as such, profiteth nothing. A look of love, from the sanctuary of the soul, has, certainly, greater forming powers than hours of deliberate contemplation of the most beautiful images. This forming look, if so I may call it, can as little be premeditatedly given as any other naturally beautiful form can be imparted by a studious contemplation in the looking-glass. All that creates and is profoundly active in the inner man, must be internal, and be communicated from above; as I believe it suffers itself not to be occasioned, at least not by forethought, circumspection, or wisdom in the agent to produce such effects. Beautiful forms, or abortions, are neither of them the work of art or study, but of intervening causes, of the quick-guiding providence, the predetermining God.

Instead of the senses, endeavour to act upon affection. If thou canst but incite love, it will of itself seek and find the powers of creation. But this very love must itself be innate before it can be awakened. Perhaps, however, the moment of this awakening is not in our power; and, therefore, to those who would, by plan and method, effect that which is in itself so extraordinary, and imagine they have had I know not what wise and physiological circumspection when they first awaken love, I might exclaim in the words of the enraptured singer: "I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes and the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up nor awake my love till he please."-Here, behold thy forming Genius." Behold he cometh, leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills, like a young hart." (Song of Sol. chap. ii. 7, 8, 9.)

be saved in child-bearing, if they continue in faith, and charity, and holiness, with sobriety." (1 Tim. ii. 15.)

This tenderness, this sensibility, this light texture of their fibres and organs, this volatility of feeling renders them so easy to guide and to tempt; so ready to submit to the enterprise and power of the man; but more powerful through the aid of their charms than man, with all his strength. The man was not first tempted, but the woman, afterward the man by the woman.

But, not only easily to be tempted, she is capable of being formed to the purest, noblest, most seraphic virtue; to everything which can deserve praise or affection.

Highly sensible of purity, beauty, and symmetry, she does not always take time to reflect on internal life, internal death, internal corruption. "The woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, and she took of the fruit thereof." (Gen. iii. 6.)

The female thinks not profoundly; profound thought is the power of the man.

Women feel more. Sensibility is the power of woman.

They often rule more effectually, more sovereignly, than man. They rule with tender looks, tears, and sighs; but not with passion and threats; for if, or when, they so rule, they are no longer women, but abortions.

They are capable of the sweetest sensibility, the most profound emotion, the utmost humility, and the excess of enthusiasm.

In their countenance are the signs of sanctity and inviolability, which every feeling man honours, and the effects of which are often mira

Therefore, by the irritability of their nerves, their incapacity for deep inquiry and firm decision, they may easily, from their extreme sensibility, become the most irreclaimable, the most rapturous enthusiasts.

MALE AND FEMALE.

In general (for I neither can nor will state anything but what is most known) how much more pure, tender, delicate, irritable, affectionate, flexible, and patient, is woman than man! The primary matter of which she is constituted appears to be more flexible, irritable, and elastic than that of man.

Women are formed to maternal mildness, and affection; all their organs are tender, yielding, easily wounded, sensible, and receptible.

Among a thousand females there is scarcely one without the genuine feminine signs; the flexible, the round, and the irritable.

They are the counterpart of man, taken out of man, to be subject to man; to comfort him like angels, and to lighten his cares. "She shall

Their love, strong and rooted as it is, is very changeable; their hatred almost incurable, and only to be effaced by continued and artful flattery. Men are most profound; women are more sublime.

Men most embrace the whole; women remark individually, and take more delight in selecting the minutiae which form the whole. Man hears the bursting thunder, views the destructive bolt with serene aspect, and stands erect amidst the fearful majesty of the streaming clouds.

Woman trembles at the lightning, and the voice of distant thunder; and shrinks into herself, or sinks into the arms of man.

Man receives a ray of light single, woman delights to view it through a prism, in all its dazzling colours. She contemplates the rainbow as the promise of peace; he extends bis inquiring eye over the whole horizon.

Woman laughs, man smiles; woman weeps,

The son appears most to inherit moral goodness from the good father, and intelligence from the intelligent mother; the daughter to partake of the character of the mother.

