Chapter VII: Part 7

We cannot doubt that such distillation does take place in the mineral regions, when we consider that in most places of the earth we find the evident effects of such distillation in the naphtha and petroleum that are constantly emitted along with water in certain springs. We have, therefore, sufficient proof of this operation of distillation.

_III.--The Disintegration and Dissolution of Land_

Whether we examine the mountain or the plain, whether we consider the disintegration of the rocks or the softer strata of the earth, whether we regard the shores of seas or the central plains of continents, whether we contemplate fertile lands or deserts, we find evidence of a general dissolution and decay of the solid surface of the globe. Every great river and deep valley gives evidence of the attrition of the land. The purpose of the dry land is to sustain a system of plants and animals; and for this purpose a soil is required, and to make a soil the solid strata must be crumbled down. The earth is nothing more than an indefinite number of soils and situations suitable for various animals and plants, and it must consist of both solid rock and tender earth, of both moist and dry districts; for all these are requisite for the world we inhabit.

But not only is the solid rock crumbling into soil by the action of air and water, but the soil gradually progresses towards the sea, and sooner or later the sea must swallow up the land. Vegetation and masses of solid rock retard the seaward flow of the soil; but they merely retard, they cannot wholly prevent. In proportion as the mountains are diminished, the haugh, or plain, between them grows more wide, and also on a lower level; but while there is a river running on a plain, and floods produced in the seasons of rain, there is nothing stable in the constitution of the surface of the land.

The theory of the earth which I propound is founded upon the great catastrophes that can happen to the earth. It supposes strata raised from the bottom of the sea and elevated into mountainous continents. But, between the catastrophes, it requires nothing further than the ordinary everyday effects of air and water. Every shower of rain, every stream, participates in the dissolution of the land, and helps to transport to the sea the material for future continents.

The prodigious waste of the land we see in places has seemed to some to require some other explanation; but I maintain that the natural operations of air and water would suffice in time to produce the effects observed. It is true that the wastage would be slow; but slow destruction of rock with gradual formation of soil is just what is required in the economy of nature. A world sustaining plants and animals requires continents which endure for more than a day.

If this continent of land, first collected in the sea, is to remain a habitable earth, and to resist the moving waters of the globe, certain degrees of solidity or consolidation must be given to that collection of loose materials; and certain degrees of hardness must be given to bodies which are soft and incoherent, and consequently so extremely perishable in the situation in which they are now placed.

But, at the same time that this earth must have solidity and hardness to resist the sudden changes which its moving fluids would occasion, it must be made subject to decay and waste upon the surface exposed to the atmosphere; for such an earth as were made incapable of change, or not subject to decay, would not afford that fertile soil which is required in the system of this world--a soil on which depends the growth of plants and life of animals--the end of its intention.

Now, we find this earth endued precisely with such degree of hardness and consolidation as qualifies it at the same time to be a fruitful earth, and to maintain its station with all the permanency compatible with the nature of things, which are not formed to remain unchangeable.

Thus we have a view of the most perfect wisdom in the contrivance of that constitution by which the earth is made to answer, in the best manner possible, the purpose of its intention, that is, to maintain and perpetuate a system of vegetation, or the various races of useful plants, or a system of living animals, which are in their turn subservient to a system still infinitely more important--I mean a system of intellect. Without fertility in the earth, many races of plants and animals would soon perish, or be extinct; and with permanency in our land it were impossible for the various tribes of plants and animals to be dispersed over the surface of a changing earth. The fact is that fertility, adequate to the various ends in view, is found in all the quarters of the world, or in every country of the earth; and the permanency of our land is such as to make it appear unalterable to mankind in general and even to impose upon men of science, who have endeavoured to persuade us that this earth is not to change.

Nothing but supreme power and wisdom could have reconciled those two opposite ends of intention, so as both to be equally pursued in the system of nature, and so equally attained as to be imperceptible to common observation, and at the same time a proper object of the human understanding.

LAMARCK

Zoological Philosophy

Jean Baptiste de Monet, Chevalier de Lamarck, was born in Picardy,
France, Aug. I, 1744, the cadet of an ancient but impoverished
house. It was his father's desire that he should enter the Church,
but his inclination was for a military life; and having, at the age
of seventeen, joined the French army under De Broglie, he had
within twenty-four hours the good fortune so to distinguish himself
as to win his commission. When the Museum of Natural History was
brought into existence in 1794 he was sufficiently well-known as a
naturalist to be entrusted with the care of the collections of
invertebrates, comprising insects, molluscs, polyps, and worms.
Here he continued to lecture until his death in 1829. Haeckel,
classifying him in the front rank with Goethe and Darwin,
attributes to him "the imperishable glory of having been the first
to raise the theory of descent to the rank of an independent
scientific theory." The form of his theory was announced in 1801,
but was not given in detail to the world until 1809, by the
publication of his "Zoological Philosophy" ("Philosophie
Zoologique"). The Lamarckian theory of the hereditary transmission
of characters acquired by use, disuse, etc., has still a following,
though it is controverted by the schools of Darwin and Weissmann.
Lamarck died on December 18, 1829.

