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chivalry and the cross, the sweetest minstrel of his country, or rather of all time, the inimitable Tasso.

There are instances of men devoted to letters. History describes Demosthenes as of a slender form, short breath, therefore we infer, of a narrow chest. His physiognomy has a sombre expression, as we know not only from the busts of him, but from the insolent jests of Æschines. He is represented as of unyielding perseverance; a man, whom neither the factions of the people, nor the clamours of the aristocratic party, nor the gold of Macedonia, could move from the career of disinterested patriotism; a man, who, arriving at early manhood, found a sufficient object for the employment of his life, and remained true to it in danger, in power, in success, in defeat,—at home, on embassies, in exile, and in death. He was an ardent lover of liberty, smitten also with true passion for glory. Moreover, beside his perseverance, he was naturally timid. When he was presented at the court of Philip, he is said to have been embarrassed, and to have shown no proofs of his greatness. When called from the forum to the camp, he was not at once capable of directing the battle. And he was accustomed never to address the Athenians except after careful preparation; yet, on great occasions, he was sometimes raised beyond himself, and if excited and compelled to speak, he did it as it were by inspiration, and with irresistible force. All these things are traits in the moral character of the melancholic temperament.

We think we are abundantly authorized by historical evidence in these remarks on Demosthenes; though, as far as our knowledge extends, he is cited in none of the books of physiology. We venture to name one still greater name, as of this class, and we do it confidently, relying on the portraits of his person and his moral character. It is a man, to whom this country has but recently paid high honours, and who yet merits the highest at our hands. We mean Christopher Columbus, who first unfurled his fortunate sails in these distant regions,

“ Ch’appena seguirà con gli occhi il volo,

La Fama, ch'ha mille occhi, e mille penne.
Canta ella Alcide, e Bacco, e di te solo,
Basti a i posteri tuoi ch'alquanto accenne ;
Che quel poco darà lunga memoria

Di poema dignissima, e d'istoria.” Thus we see, that persons of the melancholic temperament, possess great means of influencing others, and exercising power over the destinies of mankind. In our account of it, we have purposely avoided mentioning the monstrous crimes, which are described by Cabanis, Richerand, and the rest, as its natural effects. They are not so. Providence has made no temperament morally evil or good. It has exposed each to its own temptations, and facilitated to each the acquisition of virtues. The

rashness of the sanguineous is counteracted by humanity and the softer virtues; the ambitions of the bilious by clear reason and a quick perception of what is just; the weakness of the melancholic by patience and unwearied application. But it must be confessed, that when they become corrupt, their vices may produce very different degrees of horror. The bilious man is never wantonly cruel or wicked. Cæsar, in his ambition, finished the ruin of his country's liberties, but his success was not sullied by bloody vengeance. Nero, who was sanguineous, was at first humane, then fickle, then corrupt, and when his innocence was gone, he made men miserable for his amusement. Vengeance is the crime of the melancholic. Witness the proscriptions of Sylla. When the mind of the melancholic man yields itself up the influence of malignant or degrading passions, he is cold and merciless; his imagination is full of corrupt images ; his lusts are unnatural ; his breast conceives dark and malignant designs; he becomes indifferent to consequences; he neither respects the happiness of others, nor is awed by the prospect of his own ruin; he is deaf to the voice of humanity, reckless of nature, of God, and of eternity. Tiberius, Domitian, Philip II. of Spain; these are examples,—would there were no more,—that the melancholic temperament may be ruinous to public happiness and virtue. The mind turns gladly from men of such atrocious souls, to the milder virtues and the better genius of Burke or the elder Pitt.

Let the melancholic man, if he values health of body, or peace of mind, never yield to indolence, and shun solitude when his mind begins to view things darkly. His diet should be rich, moderate in quantity, but nutritious. Fasting, or a low fare, gives the passions a tragical power. Light wines may be freely used. In winter, if he will but be often abroad, the cold weather will call off his ideas from his troubles. Sufficient exercise by day, and cheerful company in the evening, will keep him in a good condition. Summer is the dangerous season for him. The solitary admiration of nature confirms all his evils.

“Go, soft enthusiast ! quit the cypress groves,
Nor to the rivulet's lonely moanings tune
Your sad complaint. Go, seek the cheerful haunts
Of men, and mingle with the bustling crowd ;
Lay schemes for wealth, or power, or fame, the wish
Of nobler minds, and push them night and day.
Or join the caravan in quest of scenes
New to your eyes and shifting every hour.
Beyond the Alps, beyond the Appenines,
Or more adventurous, rush into the field
Where war grows hot; and raging through the sky,
The lofty trumpet swells the maddening soul
And in the hardy camp and toilsome march,
Forget all softer and less manly cares.

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We have finished the enumeration of temperaments, as described by the fathers of medicine. The Greeks recognised but four, considering the athletic only as a modification of the sanguineous. The modern writers form a distinct class of the athletic, and they add another, of which examples doubless existed among the ancients, and which in modern times embraces no inconsiderable portion of mankind.

The temperament to which we allude is the nervous. We cannot readily give a type of its moral character, for a part of its peculiarity is, that it admits of the most various modifications. It is characterized by the predominance of the sensitive part of the system. It is not that the nerves are deranged, or delicate, or weak, as the common phrases are; on the contrary, the action of the nerves is disproportionably powerful ; they do their office too effectually.