If we wish to find the most certain marks of resemblance between parents and children, they should be observed within an hour or two after birth. We may then perceive whom the child most resembles in its formation. The most essential resemblance is usually afterwards lost, and does not, perhaps, appear for many years; or not till after death.

When children, as they increase in years, visibly increase in the resemblance of form and features to their parents, we cannot doubt that there is an increasing resemblance of character. Howmuchsoever the characters of children may appear unlike those of the parents they resemble, yet will this dissimilarity be found to originate in external circumstances, and the variety of these must be great indeed, if the difference of character be not, at length, overpowered by the resemblance of form.

From the strongly delineated father, I believe, the firmness and the kind (I do not say the form, but the kind) of bones and muscles is derived; and from the strongly delineated mother the kind of nerves and form of the countenance; if the imagination and love of the mother have not fixed themselves too deeply in the countenance of the man.

Certain forms of countenance in children appear for a time undecided whether they shall take the resemblance of the father or of the mother; in which case I will grant that external circumstances, preponderating love for the father or mother, or a greater degree of intercourse with either, may influence the form.

We sometimes see children who long retain a remarkable resemblance to the father, but, at length, change and become more like the mother.

I undertake not to expound the least of the difficulties that occur on this subject, but the most modest philosophy may be permitted to compare uncommon cases with those which are known, even though they too should be inexplicable; and this I believe is all that philosophy can and ought to do.

We know that all longing, or mother-marks, and whatever may be considered as of the same nature, which is much, do not proceed from the father, but from the imagination of the mother. We also know that children most resemble the father only when the mother has a very lively imagination, and love for, or fear of, the husband; therefore, as has been before observed, it appears that the matter and quantum of the power and of the life, proceed from the father; and from the imagination of the mother sensibility, the kind of nerves, the form, and the outward appearance.

If, therefore, in a certain decisive moment, the imagination of the mother should suddenly pass from the image of her husband to her own

image, it might, perhaps, occasion a resemblance of the child, first to the father, and, afterward, to the mother.

There are certain forms and features of countenance which are long propagated, and others which as suddenly disappear. The beautiful and the deformed (I do not say forms of countenance, but what is generally supposed to be beauty and deformity) are not the most easily propagated; neither are the middling and insignificant; but the great and the minute are easily inherited, and of long duration.

Parents with small noses may have children with the largest and strongest defined; but the father or mother seldom, on the contrary, have a very strong, that is to say, large-boned nose, which is not communicated, at least to one of their children, and which does not remain in the family, especially when it is in the female line. It may seem to have been lost for many years, but, soon or late, will again make its appearance, and its resemblance to the original will be particularly visible a day or two after death.

If the eyes of the mother have any extraordinary vivacity, there is almost a certainty that these eyes will become hereditary; for the imagination of the mother is delighted with nothing so much as with the beauty of her own eyes. Physiognomonical sensation has been, hitherto, much more generally directed to the eyes than to the nose and form of the face; but, if women should once be induced to examine the nose, and form of the face, as assiduously as they have done their eyes, it is to be expected that the former will be no less strikingly hereditary than the latter.

Short and well-arched foreheads are easy of inheritance, but not of long duration; and here the proverb is applicable, Quod cito fit, cito perit. (Soon got, soon gone.)

It is equally certain and inexplicable, that some remarkable physiognomies, of the most fruitful persons, have been wholly lost to their posterity; and it is as certain and inexplicable that others are never lost.

Nor is it less remarkable that certain strong countenances, of the father or mother, disappear in the children and revive fully in the grandchildren.

As a proof of the power of the imagination of the mother, we sometimes see that a woman shall have children by her second husband that shall resemble the first, at least in the general appearance. The Italians, however, are manifestly too extravagant when they suppose children that strongly resemble their father are base born. They say that the imagination of the mother, during the commission of a crime so shameful, is wholly occupied with the possibility of surprise by, and of course with the image of, her husband. But, were this fear so to act, the form of the children must not only have the very image of the father, but also his appearance of rage and revenge; without which, the adulter

ous wife could not imagine the being surprised by, or image of, her husband. It is this appearance, this rage, that she fears, and not the

man.

Natural children generally resemble one of their parents more than the legitimate.