_I.--The Ladder of Life_

If we look backwards down the ladder of animal forms we find a progressive degradation in the organisation of the creatures comprised; the organisation of their bodies becomes simpler, the number of their faculties less. This well-recognised fact throws a light upon the order in which nature has produced the animals; but it leaves unexplained the fact that this gradation, though sustained, is irregular. The reason will become clear if we consider the effects produced by the infinite diversity of conditions in different parts of the globe upon the general form, the limbs, and the very organisation of the animals in question.

It will, in fact, be evident that the state in which we find all animals is the product, on the one hand, of the growing composition of the organisation which tends to form a regular gradation; and that, for the rest, it results from a multitude of circumstances which tend continually to destroy the regularity of the gradation in the increasingly composite nature of the organism.

Not that circumstances can effect any modification directly. But changed circumstances produce changed wants, changed wants changed actions. If the new wants become constant the animals acquire new habits, which are no less constant than the wants which gave rise to them. And such new habits will necessitate the use of one member rather than another, or even the cessation of the use of a member which has lost its utility.

We will look at some familiar examples of either case. Among vegetables, which have no actions, and therefore no habits properly so called, great differences in the development of the parts do none the less arise as a consequence of changed circumstances; and these differences cause the development of certain of them, while they attenuate others and cause them to disappear. But all this is caused by changes in the nutrition of the plant, in its absorptions and transpirations, in the quantity of heat and light, of air and moisture, which it habitually receives; and, lastly, by the superiority which certain of its vital movements may assert over the others. There may arise between individuals of the same species, of which some are placed in favourable, others amid unfavourable, conditions, a difference which by degrees becomes very notable.

Suppose that circumstances keep certain individuals in an ill-nourished or languid state. Their internal organisation will at length be modified, and these individuals will engender offspring which will perpetuate the modifications thus acquired, and thus will in the end give place to a race quite distinct from that of which the individual members come together always under circumstances favourable to their development.

For instance, if a seed of some meadow flower is carried to dry and stony ground, where it is exposed to the winds and there germinates, the consequence will be that the plant and its immediate offspring, being always ill-nourished, will give rise to a race really different from that which lives in the field; yet this, none the less, will be its progenitor. The individuals of this race will be dwarfed; and their organs, some being increased at the expense of the rest, will show distinctive proportions. What nature does in a long time we do every day ourselves. Every botanist knows that the vegetables transplanted to our gardens out of their native soil undergo such changes as render them at last unrecognisable.

Consider, again, the varieties among our domestic fowls and pigeons, all of them brought into existence by being raised in diverse circumstances and different countries, and such as might be sought in vain in a state of nature. It is matter of common knowledge that if we raise a bird in a cage, and keep it there for five or six years, it will be unable to fly if restored to liberty. There has, indeed, been no change as yet in the form of its members; but if for a long series of generations individuals of the same race had been kept caged for a considerable time, there is no room for doubt that the very form of their limbs would little by little have undergone notable alteration. Much more would this be the case if their captivity had been accompanied by a marked change of climate, and if these individuals had by degrees accustomed themselves to other sorts of food and to other measures for acquiring it. Such circumstances, taken constantly together, would have formed insensibly a new and clearly denned race.

The following example shows, in regard to plants, how the change of some important circumstance may tend to change the various parts of these living bodies.

So long as the _ranunculus aquatilis_, the water buttercup, is under water its leaves are all finely indented, and the divisions are furnished with capillaries; but as soon as the stalk of the plant reaches the surface the leaves, which develop in the air, are broadened out, rounded, and simply lobed. If the plant manages to spring up in a soil that is merely moist, and not covered with water, the stems will be short, and none of the leaves will show these indentations and capillaries. You have then the _ranunculus hederaceus_, which botanists regard as a distinct species.

Among animals changes take place more slowly, and it is therefore more difficult to determine their cause. The strongest influence, no doubt, is that of environment. Places far apart are different, and--which is too commonly ignored--a given place changes its climate and quality with time, though so slowly in respect of human life that we attribute to it perfect stability. Hence it arises that we have not only extreme changes, but also shadowy ones between the extremes.

Everywhere the order of things changes so gradually that man cannot observe the change directly, and the animal tribes in every place preserve their habits for a long time; whence arises the apparent constancy of what we call species--a constancy which has given birth in us to the idea that these races are as old as nature.

But the surface of the habitable globe varies in nature, situation, and climate, in every variety of degrees. The naturalist will perceive that just in proportion as the environment is notably changed will the species change their characters.

It must always be recognised:

(1) That every considerable and constant change in the environment of a race of animals works a real change in their wants.

(2) That every change in their wants necessitates new actions to supply them, and consequently new habits.

(3) That every new want calling for new actions for its satisfaction affects the animal in one of two ways. Either it has to make more frequent use of some particular member, and this will develop the part and cause it to increase in size; or it must employ new members which will grow in the animal insensibly in response to the inward yearning to satisfy these wants. And this I will presently prove from known facts.

How the new wants have been able to attain satisfaction, and how the new habits have been acquired, it will be easy to see if regard be had to the two following laws, which observation has always confirmed.