The nervous temperament is characterized by extreme sensibility. An impression is easily made ; the mind is active, volatile, flies hastily from one subject to another, and that not from fickleness, but from a rapidity of associations. It is quick in making combinations of ideas, forms its resolutions suddenly, and the durability of these resolutions depends on another circumstance. If the fibres are effeminate, the character is also fickle ; if they are hard, and in man, this usually happens, the character is firm and possessed of decision. In the latter case the nervous man is lean and as it were emaciated; his muscles are hard ; the eye bright and rapid. His mind is capable of the most various action. He passes from one subject and one feeling to another with facility. He can instantaneously break from deep devotion to give himself up to amusement, from sympathy with the sorrows of others to mix in gaiety. He is suited for the most various exercises of the mind. Sometimes he is distinguished for eloquence; but wit and sarcasm, frequent illustrations, abrupt transitions, are more natural to him than careful reasoning or impassioned eloquence. Indeed he is scarcely ever pathetic ; but he excels in epigrammatic conceits, in the quick perception of the ludicrous ; and in the pointed expression of his ideas. He delights in proverbs, and manufactures new ones. He is commonly eccentric in his ways; and while he is sometimes suspected by the world of levity, he retorts upon it by a cold philosophy, and a “contempt for the malignant vulgar.” The people of Neufchatel dismissed their pastor, because he disbelieved in the eternity of future punishments. The pastor appealed to Frederic, who declined interference. “If,” said he, and it was his only and his formal answer, “the people of Neufchatel insist on being damned for ever, I have no objections." Frederic is the most striking example of the nervous temperament. Voltaire also belongs to it. So too in the North, we have no he

sitation in classing under it the Russian Suwarrow. In antiquity we think that Socrates belonged to it; to the many he seemed an odd buffoon; but his friends and pupils knew that his mind held glorious converse with the sublimest truths. We further venture the suggestion, that the eccentric apostate, the gifted Julian, belonged to the nervous class. Were we to name two more, they should be the emperor Hadrian of Rome, and his counterpart, the emperor Joseph of Austria.

Where this temperament exists in an intense degree, it becomes a malady. Its remedy is exercise. The balance must be restored between the sensitive and the muscular forces; and this can be effected only by diminishing the action of the mind, and increasing that of the animal nature. Nothing else can give it rest. Friendship, letters, business, action, all will not avail, or rather will but increase the evil. The labours of agriculture, or any labour abroad, which will gently occupy the thoughts, and at the same time strengthen the body, are of most service. Children of this class suffer from too early attempts to cultivate their minds. Such attempts are immediately followed by great apparent results, but do in fact confirm the natural weakness and misfortune of the individual.

It will be hardly necessary to add, that these temperaments are seldom found unmixed, although one is usually predominant. In general, it may be observed, that the sanguineous prevails in northern countries, the bilious at the south, the phlegmatic in cold and moist marshy countries. In our immediate vicinity, examples of the sanguineous occur more frequently than of any other. A mixture of the sanguineous and the bilious is very common, and forms the temperament best suited for the faithful and tranquil discharge of private duties. The melancholic is also not rare; the nervous is uncommon, except in the other sex ; there are not decided cases enough of the phlegmatic to bring them into the account.

And which is the best temperament? Each is content with itself. The bilious man thinks no hours worth remembering, except those which have been past in the midst of ambitious toil. But do you think, that the sanguineous will desert his pleasant fireside, abandon his cheerfulness, renounce his fickleness, restrain the wanderings of his affections, for all the boasted superiority of the bilious temperament? Or that the melancholic man, in love with himself and his mournful humour, desires a change in his constitution ? Or that the phlegmatic indolence, which cares not whether the world was made for Cæsar or no, would wish to part with its indifference, and figure in the career of public honours ? Providence has been merciful and benevolent to each. The best temperament, the beau ideal, is compounded of all the rest, and we will call it the tempered temperament. In this the

happiest proportion of the elements is observed, and they are so mixed, that nature may be proud of her production. This model of perfection may have never existed : many of the wise and good, who have been the benefactors of mankind, have approached near to it; our own Washington nearest of all.

We have now explained the six classes, into which all physical peculiarities and the corresponding moral ones may be resolved. It no longer remains difficult to show, how men differ from one another in the manner in which we have stated. That a peculiar temperament distinguishes a nation, no one who will consult history, or look through the world, at the Turks, the Dutch, the Spaniards, can deny. That in families the same defects and advantages of original organization are transmitted, is quite as obvious. The differences between individuals are as apparent as between the races.

It is when the difference between man in one age and another is observed, that physiologists* find reason to believe it possible to effect great changes and improvements in his condition. When these ingenious observers are admitted to the councils of education, the most brilliant prospects are opened for the amelioration of the human race, and the happiness, health, and virtue of future generations. The companions of man's existence, his dogs and his horses, have already seen the epoch of regeneration; it does but remain for him now to try upon himself, what he has so successfully attempted upon others, to review, says the illustrious Cabanis, who for the most part, uses words considerately, to review and correct the work of nature.' “A daring enterprise" he may well add. In that happy age, which the physiologists are to prepare, the inequalities of temperaments are to be removed, and a mixture of the elements in the happiest proportions, is to form a healthful body, the dwelling and the instrument of a healthful mind. There will then be no more of atrabilious frenzy; no more of athletic dulness; the phlegmatic are to exchange their inertness for the livelier exercise of their bodies and the cheering efforts of imagination; and the sanguineous to be metamorphosed from frivolity to fixedness, from inattention and indecision to steadfastness of character and firmness of principle. There is still to be an infinite variety of character, resulting chiefly from the influence of the world; of climate, age, regimen, and pursuits; but there is to be no more excess. Goodness is to be engrafted on every member of the human race. There is to be no more sorrowing for ideal suffering; the compressed lungs of the melancholy are to find relief and freedom; their

Cabanis, vol. i. p. 405. These views are not new. Plato's Republic contains a similar project for the improvement of the human race. His plan is liable to no decided objection, but that it is impracticable.

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