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and also by those who have treated of the principles of painting, that every emotion, and every operation of the mind, has a corresponding expression of the countenance; and hence it is, that the passions which we habitually indulge, and also the intellectual pursuits which most frequently occupy our thoughts, by strengthening particular sets of muscles, leave traces of their workings behind them, which may be perceived by an attentive observer. Hence, too, it is that a person's countenance becomes more expressive and characteristic as he advances in life; and that the appearance of a young man or woman, though more beautiful, is not so interesting, nor, in general, so good a subject for a painter, as that of a person whose character has been longer confirmed by habit.

This expression of the human countenance fixes our attention in most cases, and occupies our thoughts a great deal more than the mere material forms which it presents to our senses. I am inclined to think, that what we call family-likeness, consists rather in a similarity of expression than of features; and that it is owing to this circumstance that a likeness sometimes strikes one person, which does not strike another. Nobody fancies a resemblance between two merely material objects which is not acknowledged by all the world; but it is possible that, in consequence of different habits of observation, or of various other causes, a particular feature may be expressive to one man, which presents to the eye of another nothing but the material form. It is by copying expression, too, much more than by copying the forms of the different parts of a face, that mimics are able to recall to us so strong and lively an idea of the persons whose appearance they assume. The features of the original and of the copy, will often be found very strongly contrasted when the imitation is the most perfect, and the likeness the most striking imaginable. Indeed, it is upon this contrast that the ludicrous effect of mimicry in a great measure depends.

There seems to be in man a power of interpreting instinctively certain expressions of the countenance, certain gestures of the body, and certain tones of the voice. This has, indeed, been much disputed by Priestley and other writers, who have

attempted to resolve the whole into experience and observation; but I think there is a variety of considerations which (under proper limitations) go far to justify the common opinion on the subject. It is sufficient for my present purpose to mention one or two of these. I shall have occasion to resume the same argument, at greater length, in treating of Imitation.

1. A child is able at a very early period to understand the meaning of smiles and frowns, of a soothing or threatening tone of voice; long, at least, before it can be supposed capable of so much observation as to remark the connexion between a passion and its external effect. If the interpretation of natural signs be the result of experience, whence is it that children understand their meaning at a much earlier period than they do that of arbitrary signs? If it were merely the effect of observation, the fact would be reversed, inasmuch as it is obviously more. easy to remember the sound of a word than the most simple modification of the human countenance. Nor is there anything. more wonderful in this instinctive interpretation of certain natural signs than in many other phenomena which infants exhibit; nor perhaps so wonderful as that instinctive terror with which nature has certainly endowed some of the brutes for the destined enemies of their respective tribes. It deserves, too, to be remarked, with respect to the lower animals, that they, as well as man, express what passes in their minds by natural signs; and there is even some reason for apprehending, that some of them understand instinctively certain natural signs which we employ.

2. If natural signs be interpreted in consequence of experience only, why are we more affected by natural signs than by artificial ones? A peasant who has never heard but one language spoken, has as much reason to associate the word love or hatred with the sentiment it denotes, as to associate these pas

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sions with their natural expressions: and yet the effects of the two species of signs are widely different. For the farther confirmation or limitation of this conclusion, it would be worth while to institute some experiments expressly, if such a case as that recorded by Cheselden should again fall under the examination of an equally intelligent observer.

As ideas multiply, the imperfections of natural language are felt; and men find it necessary to invent artificial signs, of which the meaning is fixed by mutual agreement. In proportion as artificial language improves, the language of nature declines, insomuch that, in such a state of society as ours, it requires a great deal of reflection and study to recover the use of it. This study is, in a considerable degree, the foundation of the arts both of the Actor and of the Orator.