FIRST LAW.--In every animal which has not arrived at the term of
its developments, the more frequent and sustained use of any organ
strengthens, develops, and enlarges that organ, and gives it a
power commensurate with the duration of this employment of it. On
the other hand, constant disuse of such organ weakens it by
degrees, causes it to deteriorate, and progressively diminishes its
faculties, so that in the end it disappears.

SECOND LAW.--All qualities naturally acquired by individuals as the
result of circumstances to which their race is exposed for a
considerable time, or as a consequence of a predominant employment
or the disuse of a certain organ, nature preserves to individual
offspring; provided that the acquired modifications are common to
the two sexes, or, at least, to both parents of the individual
offspring.

Naturalists have observed that the members of animals are adapted to their use, and thence have concluded hitherto that the formation of the members has led to their appropriate employment. Now, this is an error. For observation plainly shows that, on the contrary, the development of the members has been caused by their need and use; that these have caused them to come into existence where they were wanting.

But let us examine the facts which bear upon the effects of employment or disuse of organs resulting from the habits which a race has been compelled to form.

_II.--The Penalties of Disuse_

Permanent disuse of an organ as a consequence of acquired habits gradually impoverishes it, and in the end causes it to disappear, or even annihilates it altogether.

Thus vertebrates, which, in spite of innumerable particular distinctions, are alike in the plan of their organisation, are generally armed with teeth. Yet those of them which by circumstances have acquired the habit of swallowing their prey without mastication have been liable to leave their teeth undeveloped. Consequently, the teeth have either remained hidden between the bony plates of the jaws, or have even been, in the course of time, annihilated.

The whale was supposed to have no teeth at all till M. Geoffrey found them hidden in the jaws of the foetus. He has also found in birds the groove in which teeth might be placed, but without any trace of the teeth themselves. A similar case to that of the whale is the ant-eater (_nyomecophaga_), which has long given up the practice of mastication.

Eyes in the head are an essential part of the organisation of vertebrates. Yet the mole, which habitually makes no use of the sense of sight, has eyes so small that they can hardly be seen; and the aspalax, whose habits-resemble a mole's, has totally lost its sight, and shows but vestiges of eyes. So also the proteus, which inhabits dark caves under water.

In such cases, since the animals in question belong to a type of which eyes are an essential part, it is clear that the impoverishment, and even the total disappearance, of these organs are the results of long continued disuse.

With hearing, the case is otherwise. Sound traverses everything. Therefore, wherever an animal dwells it may exercise this faculty. And so no vertebrate lacks it, and we never find it re-appearing in any of the lower ranges. Sight disappears, re-appears, and disappears again, according as circumstances deny or permit its exercise.

Four legs attached to its skeleton are part of the reptile type; and serpents, particularly as between them and the fishes come the batrachians--frogs, etc.--ought to have four legs.

But serpents, having acquired the habit of gliding along the ground, and concealing themselves amid the grass, their bodies, as a consequence of constantly repeated efforts to lengthen themselves out in order to pass through narrow passages, have acquired considerable length of body which is out of all proportion to their breadth.

Now, feet would have been useless to these animals, and consequently would have remained unemployed; for long legs would have interfered with their desire to go on their bellies; and short legs, being limited in number to four, would have been incapable of moving their bodies. Thus total disuse among these races of animals has caused the parts which have fallen into disuse totally to disappear.

Many insects, which by their order and genus should have wings, lack them more or less completely for similar reasons.

_III.--The Advantages of Use_

The frequent use of an organ, if constant and habitual, increases its powers, develops it, and makes it acquire dimensions and potency such as are not found among animals which use it less.

Of this principle, the web-feet of some birds, the long legs and neck of the stork, are examples. Similarly, the elongated tongue of the ant-eater, and those of lizards and serpents.

Such wants, and the sustained efforts to satisfy them, have also resulted in the displacement of organs. Fishes which swim habitually in great masses of water, since they need to see right and left of them, have the eyes one upon either side of the head. Their bodies, more or less flat, according to species, have their edges perpendicular to the plane of the water; and their eyes are so placed as to be one on either side of the flattened body. But those whose habits bring them constantly to the banks, especially sloping banks, have been obliged to lie over upon the flattened surface in order to approach more nearly. In this position, in which more light falls on the upper than on the under surface, and their attention is more particularly fixed upon what is going on above than on what is going on below them, this want has forced one of the eyes to undergo a kind of displacement, and to keep the strange position which it occupies in the head of a sole or a turbot. The situation is not symmetrical because the mutation is not complete. In the case of the skate, however, it is complete; for in these fish the transverse flattening of the body is quite horizontal, no less than that of the head. And so the eyes of a skate are not only placed both of them on the upper surface, but have become symmetrical.

Serpents need principally to see things above them, and, in response to this need, the eyes are placed so high up at the sides of the head that they can see easily what is above them on either side, while they can see in front of them but a very little distance. To compensate for this, the tongue, with which they test bodies in their line of march, has been rendered by this habit thin, long, and very contractile, and even, in most species, has been split so as to be able to test more than one object at a time. The same custom has resulted similarly in the formation of an opening at the end of the muzzle by which the tongue may be protruded without any necessity for the opening of the jaws.