The more there is of individual love, of pure, faithful, mild affection; the more this love is reciprocal, and unconstrained, between the father and mother, which reciprocal love and affection implies a certain degree of imagination, and the capacity of receiving impressions, the more will the countenances of the children appear to be composed of the features of the parents.

The sanguine of all the temperaments is the most easily inherited and with it, volatility; which, when once introduced, will require great exertion and suffering for its extermination.

The natural timidity of the mother may easily communicate the melancholy temperament of the father. Be it understood that this is easy, if, in the decisive moment, the mother be suddenly seized by some predominant fear; and that it is less communicable when the fear is less hasty, and more reflective. Thus we find those mothers, who, during the whole time of their pregnancy, are most in dread of producing monstrous, or marked children, because they remember to have seen objects that excited abhorrence, generally have the best formed, and freest from marks; for the fear, though real, was the fear of reflection, and not the sudden effect of an object exciting abhorrence, rising instantaneously to sight.

When both parents have given a deep root to the choleric temperament in a family, it may probably be some centuries before it be again moderated. Phlegm is not so easily inherited, even though both father and mother should be phlegmatic, for there are certain moments of life when the phlegmatic acts with its whole powers, although it acts thus but rarely, and these moments may, and must, have their effects; but nothing appears more easy of inheritance than activity and industry, when these have their origin in organization, and the necessity of producing alteration. It will be long before an industrious couple, to whom not only a livelihood, but business is, in itself, necessary, shall not have a single descendant with the like quality of industry, as such mothers are generally prolific.

OBSERVATIONS ON THE DYING AND THE DEAD.

I have seen one man of fifty, another of seventy years of age, who during life appeared not to have the least resemblance to their sons, and whose countenances seemed to be of a quite different class; yet, the second day after death, the profile of the one had a striking resemblance to the profile of his eldest, and that of the other, to the profile of his third son; stronger, indeed, and as a painter would say,

harder. On the third day, a part of the resemblance disappeared.

Of the many dead persons I have seen, 1 have uniformly observed that sixteen, eighteen, or twenty-four hours, after death (according to the disease), they have had a more beautiful form, better defined, more proportionate, harmonized, homogeneous, more noble, more exalted, than they ever had during life.

May there not be, thought I, in all men an original physiognomy, subject to be disturbed by the ebb and flow of accident and passion, and is not this restored by the calm of death, as troubled waters, being again left at rest, become clear?

Among the dying, I have observed some who have been the reverse of noble or great during life, and who, some hours before their death, or perhaps some moments (one was in a delirium), have shown an inexpressible ennobling of the countenance. Everybody saw a new man; colouring, drawing, and grace, all was new, all bright, as the morning; heavenly; beyond expression, noble, and exalted; the most inattentive must see, the most insensible feel, the image of God. I saw it break forth and shine through the ruins of corruption, was obliged to turn aside in silence and adore. Yes, glorious God! still art thou there, in the weakest, most fallible men!

OF THE INFLUENCE OF COUNTENANCE ON COUNTENANCE.

As the gestures of our friends and intimates often become our own, so, in like manner, does their appearance. Whatever we love we would assimilate to ourselves; and whatever, in the circle of affection, does not change us into itself, that we change, as far as may be, into ourselves.

All things act upon us, and we act upon all things; but nothing has so much influence as what we love; and among all objects of affection, nothing acts so forcibly as the countenance of man. Its conformity to our countenance makes it most worthy our affection. How could it act upon, how attract our attention, had it not some marks, discoverable or undiscoverable, similar to, at least of the same kind with, the form and features of our own countenance?

Without, however, wishing farther to penetrate what is impenetrable, or to define what is inscrutable, the fact is indubitable that countenances attract countenances, and also that countenances repel countenances; that similarity of features between two sympathetic and affectionate men increases with the development, and mutual communication, of their peculiar, individual, sensations. The reflection, if I may so say, of the person beloved, remains upon the countenance of the affectionate.

The resemblance frequently exists only in a single point,-in the character of mind and

countenance.

A resemblance in the system of the bones presupposes a resemblance of the nerves and muscles.

