among the ladies to blacken their teeth with herbs, and to black their hair with certain liquors. Beauty, in China and Japan, is composed of a large countenance, small, and half-concealed eyes, a broad nose, little and useless feet, and a prominent belly. The Flat-head Indians compress the heads of their children between two boards, with a view to enlarge and beautify the face; some tribes compress the head laterally; others depress the crown, and others make the head as round as possible. “The Moors of Africa,” says Park, “have singular ideas of female perfection; the gracefulness of figure and motion, and a countenance enlivened by expression, are by no means operative points in their standard; with them corpulency and beauty are terms nearly synonymous. Or women of even moderate pretensions, must be one who cannot walk without a slave under each arm to support her, and a perfect beauty is a load for a camel. In consequence of this prevalent taste for unwieldiness of bulk, the Moorish ladies take great pains to acquire it early in life, and for this purpose many of the young girls are compelled by their mothers to swallow a great quantity of kouskous, and drink a large bowl of camel’s milk every morning. It is of no importance whether the girl has an appetite or not, the kouskous and milk must be swallowed, and obedience is frequently enforced by blows. I have seen a poor girl sit crying with the bowl at her lips for more than an hour, and her mother with a stick in her hand watching her all the while, and using the stick without mercy whenever she observed that her daughter was not swallowing. This singular practice, instead of producing indigestion and disease, soon covers the young lady with that degree of plumpness, which in the eye of a Moor, is perfection itself.” These facts show that every nation almost has ideas of beauty peculiar to itself; and it is no less evident that nearly every individual has his own notions and taste concerning it. “The empire of beauty, however,” says a writer already quoted, “amid these discordant ideas, with respect to the qualities in which it consists, has been very generally acknowledged, and particularly in all civilized countries; and when it is united with other accomplishments that tend to render females amiable, it contributes in no small degree, to give them importance and influence, to polish the manners of society, and to contribute to its order and happiness.”

F.

TEMPERAMENT.

The views of Mr. Walker in relation to Temperaments, correspond with those usually entertained by physiological writers. It is to be observed, however, that they rarely occur simple in any individual, two or more being generally combined. The bilious and nervous, for example, is a common combination, which gives strength and activity; the lymphatic and nervous, is also common, and produces sensitive delicacy of mental constitution, conjoined with indolence. The nervous and sanguine combined, give extreme vivacity, but without corresponding vigor. Dr. Thomas of Paris, has advanced the following theory of the temperaments: When the digestive organs, filling the abdominal cavity, are large, and the lungs and brain small, the individual is lymphatic; he is fond of feeding, and averse to mental and muscular exertion. When the heart and lungs are large, and the brain and abdomen small, the individual is sanguine; blood abounds, and is propelled with vigor; he is therefore fond of muscular exercise, but averse to thought. When the brain is large, and the abdominal and thoracic viscera small, great mental energy is the consequence. These proportions may be combined in great varieties, and modified results will ensue.[59] Mr. Combe, in his late lectures in this city, laid great stress on the relative size of the three great visceral cavities, in determining the temperament. Thus, if the abdominal and thoracic cavities be small, and the cranial cavity large, the nervous temperament is indicated. If the abdomen and scull be comparatively small, and the chest large, the sanguine temperament is indicated. The predominance of the abdominal cavity indicates the lymphatic temperament. Mr. C. also pointed out the important changes produced in the temperament by a long continued course of training. It is common for the bilious, to be changed into the nervous temperament, by habits of mental activity, and close study; and, on the other hand, we often see the nervous or bilious changed into the lymphatic about the age of 40, when the nutritive system seems to acquire the preponderance. Spurzheim used to say, that he had originally a large portion of the lymphatic temperament, as had all his family; but that in himself the lymphatic had gradually diminished, and the nervous gradually increased; whereas, in his sisters, owing to mental inactivity, the reverse had happened, and when he visited them, after being absent many years, he found them, to use his own expression, “as large as tuns.” The subject of temperament has been treated with consummate ability by Dr. Charles Caldwell of Kentucky; and as his essay is but little known, we shall present some extracts from it. It will be seen that his views bear a close resemblance to those of Dr. Thomas, already mentioned; but Dr. C. has shown that they were publicly maintained by him, at least two years before the appearance of Dr. Thomas’s work.[60] After explaining the doctrine of the temperaments, as taught by the ancients, and showing that it is founded on the exploded hypothesis of humoralism, Dr. C. goes on to show, that it is the solids of the body which make man what he is; that they form the fluids, and give them their character; that they are, in short, the cause, and the fluids the effect.