The effect of use is curiously illustrated in the form and figure of the giraffe. This animal, the largest of mammals, is found in the interior of Africa, where the ground is scorched and destitute of grass, and has to browse on the foliage of trees. From the continual stretching thus necessitated over a great space of time in all the individuals of the race, it has resulted that the fore legs have become longer than the hind legs, and that the neck has become so elongated that the giraffe, without standing on its hind legs, can raise its head to a height of nearly twenty feet. Observation of all animals will furnish similar examples.

None, perhaps, is more striking than that of the kangaroo. This animal, which carries its young in an abdominal pouch, has acquired the habit of carrying itself upright upon its hind legs and tail, and of moving from place to place in a series of leaps, during which, in order not to hurt its little ones, it preserves its upright posture. Observe the result.

(1) Its front limbs, which it uses very little, resting on them only in the instant during which it quits its erect posture, have never acquired a development in proportion to the other parts; they have remained thin, little, and weak.

(2) The hind legs, almost continually in action, whether to bear the weight of the whole body or to execute its leaps, have, on the contrary, obtained a considerable development; they are very big and very strong.

(3) Finally, the tail, which we observe to be actively employed, both to support the animal's weight and to execute its principal movements, has acquired at its base a thickness and a strength that are extremely remarkable.

When the will determines an animal to a certain action, the organs concerned are forthwith stimulated by a flow of subtle fluids, which are the determining cause of organic changes and developments. And multiplied repetitions of such acts strengthen, extend, and even call into being the organs necessary to them. Now, every change in an organ which has been acquired by habitual use sufficient to originate it is reproduced in the offspring if it is common to both the individuals which have come together for the reproduction of their species. In the end, this change is propagated and passes to all the individuals which come after and are submitted to the same conditions, without its being necessary that they should acquire it in the original manner.

For the rest, in the union of disparate couples, the disparity is necessarily opposed to the constant propagation of such qualities and outward forms. This is why man, who is exposed to such diversity of conditions, does not preserve and propagate the qualities or the accidental defects which he has been in the way of acquiring. Such peculiarities will be produced only in case two individuals who share them unite; these will produce offspring bearing similar characteristics, and, if successive generations restrict themselves to similar unions, a distinct race will then be formed. But perpetual intermixture will cause all characters acquired through particular circumstances to disappear. If it were not for the distances which separate the races of men, such intermixture would quickly obliterate all national distinctions.

_IV.--The Conclusion_

Here, then, is the conclusion to which we have come. It is a fact that every genus and species of animal has its characteristic habits combined with an organisation perfectly in harmony with them. From the consideration of this fact one of two conclusions must follow, and that though neither of them can be proved.

(1) The conclusion admitted hitherto--that nature (or its Author) in creating the animals has foreseen all the possible sets of circumstances in which they would have to live, has given to each species a constant organisation, and has shaped its parts in a determined and invariable way so that every species is compelled to live in the districts and the climates where it is actually formed, and to keep the habits by which it is actually known.

(2) My own conclusion--that nature has produced in succession all the animal species, beginning with the more imperfect, or the simpler, and ending with the more perfect; that in so doing it has gradually complicated their organisation; and that of these animals, dispersed over the habitable globe, every species has acquired, under the influence of the circumstances amid which it is found, the habits and modifications of form which we associate with it.

To prove that the second of these hypotheses is unfounded, it will be necessary, first, to prove that the surface of the globe never varies in character, in exposure, situation, whether elevated or sheltered, climate, etc.; and, secondly, to prove that no part of the animal world undergoes, even in the course of long periods of time, any modification through change of circumstances, or as a consequence of a changed manner of life and action.

Now, a single fact which establishes that an animal, after a long period of domestication, differs from the wild stock from which it derives, and that among the various domesticated members of a species may be found differences no less marked between individuals which, have been subjected to one use and those which have been subjected to another, makes it certain that the former conclusion is not consistent with the laws of nature, and that the second is.

Everything, therefore, concurs to prove my assertion, to wit--that it is not form, whether of the body or of the parts, which gives rise to the habits of animals and their manner of life; but that, on the contrary, in the habits, the manner of living, and all the other circumstances of environment, we have those things which in the course of time have built up animal bodies with all their members. With new forms new faculties have been acquired, and little by little nature has come to shape animals and all living things in their present forms.

JOHANN LAVATER

Physiognomical Fragments

Johann Caspar Lavater, the Swiss theologian, poet, and
physiognomist, was born at Zürich on November 15, 1741. He began
his public life at the age of twenty-one as a political reformer.
Five years later he appeared as a poet, and published a volume of
poetry which was very favourably received. During the next five
years he produced a religious work, which was considered heretical,
although its mystic, religious enthusiasm appealed to a
considerable audience. His fame, however, rests neither on his
poetry nor on his theology, but on his physiognomical studies,
published in four volumes between 1775-78 under the title
"Physiognomical Fragments for the Advancement of Human Knowledge
and Human Life" ("Physiognomische Fragmente zur Beförderung des
Menschenkenntniss und Menschenliebe"). The book is diffuse and
inconsequent, but it contains many shrewd observations with respect
to physiognomy and has had no little influence on popular opinion
in this matter. Lavater died on January 2, 1801.