Dissimilar education may affect the latter so much that the point of attraction may be invisible to unphysiognomonical eyes.-Suffer the two resembling forms to approach, and they will reciprocally attract and repel each other; remove every intervening obstacle, and nature will soon prevail. They will recognize each other, and rejoice in the flesh of their flesh, and the bone of their bone; with hasty steps will proceed to assimilate. Countenances, also, which are very different from each other, may communicate, attract, and acquire resemblance: nay, their likeness may become more striking than that of the former, if they happen to be more flexible, more capable, and to have greater sensibility.

This resemblance of features, in consequence of mutual affection, is ever the result of internal nature and organization, therefore of the character of the persons. It ever has its foundation in a preceding, perhaps imperceptible resemblance, which might never have been animated, or suspected, had it not been set in motion by the presence of the sympathetic being.

It would be of infinite importance to give the characters of those countenances which most easily receive and communicate resemblance. It cannot but be known that there are countenances which attract all, others that repel all, and a third kind which are indifferent. The all-repelling render the ignoble countenances, over which they have continued influence, more ignoble. The indifferent allows no change. The all-attracting either receive, give, or reciprocally give and receive. The first change a little, the second more, the third most. "These are the souls," says Hemsterhuys the younger, "which happily, or unhappily, add the most exquisite discernment to that excessive internal elasticity which occasions them to wish and feel immoderately; that is to say, the souls which are so modified, or situated, that their attractive force meets the fewest obstacles in its progress."

It would be of the utmost importance to study this influence of countenance, this intercourse of mind. I have found the progress of resemblance most remarkable when two persons, the one richly communicative, the other apt to receive, have lived a considerable time together, without foreign intervention; when he who gave had given all, or he who received could receive no more, physiognomonical resemblance, if I so dare say, had attained its punctum saturationis. It was incapable of farther increase.

A word here to thee, youth, irritable and easy to be won. Oh! pause, consider, throw not thyself too hastily into the arms of a friend untried. A gleam of sympathy and resemblance may easily deceive thee. If the man who is thy second self have not yet appeared, be not rash; thou shalt find him at the appointed hour. Being found, he will attract thee to himself, will

give and receive whatever is communicable. The ardour of his eyes will nurture thine, and the gentleness of his voice will temper thy too piercing tones. His love will shine in thy countenance, and his image will appear in thee. Thou wilt become what he is, and yet remain what thou art. Affection will make qualities in him visible to thee which never could be seen by an uninterested eye. This capability of remarking, of feeling what there is of divine in him, is a power which will make thy countenance assume his resemblance.

ON THE INFLUENCE OF THE IMAGINATION ON THE COUNTENANCE.

A word only, on a subject concerning which volumes might be written, for it is a subject I must not leave wholly in silence. The little, the nothing, I have to say upon it, can only act as an inducement to deeper meditation on a theme so profound.

Imagination acts upon our own countenance, rendering it in some measure resembling the beloved or hated image, which is living, present, and fleeting before us, and is within the circle of our immediate activity. If a man, deeply in love, and supposing himself alone, were ruminating on his beloved mistress, to whom his imagination might lend charms, which, if present, he would be unable to discover, were such a man observed by a person of penetration, it is probable that traits of the mistress might be seen in the countenance of this meditating lover. So might, in the cruel features of revenge, the features of the enemy be read, whom imagination represents as present. And thus is the countenance a picture of the characteristic features of all persons exceedingly loved or hated. It is possible that an eye less penetrating than that of an angel may read the image of the Creator in the countenance of a truly pious person. He who languishes after Christ, the more lively, the more distinctly, the more sublimely, he represents to himself the very presence and image of Christ, the greater resemblance will his own countenance take of this image. The image of imagination often acts more effectually than the real presence; and whoever has seen him of whom we speak, the great HIM, though it were but an instantaneous glimpse, Oh! how incessantly will the imagination reproduce his image in the countenance !