“The difference,” says Dr. C., “between individuals, or rather classes, of the human family, which temperament is made to designate, appears to depend on two causes; diversity of organization in parts or the whole of the bodies of different persons, giving rise to a corresponding diversity in the vital properties; and difference of size and vigor in certain ruling organs of the system. The existence and influence of the former of these causes are in the highest degree probable; those of the latter certain. The one is susceptible of strong support, the other of proof that may be termed positive. By ‘organization’ is here meant, the minute interior or radical structure of the tissues which compose the human body. That diversity in this creates a diversity in the vital properties, and that again a diversity in character, cannot I think be doubted. Whether the difference of organization here referred to, consists in different proportions of the element of living matter that form the tissues, united in the same way, or in their different modes of arrangement and union, or both, or whether it may not arise in part from different proportions of the simpler tissues entering into the formation of the more compound organs, is not known. Minute anatomy has not yet attained a degree of perfection competent to settle a point of such subtility.”

Dr. C. afterward goes on to prove that no single nerve, or organ, can perform two distinct functions, but that each is capable of one mode of action, and no more; that between a nerve, a muscle, and a gland, the only difference known to exist, is that of organization; and that if they are organized alike, and endowed with life, their properties will be similar, and they will act in the same way. So also between animals of the same race, we discover innumerable differences, which can be referred to nothing but differences in organization, and the same may be affirmed of vegetables. The conclusion to which Dr. C. arrives, and which he maintains with great ingenuity is, that independently of all other causes, differences in human temperament are to be attributed, in part, to corresponding differences in the organization of certain portions, or the whole of the body; and that, other things being equal, in consequence of this source of influence alone, one person differs from another in many of the qualities of both person and intellect. In other words, he is more highly gifted, sprightly, and vigorous, or the reverse; or he is more courageous or timid, generous or selfish, according to his organization.

“But the second cause that was represented to be instrumental in diversifying the human temperaments is by far the most powerful. It will be remembered to have been, ‘difference of size and vigor in certain ruling organs of the system.’ The organs alluded to are those contained in the three great cavities of the body; the chylopoetic, situated in the abdomen, and including the stomach and intestines, with the liver, pancreas, mesentery, and lacteals; those of sanguification and circulation, situated in the thorax, and consisting of the lungs, heart, and bloodvessels; and the brain, with its appendages, the spinal cord and nerves. These three groups (for the brain is multiplex as well as the other two) are not only the ruling organs in the person of man; connected with the hard and soft parts that enclose them, they constitute the person. The upper and lower extremities are but appendages; important and necessary, it must be acknowledged; but still appendages. The individual can exist and be a human being without them. Nor have they any influence in imparting constitutional character to their possessors. Standing only in the capacity of subordinates to the controlling organs, they are not only nourished and put in motion by them; they labor mechanically for their uses, and serve as instruments to execute their purposes. They are composed of the extreme ends of the organized matter of the system, constitute only its outworks, and possess but little influence over its central parts. This representation rests on evidence that may be termed demonstrative. Many persons destitute of the upper or lower extremities, or both, have strong characters and well-marked temperaments. But the extremities, if deprived of the influence of any one group of the ruling organs, are converted not only into useless but lifeless masses. Of the skin, muscles, and bones, which compose the head, neck, and trunk of the body, the same is true. Of themselves they possess no character, and can therefore bestow none. They also are but appendages to the organs they cover, affording them a secure lodgment and protection from external injuries, and aiding them in the performance of some of their functions. And from this alone is their importance derived. Were it possible for them to exist apart from the viscera they contain, their grade of being would be below that of many vegetables. Most fatal diseases, moreover, have their original seat in the viscera of one of the three great cavities of the body, and no disease originating elsewhere can become fatal, until, by sympathy or metastasis, some of those parts are deeply affected. To enlightened physiologists this statement presents but a series of familiar truths. To the groups of organs exclusively, then, I repeat, contained in the abdomen, the thorax, and the cranium, must we look as the main source of human character. And that character is different according to the predominance, in different individuals, of one group or another, or of any two of them. An equilibrium between the three groups constitutes another variety, by bestowing on character a corresponding equilibrium. Let the word temperament be substituted for ‘character,’ and what is true of the latter will be so of the former. As already mentioned, the organs referred to will be its source; and the differences in their predominance will give diversity to it.”

Dr. C. then shows that the strength and perfection of each of the senses are proportioned to the size of the nerve on which that sense depends. This is illustrated by a powerful array of facts, drawn from different orders of the animal kingdom, as well as from the different varieties of mankind. It is also stated, that where any nerve or set of nerves, is peculiarly large, the portion of the brain to which they belong, and by which they are influenced and commanded, is correspondingly large.