_I.--The Truth of Physiognomy_

There can be no doubt of the truth of physiognomy. All countenances, all forms, all created beings, are not only different from each other in their classes, races, kinds, but are also individually distinct. It is indisputable that all men estimate all things whatever by their external temporary superficies--that is to say, by their physiognomy. Is not all nature physiognomy, superficies and contents, body and spirit, external effect and internal power? There is not a man who does not judge of all things that pass through his hands by their physiognomy--there is not a man who does not more or less, the first time he is in company with a stranger, observe, estimate, compare, judge him according to appearances. When each apple, each apricot, has a physiognomy peculiar to itself, shall man, the lord of the earth, have none?

Man is the most perfect of all earthly creatures. In no other creature are so wonderfully united the animal, the intellectual, and the moral. And man's organisation peculiarly distinguishes him from all other beings, and shows him to be infinitely superior to all those other visible organisms by which he is surrounded. His head, especially his face, convinces the accurate observer, who is capable of investigating truth, of the greatness and superiority of his intellectual qualities. The eye, the expression, the cheeks, the mouth, the forehead, whether considered in a state of entire rest, or during their innumerable varieties of motion--in fine, whatever is understood by physiognomy--are the most expressive, the most convincing picture of interior sensations, desires, passions, will, and of all those properties which so much exalt moral above animal life.

Although the physiological, intellectual, and moral are united in man, yet it is plain that each of these has its peculiar station where it more especially unfolds itself and acts.

It is, beyond contradiction, evident that, though physiological or animal life displays itself through all the body, and especially through all the animal parts, yet it acts more conspicuously in the arm, from the shoulder to the ends of the fingers.

It is not less evident that intellectual life, or the powers of the understanding and the mind, make themselves most apparent in the circumference and form of the solid parts of the head, especially the forehead; though they will discover themselves to the attentive and accurate eye in every part and point of the human body, by the congeniality and harmony of the various parts. Is there any occasion to prove that the power of thinking resides not in the foot, nor in the hand, nor in the back, but in the head and its internal parts?

The moral life of man particularly reveals itself in the lines, marks, and transitions of the countenance. His moral powers and desires, his irritability, sympathy, and antipathy, his facility of attracting or repelling the objects that surround him--these are all summed up in, and painted upon, his countenance when at rest.

Not only do mental and moral traits evince themselves in the physiognomy, but also health and sickness; and I believe that by repeatedly examining the firm parts and outlines of the bodies and countenances of the sick, disease might be diagnosed, and even that liability to disease might be predicted in particular cases.

The same vital powers that make the heart beat and the fingers move, roof the skull and arch the finger-nails. From the head to the back, from the shoulder to the arm, from the arm to the hand, from the hand to the finger, each depends on the other, and all on a determinate effect of a determinate power. Through all nature each determinate power is productive of only such and such determinate effects. The finger of one body is not adapted to the hand of another body. The blood in the extremity of the finger has the character of the blood in the heart. The same congeniality is found in the nerves and in the bones. One spirit lives in all. Each member of the body, too, is in proportion to the whole of which it is a part. As from the length of the smallest member, the smallest joint of the finger, the proportion of the whole, the length and breadth of the body may be found; so also may the form of the whole be found from the form of each single part. When the head is long, all is long; when the head is round, all is round; when the head is square, all is square.

One form, one mind, one root appertain to all. Each organised body is so much a whole that, without discord, destruction, or deformity, nothing can be added or subtracted. Those, therefore, who maintain that conclusion cannot be drawn from a part to the whole labour under error, failing to comprehend the harmony of nature.

_II.--Physiognomy and the Features_

The Forehead. The form, height, arching, proportion, obliquity, and position of the skull, or bone of the forehead, show the propensity of thought, power of thought, and sensibility of man. The position, colour, wrinkles, tension of the skin of the forehead, show the passions and present state of the mind. The bones indicate the power, the skin the application of power.

I consider the outline and position of the forehead to be the most important feature in physiognomy. We may divide foreheads into three principal classes--the retreating, the perpendicular, and the projecting, and each of these classes has a multitude of variations.

A few facts with respect to foreheads may now be given.

The higher the forehead, the more comprehension and the less activity.

The more compressed, short, and firm the forehead, the more compression and firmness, and the less volatility in the man.

The more curved and cornerless the outline, the more tender and flexible the character; and the more rectilinear, the more pertinacious and severe the character.

Perfect perpendicularity implies lack of understanding, but gently arched at top, capacity for cold, tranquil, profound thought.

A projecting forehead indicates imbecility, immaturity, weakness, stupidity.

A retreating forehead, in general, denotes superior imagination, wit, acuteness.

A forehead round and prominent above, straight below, and, on the whole, perpendicular, shows much understanding, life, sensibility, ardour.

An oblique, rectilinear forehead is ardent and vigorous.

Arched foreheads appear properly to be feminine.

