circumstances and laws of which lie beyond all our present apprehensions.

A view of the subject best able, perhaps, to meet the requirements both of philosophy and religion, is the hypothesis of a certain substance, or organific principle, distinct from what we call matter, and strictly an efflux of the Divine Will: a substance which, underlying all spiritual phenomena in man, though at present in a kind of chrysalis or embryo state, is but evolved, or extricated from material conditions, at death; the possibility of such a substance being of course a different thing from the possibility of a clear conception of its nature or mode of operation.

THE theory which assigns distinct compartments of the brain to different intellectual faculties or acts, is, whether true or false, not disproved by the circumstance, that various portions of that organ have been destroyed by accident or in battle, without any mutilation of mind being the result. It seems not improbable that the mental powers of some persons being in great degree dormant, the instrument of their operation may be so obtuse as to sustain injuries or mutilation with comparative impunity; somewhat perhaps as several of the lower classes of animated existence can bear excision of parts without perceptible diminution of vital energy. Besides, there is plausibility in the representation, that the brain consisting of two hemispheres or divisions corresponding to each other, one part may be mutilated without detriment to the mental processes, just as one eye may be impaired or disabled, yet the function of vision be retained. No instances I believe are on record in which both sections of the brain being thus affected, integrity of understanding remains. The whole problem is but a question of fact; for à priori it is no more incredible, as in no view is it more mysterious, that the mind should employ certain parts of the brain in particular acts, than that she should employ the brain in any of her operations.

It is often the aspiration of men of genius to possess a robust and healthy frame; yet mind seems to triumph most when conjoined with a body which is infirm or sickly. Is it that the activity of genius, verifying the simile of a sword too sharp for its scabbard, wears out or deranges the animal constitution? and may this be considered as an appointment of Providence, intended to counteract the elation of mental superiority? Or, viewed rather as what is than what need be, is it to be interpreted by a philosophy that discovers in the circumstance a lesson on the balance of the corporeal and the spiritual, or an instance of the Mezentian phenomena occasioned by the complexities and perversions of artificial existence ?

It is difficult to determine which produces more ravages on the system, the wear of thought, or the wasting influence of passion. Both are great enemies to beauty. Among the tribes that are acknowledged to present the finest specimens of the human form, as the Georgians and Circassians, there is little or no mental activity; and in more civilised communities, eminent personal attractions are seldom found apart from considerable repose of intellect. Look at the portraits of the most reflecting geniuses, of whatever epoch or clime, and you will generally find the countenance more or less emaciated or withered, however expressive. The workings of any strong feeling or impulse, that of love in particular when its course runs not smooth, though enhancing the force of expression in its milder, happier sway, soon commit depredations on the physiognomy; either by impairing fulness of contour, so essential a constituent of finished beauty, or by effacing the higher graces of feature. It is supposed that the ancient sculptors, aiming at the utmost perfection of form, omitted in general the representation of passion, from its interference with that object. Shakspeare, with his accustomed penetration, makes Cæsar distrustful of the lean aspect of Cassius, as betokening too energetic and ambitious a brain :

Cæsar.-Let me have men about me that are fat;
Sleek-headed men, and such as sleep o' nights
Yond' Cassius has a lean and hungry look;
He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.

Antony.-Fear him not, Cæsar, he's not dangerous.
He is a noble Roman, and well given.

Cæsar.-'Would he were fatter:-But I fear him not:
Yet, if my name were liable to fear,

I do not know the man I should avoid

So soon as that spare Cassius. He reads much;
He is a great observer, and he looks

Quite through the deeds of men; he loves no plays,
As thou dost, Antony; he hears no music:
Seldom he smiles; and smiles in such a sort,
As if he mock'd himself, and scorn'd his spirit
That could be moved to smile at any thing.*
*

A similar fancy is introduced by Dryden, in his celebrated description of Lord Shaftesbury:

A fiery soul, which, working out its way,
Fretted the pigmy body to decay,

And o'er-informed the tenement of clay.+

Physiology, whose highest praise is scarcely that of being among the most beautiful of sciences, unfolds the secret of the phenomenon. It is a law of our nature that the organ which is most exercised requires the largest supply of blood. The organ by which the mind works is the brain; so that where mental operations are vigorous and almost incessant, the blood, which should circulate freely to the various parts of the system for their support, is absorbed chiefly in feeding the cerebral portion, the rest being impoverished for want of its appropriate nourishment.

THERE is slight reason to censure indolence of body, if conjoined with activity of intellect. Paley, Hume, Gibbon, with a large proportion of literary men of every class, have been examples of the union. Idleness is a physical rather

* Julius Cæsar, Act i. scene 2.

+ Absalom and Achitophel.

than mental attribute, being commonly the result of corporeal relaxation or disease. You will seldom find a man of lean and spare habit averse to occupation, unless constitutionally ill-formed, or whose strength has been impaired by the derangement of some function: and what is the reason? Because the muscular fibre, the nerves, the whole substance of the frame, are of closer and firmer texture. Indisposition to exertion is perhaps in every instance combined with laxity of the solids; however mind, by its spontaneous operations and ardour, is able to assume no mean command over enfeebled organs and a distempered system.

If there is any truth in Falstaff's praises of sack, all that is often necessary to occasion a flow of ideas and fancies, is to increase or accelerate the tide of blood in the veins. Happiness, in the sense of pleasurable sensation, may be produced in much the same manner; a bottle of wine, it has been alleged, affording as much enjoyment for the time as the acquisition of a kingdom.*

Good humour is not the product of philosophy, but of temperament or of fortune. Reason may superadd or modify, but nature must contribute the essentials in a case relating rather to the material than the intellectual; to the nerves, circulation, and digestive apparatus, than to reflection or the operation of judgment. Irritability of feeling is always connected with weakness or disorder of the bodily system. One means of taming the ferocity of wild animals is to furnish them with a plentiful supply of food. A similar regimen is often applicable to the human animal; as would appear from the confession of one of the Fathers, that he avoided abstinence because it rendered him peevish. The Moslems of Egypt, during the month of Ramadhan, or Lent of the followers of the Prophet, are, contrary to their usual * Landor's Imaginary Conversations: Lord Brooke and

Sir Philip Sidney.

disposition, morose while fasting through the day, but very cheerful after their evening meal.

OUR feelings in general, whether agreeable or painful, vivacious or melancholy, depending more on the constitution and state of the body than on circumstances, or any influence purely mental, it is not surprising that by the administration of certain medicinal substances, may be awakened almost every passion of which the human breast is susceptible-joy, sorrow; benevolence, hatred; tranquillity, solicitude; exhilaration, despair. Yet it seems a degradation to have some of our most exquisite emotions referred chiefly to physical causes. The wonderful effects of artificial stimulants on sensibility, and power of imagination, have never perhaps been depicted in so striking a manner as in the "Confessions of an English Opium-Eater;" a work of which the revelations are no less curious in a psychological view, than there is reason to believe the main particulars authentic. The phenomena it records are no doubt to be ascribed principally to undue excitation and consequent disordered action of the brain. A remarkable illustration is also furnished by Coleridge, who composed his fragment of Kubla Khan in a sleep occasioned by an anodyne.