Among the ancients, the study of natural signs seems to have been cultivated with wonderful success. The pantomimes on the Roman stage carried the art to a perfection hardly credible; and about which, I must own, I should be disposed to be extremely sceptical, if I were to form a judgment from the best attempts of the same kind that I have happened to witness. We are told, that they performed long plays without any recitation, and yet conveyed to the spectators a distinct idea of the fable; and here it deserves our notice, that although much study was necessary to acquire the art, or rather to recover the natural capacity, it required no study to understand the exhibition. It consisted of a natural language, equally intelligible to the knowing and the ignorant, to the refined and the barbarous. Lucian, in his treatise IIepì 'Opxnoews, mentions a king, whose dominions bordered on the Euxine Sea, who happening to be at Rome, in the reign of Nero, and having seen a pantomime perform, begged him of the Emperor as a present, in order that he might employ him as an interpreter among the nations in his neighbourhood, with whom he could have no intercourse on account of the diversity of language.1

1 See Critical Reflections on Poetry also Reid's Essays on the Intellectual and Painting, by the Abbé de Bos;

Powers.

Notwithstanding, however, the decline of natural language in consequence of the use of artificial signs, the acquaintance which we still have with the former (however imperfect) is of essential service in teaching children the meaning of the latter. This may be casily exemplified, by first reading over to a child one of the simplest of Æsop's Fables, without taking your eye from the book, or using any inflection of voice; and afterwards telling him the same story, with the commentary of your face, and gestures, and tones. This effect of natural expression, in adding to the significancy of conventional signs, (the effect of the vultus habitusque hominis,) is remarked by Horace:

"Docte Cati, per amicitiam divosque rogatus,

Ducere me auditum, perges quocumque, memento.
Nam quamvis referas memori mihi pectore cuncta;
Non tamen interpres tantumdem juveris. Adde
Vultum habitumque hominis."'1

From the observations already made it seems to follow, that there are natural signs of the operations and passions of mind, which are interpreted instinctively by all who see them. At the same time, I am ready to grant that there are many expressions of countenance of which the meaning is learnt from experience alone; expressions which may justly be called natural signs, inasmuch as their connexion with the things signified is the effect of the natural constitution of the human frame, and as they must, therefore, have exhibited the same appearance in all ages and nations; but which, notwithstanding, are of a very different class from those hitherto considered, being intelligible to those alone who have turned their attention, in some degree, to the study of Character. A single instance will be sufficient, both for the illustration and proof of this remark.

When a variety of ideas are passing rapidly through the mind, the eyes are constantly in motion; for every time our thoughts change from one object to another, there is a corresponding movement in the organ. I do not say that it is impossible to prevent this effect from taking place, by a par1 [Sat. II. iv. 88.]

ticular exertion of the will-but only, that this is the natural and ordinary effect of the general laws of our constitution. Revolve, for example, quickly in your mind the names of a number of your acquaintance—or travel over in imagination the different parts of a country with whose geography you are acquainted; you will be sensible of a motion in your eyes every time that you change your idea, either of the person or place. Hence persons of a lively fancy or of a busy mind acquire what is called a quick eye. On the contrary, when the attention is much engaged with one object, or when the succession of ideas is slow, as in a deep melancholy, or in a mind occupied with some inquiry which requires patient and collected meditation, the eyes are either completely fixed, or their motions are slow and heavy. Bishop Atterbury takes notice of this circumstance as a remarkable feature in the countenance of Sir Isaac Newton. "The very lively and piercing eye (says Atterbury) that M. Fontenelle in his Eloge on Newton ascribes to him, did not belong to him, at least not for twenty years past, about which time I first became acquainted with him; indeed in the whole air of his face and make, there was nothing of that penetrating sagacity which appears in his works. He had something rather languid in his look and manner, which did not raise any great expectations in those who did not know him."1

I am inclined to believe that the expression of countenance which Atterbury here ascribes to Newton, will be found, in general, to be characteristic of all men whose habitual studies. require patient and profound investigation; excepting, perhaps, in those instances where the effects of their studies have been powerfully counteracted by habits of business, or by an extensive commerce with the world.

In the instances which have just been mentioned, the connexion between the mind and the external appearance, is plainly the effect of the operation of the mind on the body. Whether there are not other connexions resulting from the operation of the body on the mind, is a question of greater difficulty. At the same time there seems to be but little 1 Atterbury's Letter to M. Thiriot.

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