A forehead neither too perpendicular nor too retreating, but a happy mean, indicates the post-perfect character of wisdom.

I might also state it as an axiom that straight lines considered as such, and curves considered as such, are related as power and weakness, obstinacy and flexibility, understanding and sensation.

I have seen no man with sharp, projecting eyebones who was not inclined to vigorous thinking and wise planning.

Yet, even lacking sharpness, a head may be excellent if the forehead sink like a perpendicular wall upon horizontal eyebrows, and be greatly rounded towards the temples.

Perpendicular foreheads, projecting so as not to rest immediately upon the nose, and small, wrinkled, short, and shining, indicate little imagination, little understanding, little sensation.

Foreheads with many angular, knotty protuberances denote perseverance and much vigorous, firm, harsh, oppressive, ardent activity.

It is a sure sign of a clear, sound understanding and a good temperament when the profile of the forehead has two proportionate arches, the lower of which projects.

Eyebones with well-marked, firm arches I never saw but in noble and great men.

Square foreheads with extensive temples and firm eyebones show circumspection and steadiness of character.

Perpendicular wrinkles, if natural, denote application and power. Horizontal wrinkles and those broken in the middle or at the extremities generally denote negligence or want of power.

Perpendicular, deep indentings in the forehead between the eyebrows, I never met save in men of sound understanding and free and noble minds, unless there were some positively contradictory feature.

A blue frontal vein, in the form of a Y, when in an open, smooth, well-arched forehead, I have only found in men of extraordinary talents and of ardent and generous character.

The following are the traits of a perfectly beautiful, intelligent, and noble forehead.

In length it must equal the nose, or the under part of the face. In breadth it must be either oval at the top-like the foreheads of most of the great men of England--or nearly square. It must be free from unevenness and wrinkles, yet be able to wrinkle when deep in thought, afflicted by pain, or moved by indignation. It must retreat above and project beneath. The eyebones must be simple, horizontal, and, if seen from above, must present a simple curve. There should be a small cavity in the centre, from above to below, and traversing the forehead so as to separate it into four divisions perceptible in a clear descending light. The skin must be more clear on the forehead than in other parts of the countenance.

Foreheads short, wrinkled, and knotty, are incapable of durable friendship.

Be not discouraged though a friend, an enemy, a child, or a brother transgress, for so long as he have a good, well-proportioned, open forehead there is still hope of improvement.

THE EYES AND EYEBROWS. Blue eyes are generally more indicative of weakness and effeminacy than brown or black. Certainly there are many powerful men with blue eyes, but I find more strength, manhood, thought with brown.

Choleric men have eyes of every colour, but rather brown or greenish than blue. A propensity to green is an almost decisive token of ardour, fire, and courage.

Wide open eyes, with the white visible, I have often observed both in the timid and phlegmatic, and in the courageous and rash.

Meeting eyebrows were supposed to be the mark of craft, but I do not believe them to have this significance. Angular, strong, interrupted eyebrows denote fire and productive activity. The nearer the eyebrows to the eyes, the more earnest, deep, and firm the character. Eyebrows remote from each other denote warm, open, quick sensations. White eyebrows signify weakness; and dark brown, firmness. The motion of the eyebrows contains numerous expressions, especially of ignoble passions.

THE NOSE. I have generally considered the nose the foundation or abutment of the brain, for upon this the whole power of the arch of the forehead rests. A beautiful nose will never be found accompanying an ugly countenance. An ugly person may have fine eyes, but not a handsome nose.

I have never seen a nose with a broad back, whether arched or rectilinear, that did not belong to an extraordinary man. Such a nose was possessed by Swift, Cæsar Borgia, Titian, etc. Small nostrils are usually an indubitable sign of unenterprising timidity. The open, breathing nostril is as certain a token of sensibility.

THE MOUTH AND LIPS. The contents of the mind are communicated to the mouth. How full of character is the mouth! As are the lips, so is the character. Firm lips, firm character; weak lips, weak character. Well-defined, large, and proportionate lips, the middle line of which is equally serpentine on both sides, and easy to be drawn, are never seen in a bad, mean, common, false, vicious countenance. A lipless mouth, resembling a single line, denotes coldness, industry, a love of order, precision, house-wifery, and, if it be drawn upwards at the two ends, affectation, pretension, vanity, malice. Very fleshy lips have always to contend with sensuality and indolence. Calm lips, well closed, without constraint, and well delineated, certainly betoken consideration, discretion, and firmness. Openness of mouth speaks complaint, and closeness, endurance.

THE CHIN. From numerous experiments, I am convinced that the projecting chin ever denotes something positive, and the retreating something negative. The presence or absence of strength in man is often signified by the chin.

I have never seen sharp indentings in the middle of the chin save in men of cool understanding, unless when something evidently contradictory appeared in the countenance. The soft, fat, double chin generally points out the epicure; and the angular chin is seldom found save in discreet, well-disposed, firm men. Flatness of chin speaks the cold and dry; smallness, fear; and roundness, with a dimple, benevolence.