Our imagination also acts upon other countenances. The imagination of the mother acts upon the child. Hence men have long attempted to influence the imagination for the production of beautiful children. In my opinion, however, it is not so much the beauty of surrounding forms as the interest taken concerning forms, in certain moments; and here, again, it is not so much the imagination that acts as the spirit, that being only the organ of the spirit. Thus it is true that it is the spirit that quickeneth, the flesh and the image of the flesh, merely considered

as such, profiteth nothing. A look of love, from the sanctuary of the soul, has, certainly, greater forming powers than hours of deliberate contemplation of the most beautiful images. This forming look, if so I may call it, can as little be premeditatedly given as any other naturally beautiful form can be imparted by a studious contemplation in the looking-glass. All that creates and is profoundly active in the inner man, must be internal, and be communicated from above; as I believe it suffers itself not to be occasioned, at least not by forethought, circumspection, or wisdom in the agent to produce such effects. Beautiful forms, or abortions, are neither of them the work of art or study, but of intervening causes, of the quick-guiding providence, the predetermining God.

Instead of the senses, endeavour to act upon affection. If thou canst but incite love, it will of itself seek and find the powers of creation. But this very love must itself be innate before it can be awakened. Perhaps, however, the moment of this awakening is not in our power; and, therefore, to those who would, by plan and method, effect that which is in itself so extraordinary, and imagine they have had I know not what wise and physiological circumspection when they first awaken love, I might exclaim in the words of the enraptured singer: "I charge you, O ye daughters of Jerusalem, by the roes and the hinds of the field, that ye stir not up nor awake my love till he please."-Here, behold thy forming Genius.-" Behold he cometh, leaping upon the mountains, skipping upon the hills, like a young hart." (Song of Sol. chap. ii. 7, 8, 9.)

be saved in child-bearing, if they continue in faith, and charity, and holiness, with sobriety." (1 Tim. ii. 15.)

This tenderness, this sensibility, this light texture of their fibres and organs, this volatility of feeling renders them so easy to guide and to tempt; so ready to submit to the enterprise and power of the man; but more powerful through the aid of their charms than man, with all his strength. The man was not first tempted, but the woman, afterward the man by the woman.

But, not only easily to be tempted, she is capable of being formed to the purest, noblest, most seraphic virtue; to everything which can deserve praise or affection.

Highly sensible of purity, beauty, and symmetry, she does not always take time to reflect on internal life, internal death, internal corruption. "The woman saw that the tree was good for food, and that it was pleasant to the eyes, and a tree to be desired to make one wise, and she took of the fruit thereof." (Gen. iii. 6.)

The female thinks not profoundly; profound thought is the power of the man.

Women feel more. Sensibility is the power of woman.

They often rule more effectually, more sovereignly, than man. They rule with tender looks, tears, and sighs; but not with passion and threats; for if, or when, they so rule, they are no longer women, but abortions.

They are capable of the sweetest sensibility, the most profound emotion, the utmost humility, and the excess of enthusiasm.

In their countenance are the signs of sanctity and inviolability, which every feeling man bonours, and the effects of which are often mira

Therefore, by the irritability of their nerves, their incapacity for deep inquiry and firm decision, they may easily, from their extreme sensibility, become the most irreclaimable, the most rapturous enthusiasts.

MALE AND FEMALE.

In general (for I neither can nor will state anything but what is most known) how much more pure, tender, delicate, irritable, affectionate, flexible, and patient, is woman than man! The primary matter of which she is constituted appears to be more flexible, irritable, and elastic than that of man.

Women are formed to maternal mildness, and affection; all their organs are tender, yielding, easily wounded, sensible, and receptible.

Among a thousand females there is scarcely one without the genuine feminine signs; the flexible, the round, and the irritable.

They are the counterpart of man, taken out of man, to be subject to man; to comfort him like angels, and to lighten his cares. "She shall

Their love, strong and rooted as it is, is very changeable; their hatred almost incurable, and only to be effaced by continued and artful flattery. Men are most profound; women are more sublime.

Men most embrace the whole; women remark individually, and take more delight in selecting the minutiae which form the whole. Man hears the bursting thunder, views the destructive bolt with serene aspect, and stands erect amidst the fearful majesty of the streaming clouds.

Woman trembles at the lightning, and the voice of distant thunder; and shrinks into herself, or sinks into the arms of man.

Man receives a ray of light single, woman delights to view it through a prism, in all its dazzling colours. She contemplates the rainbow as the promise of peace; he extends his inquiring eye over the whole horizon.

Woman laughs, man smiles; woman weeps,