“Inasmuch, then, as, other things being equal, size gives power to everything else, we are not only justified in believing, on grounds of analogy we are compelled to believe, that the same is true of the organs contained in the cranium, the thorax, and the abdomen. When they are in a sound and natural condition, their size is also the measure of their power. Were not this the case, they would be either altogether abnormal, or subject to laws that govern no other kind of matter, whether organic or inorganic, of which we have any knowledge. But the position I am contending for is not to be regarded as a mere inference in a process of reasoning. It will appear hereafter that it is a positive fact, which observation has discovered, and continues to confirm.

I have alleged that the size of the three groups of ruling organs may be ascertained by that of the cases in which they are contained. Nor do I perceive on what ground any one, who is even moderately acquainted with the structure of the human body, can controvert the belief, or cherish the slightest doubt on the subject of it. In healthy persons (and my remarks relate only to such) the size of the brain is necessarily known by that of the head. As the viscus completely fills the cranium, the case cannot be otherwise. Although the bones of the head and the soft parts that cover them are thicker in some individuals than in others, the difference is so small as not materially to affect the result. The chest is filled by the lungs, heart, and large bloodvessels. Its measure, therefore, cannot fail to be the measure of them. Any deviation from exactness in this, that may be produced by varieties in the thickness of the skin, muscles, and other parts, is of no moment. Of the chylopoetic viscera the same is true. They also fill exactly the cavity prepared for them. The size of the abdomen, therefore, affords a knowledge of their size sufficiently accurate for all practical purposes. By a mere inspection of the person of man, then, the absolute measure of the groups of organs I am considering, as well as their magnitude in relation to each other, can be fairly ascertained. And it will appear on examination, as already stated, that the predominance in size and energy of any one or two of them, always imparts a corresponding diversity to the human character. Does the brain predominate? The individual to whom it belongs is more remarkable for the vigor of his intellect or feeling, or both, than for any other constitutional quality. These modes of mental manifestation constitute the natural functions of the brain; and when of an order unusually high, they give a peculiarity of character to the whole system. The person thus endowed feels more keenly, thinks more strongly, is more eager in pursuit of knowledge, and attains it with more facility. His relish for pleasure is also inordinately keen, and he pursues it at times with burning ardor. Such was the constitutional character of Mr. Fox, and also of our distinguished countryman the late Mr. Bayard. I need scarcely add, that this predominance of sensibility and mental action must necessarily modify the diseases the individual may sustain. But of this I shall speak hereafter. Do the lungs, heart, and bloodvessels predominate? A larger volume of highly arterialized blood is formed, and thrown more forcibly and in greater quantities throughout the system. From the abundance of that fluid, and the superior size of the vessels conveying it, those parts of the body nourished by the red blood will be comparatively most copiously supplied. But it is more especially the muscles that are thus nourished. They will be therefore large and powerful. Hence persons with broad and full chests have well-developed and vigorous muscles. In proportion to their size their animal strength is necessarily great. Nor can such constitutional peculiarities fail to be productive of peculiarities in disease? Do the chylopoetic viscera predominate? The amount of chyle formed is very large in proportion to the quantity of food eaten. But the lungs, heart, and bloodvessels being comparatively small, neither is sanguification abundant and perfect nor circulation vigorous. The blood is not either highly arterialized or animalized. Its amount of red globules is small, and it circulates feebly through vessels of a limited size. The consequence is, that the muscles receive less red blood, and are less fully nourished; the system at large is not so highly endued with life, and the soft parts generally have a lower tone. The individual thus marked is less robust and vigorous than one whose system is supplied abundantly with highly arterialized blood, and less intellectual and sprightly than those whose brain predominates. It is almost needless to say, that, under such circumstances, disease must be modified in conformity to the constitution.

“From the preceding views it clearly appears, that the comparative standing of individual man, as relates to his race, is graduated by the predominance of his leading organs. Do his abdominal viscera preponderate? He has much of the animal in him, and his grade is low. Are his thoracic viscera most highly developed? His qualities are of a superior order; but he still partakes too much of the animal. Does his cerebral system predominate; and is it well developed in all its parts? He rises above the sphere of animal nature, and stands high in that of humanity. He is formed for an intellectual and moral being, with no more of animality in his constitution, than is necessary to give him practical energy of character.