SKULLS. HOW much may the anatomist see in the mere skull of man! How much more the physiognomist! And how much more still the anatomist who is a physiognomist! If shown the bald head of Cæsar, as painted by Rubens or Titian or Michael Angelo, what man would fail to notice the rocky capacity which characterises it, and to realise that more ardour and energy must be expected than from a smooth, round, flat head? How characteristic is the skull of Charles XII.! How different from the skull of his biographer Voltaire! Compare the skull of Judas with the skull of Christ, after Holbein, and I doubt whether anyone would fail to guess which is the skull of the wicked betrayer and which the skull of the innocent betrayed. And who is unacquainted with the statement in Herodotus that it was possible on the field of battle to distinguish the skulls of the effeminate Medes from the skulls of the manly Persians? Each nation, indeed, has its own characteristic skull.

_III.--Nation, Sex, and Family_

NATIONAL PHYSIOGNOMY. It is undeniable that there is a national physiognomy as well as national character. Compare a negro and an Englishman, a native of Lapland and an Italian, a Frenchman and an inhabitant of Tierra del Fuego. Examine their forms, countenances, characters, and minds. This difference will be easily seen, though it will sometimes be very difficult to describe it scientifically.

The following infinitely little is what I have hitherto observed in the foreigners with whom I have conversed.

I am least able to characterise the French, They have no traits so bold as the English, nor so minute as the Germans. I know them chiefly by their teeth and their laugh. The Italians I discover by the nose, small eyes, and projecting chin. The English by their foreheads and eyebrows. The Dutch by the rotundity of their heads and the weakness of the hair. The Germans by the angles and wrinkles round the eyes and in the cheeks. The Russians by the snub nose and their light-coloured or black hair.

I shall now say a word concerning Englishmen in particular. Englishmen have the shortest and best-arched foreheads--that is to say, they are arched only upwards, and, towards the eyebrows, either gently recline or are rectilinear. They seldom have pointed, usually round, full noses. Their lips are usually large, well defined, beautifully curved. Their chins are round and full. The outline of their faces is in general large, and they never have those numerous angles and wrinkles by which the Germans are so especially distinguished. Their complexion is fairer than that of the Germans.

All Englishwomen whom I have known personally, or by portrait, appear to be composed of marrow and nerve. They are inclined to be tall, slender, soft, and as distant from all that is harsh, rigorous, or stubborn as heaven is from earth.

The Swiss have generally no common physiognomy or national character, the aspect of fidelity excepted. They are as different from each other as nations the most remote.

THE PHYSIOGNOMICAL RELATION OF THE SEXES. Generally speaking, how much more pure, tender, delicate, irritable, affectionate, flexible, and patient is woman than man. The primary matter of which woman is constituted appears to account for this difference. All her organs are tender, yielding, easily wounded, sensible, and receptive; they are made for maternity and affection. Among a thousand women, there is hardly one without these feminine characteristics.

This tenderness and sensibility, the light texture of their fibres and organs, render them easy to tempt and to subdue, and yet their charms are more potent than the strength of man. Truly sensible of purity, beauty and symmetry, woman does not always take time to reflect on spiritual life, spiritual death, spiritual corruption.

The woman does not think profoundly; profound thought is the prerogative of the man; but women feel more. They rule with tender looks, tears, and sighs, but not with passion and threats, unless they are monstrosities. They are capable of the sweetest sensibility, the deepest emotion, the utmost humility, and ardent enthusiasm. In their faces are signs of sanctity which every man honours.

Owing to their extreme sensibility and their incapacity for accurate inquiry and firm decision, they may easily become fanatics.

The love of women, strong as it is, is very changeable; but their hatred is almost incurable, and is only to be overcome by persistent and artful flattery. Men usually see things as a whole, whereas women take more interest in details.

Women have less physical courage than men. Man hears the bursting thunders, views the destructive bolt with serene aspect, and stands erect amid the fearful majesty of the torrent. But woman trembles at the lightning and thunder, and seeks refuge in the arms of man.

Woman is formed for pity and religion; and a woman without religion is monstrous; and a woman who is a freethinker is more disgusting than a woman with a beard.

Woman is not a foundation on which to build. She is the gold, silver, precious stones, wood, hay, stubble--the materials for building on the male foundation. She is the leaven, or, more expressly, she is oil to the vinegar of man. Man singly is but half a man, only half human--a king without a kingdom. Woman must rest upon the man, and man can be what he ought to be only in conjunction with the woman.

Some of the principal physiognomical contrasts may be summarised here.

Man is the most firm; woman the most flexible.

Man is the straightest; woman the most bending.

Man stands steadfast; woman gently retreats.

Man surveys and observes; woman glances and feels.

Man is serious; woman is gay.

Man is the tallest and broadest; woman the smallest and weakest.

Man is rough and hard; woman is smooth and soft.

Man is brown; woman is fair.

The hair of the man is strong and short; the hair of woman is pliant and long.

Man has most straight lines; woman most curved.

The countenance of man, taken in profile, is not so often perpendicular as that of woman.

FAMILY PHYSIOGNOMY. The resemblance between parents and children is very commonly remarkable. Family physiognomical resemblance is as undeniable as national physiognomical resemblance. To doubt this is to doubt what is self-evident.