“This subject may be farther illustrated by a reference to some of the animals below us. The worm commonly denominated a grub is but little else than a mass of abdominal matter. It is therefore one of the humblest and grossest of worms. The insect has also a large abdomen, with a very small chest, and a smaller head. Hence, though superior to the grub, it is low in the scale of animal nature. Reptiles and fish are more elevated, because their abdominal viscera preponderate less. But still they do preponderate; and therefore the rank of the animals is humble. In the hog the abdominal viscera are most strongly developed, and hence his standing among quadrupeds is low. The same is true of the bear and the ox, and also of the sheep and the goat, but in an inferior degree. The horse, especially the barb and the racehorse, furnish no bad specimens of the mixed or balanced temperament. When the latter is undergoing preparation for the course, the object of his keeper is to make the thoracic temperament preponderate as much as possible, for the time, in order to increase his vigor and endurance; in the language of the turf, to give him more strength and ‘better bottom.’ The warhorse approaches the thoracic temperament. In the canine race, more especially in the greyhound, the thoracic viscera hold the ascendency. Hence the muscular power of the dog is greater, and his grade among quadrupeds higher than those of most of the preceding animals. The same is true of the wolf, the panther, and the tiger. In some dogs there is a considerable cerebral development, but it is never large enough to counterbalance the thoracic. Of all animals, the lion affords the most finished specimen of thoracic preponderance. In proportion to his size, his lungs and heart, especially the latter, are immensely large. And his muscular power corresponds to them. The magnitude of his heart is generally considered the cause of his boldness. Hence a very courageous man is said to have a great heart, or to be lion-hearted. All this is popular error. The heart is but a muscle; and, in man, has no more connexion with courage than the gastrocnemii muscles; nor, in the lion, than the muscles that move his tail. Courage is exclusively a cerebral attribute, and has its seat in an organ specifically appropriated to it. In none of the inferior animals does the brain preponderate. That preponderance belongs to humanity, and, as already mentioned, indicates its highest grade. Of all the beings below us, some of the ape tribe have the highest cerebral development. And they approach nearest to man in their degree of intellect. This is farther proof that, other things being alike, the brain gives the measure of mental power. I have lately seen a publication, in which it is gravely asserted, that the large orang-outang catches crabs with a stick, and makes a rude basket of osiers to contain them. Notwithstanding the well-known sagacity of that animal, this statement savors strongly of the ‘tale of a traveller.’”

“Considered in relation to these principles, temperament may be divided into seven varieties. 1, the mixed or balanced, in which the ruling organs are in fair proportion to each other; 2, the encephalic; 3, the thoracic; 4, the abdominal; 5, the encephalo-thoracic; 6, the encephalo-abdominal; and 7, the thoracico-abdominal.”

“1. The mixed or balanced variety. In this the name explains the temperament. The external marks of it are plain. They consist in a well-adjusted proportion between the sizes of the head, thorax, and abdomen. If the limbs are in harmony, the symmetry of the entire person is complete. Although individuals, in whom this temperament prevails, are usually above the middle height, and well-formed, they are not necessarily so. They may be of any stature, and any shape, straight or crooked, provided the three great cavities and their contents be accurately balanced. This is not the temperament of either early life or old age. It commences with manhood, and continues until the fortieth or forty-fifth year, and then passes into somewhat of the abdominal. The Apollo Belvidere, by Phidias, is an exquisite specimen of it. But some modern artists have violated it, in painting that statue, by making the chest and the head loo large. Although the manifestation of strength, majesty, and intellect, is heightened by this, the beauty of the youthful god is marred. The figure, though more imposing, has lost its charm.”

“2. The encephalic. In this variety the head is relatively large, but is not always equally developed in every part, a circumstance which varies greatly, as will presently appear, the characters of those who possess the temperament. The development of the thorax and abdomen is moderate, the person lean, and the countenance expressive of intense feeling and deep passion. In some individuals, however, the countenance beams with intelligence, without much passion, while, in others, manifestations of powerful intellect and passion are united. The thoracic and abdominal activity is never high; yet in many instances the personal hardihood and endurance are invincible. It is men of this temperament alone that can immortalize themselves by great achievements, good or bad. All history and observation testify to this. Is the development very large in the moral and intellectual regions of the brain, and so moderate in the animal as to be held fully in check? The individual will distinguish himself by a dignified purity of deportment, and by the performance of great and good deeds.”

“Are the animal and mere knowing compartments largely developed, and the moral and reflecting very slightly? As relates to vice and profligacy in their foulest shapes, this is the worst of all temperaments. Nothing more prone to depravity can be imagined. The person possessed of it delights in some sort of animality alone; and if he ever engages in anything higher or purer, it is for a sinister purpose, that he may return to his chosen indulgences in more security, or on a broader scale.”

“Is the development very large, and equally so in all the departments of the brain, animal, moral, and intellectual, giving to the head unusual size? The individual possessing it has a lofty and powerful character, is capable of attaining the highest renown, and making an impression, not to be erased, on the age and country in which he lives. His career may be occasionally stained by irregularities and checkered with clouds, but will be brilliant in the main. His designs are vast, because he feels his power, the instruments with which he works are men, and he wields them in masses. The term little has no place in his vocabulary, nor its prototype in his thoughts. His aim is greatness of some kind—high achievement or deep catastrophe.”