When children, as they increase in years, visibly increase in their physical resemblance to their parents, we cannot doubt that resemblance in character also increases. Howsoever much the character of children may seem to differ from that of their parents, yet this difference will be found to be due to great difference in external circumstances.

JUSTUS VON LIEBIG

Animal Chemistry

Baron Freiherr Justus von Liebig, one of the most illustrious
chemists of his age, was born on May 12, 1803, at Darmstadt,
Germany, the son of a drysalter. It was in his father's business
that his interest in chemistry first awoke, and at fifteen he
became an apothecary's assistant. Subsequently, he went to
Erlangen, where he took his doctorate in 1822; and afterwards, in
Paris, was admitted to the laboratory of Gay-Lussac as a private
pupil. In 1824 he was appointed a teacher of chemistry in the
University of Giessen in his native state. Here he lived for
twenty-eight years a quiet life of incessant industry, while his
fame spread throughout Europe. In 1845 he was raised to the
hereditary rank of baron, and seven years later was appointed by
the Bavarian government to the professorship of chemistry in the
University of Munich. Here he died on April 18, 1873. The treatise
on "Animal Chemistry, or Organic Chemistry in its Relations to
Physiology and Pathology," published in 1842, sums up the results
of Liebig's investigations into the immediate products of animal
life. He was the first to demonstrate that the only source of
animal heat is that produced by the oxidation of the tissues.

_I.--Chemical Needs of Life_

Animals, unlike plants, require highly organised atoms for nutriment; they can subsist only upon parts of an organism. All parts of the animal body are produced from the fluid circulating within its organism. A destruction of the animal body is constantly proceeding, every motion is the result of a transformation of its structure; every thought, every sensation is accompanied by a change in the composition of the substance of the brain. Food is applied either in the increase of the mass of a structure (nutrition) or in the replacement of a structure wasted (reproduction).

Equally important is the continual absorption of oxygen from the atmosphere. All vital activity results from the mutual action of the oxygen of the atmosphere and the elements of food. According to Lavoisier, an adult man takes into his system every year 827 lb. of oxygen, and yet he does not increase in weight. What, then, becomes of this oxygen?--for no part of it is again expired as oxygen. The carbon and hydrogen of certain parts of the body have entered into combination with the oxygen introduced through the lungs and through the skin, and have been given out in the form of carbonic acid and the vapour of water.

Now, an adult inspires 32-1/2 oz. of oxygen daily; this will convert the carbon of 24 lb. of blood (80 per cent. water) into carbonic acid. He must, therefore, take as much nutriment as will supply the daily loss. And, in fact, it is found that he does so; for the average amount of carbon in the daily food of an adult man is 14 oz., which requires 37 oz. of oxygen for its conversion into carbonic acid. The amount of food necessary for the support of the animal body must be in direct ratio to the quantity of oxygen taken into the system. A bird deprived of food dies on the third day; while a serpent, which inspires a mere trace of oxygen, can live without food for three months. The number of respirations is less in a state of rest than in exercise, and the amount of food necessary in both conditions must vary also.

The capacity of the chest being a constant quantity, we inspire the same volume of air whether at the pole or at the equator; but the weight of air, and consequently of oxygen, varies with the temperature. Thus, an adult man takes into the system daily 46,000 cubic inches of oxygen, which, if the temperature be 77° F., weighs 32-1/2 oz., but when the temperature sinks to freezing-point will weigh 35 oz. It is obvious, also, that in an equal number of respirations we consume more oxygen at the level of the sea than on a mountain. The quantity of oxygen inspired and carbonic acid expired must, therefore, vary with the height of the barometer. In our climate the difference between summer and winter in the carbon expired, and therefore necessary for food, is as much as one-eighth.

_II.--The Cause of Animal Heat_

Now, the mutual action between the elements of food and the oxygen of the air is the source of animal heat.

This heat is wholly due to the combustion of the carbon and hydrogen in the food consumed. Animal heat exists only in those parts of the body through which arterial blood (and with it oxygen in solution) circulates; hair, wool, or feathers, do not possess an elevated temperature.

As animal heat depends upon respired oxygen, it will vary according to the respiratory apparatus of the animal. Thus the temperature of a child is 102° F., while that of an adult is 99-1/2° F. That of birds is higher than that of quadrupeds or that of fishes or amphibia, whose proper temperature is 3° F higher than the medium in which they live. All animals, strictly speaking, are warm-blooded; but in those only which possess lungs is their temperature quite independent of the surrounding medium. The temperature of the human body is the same in the torrid as in the frigid zone; but the colder the surrounding medium the greater the quantity of fuel necessary to maintain its heat.

The human body may be aptly compared to the furnace of a laboratory destined to effect certain operations. It signifies nothing what intermediate forms the food, or fuel, of the furnace may assume; it is finally converted into carbonic acid and water. But in order to sustain a fixed temperature in the furnace we must vary the quantity of fuel according to the external temperature.

In the animal body the food is the fuel; with a proper supply of oxygen we obtain the heat given out during its oxidation or combustion. In winter, when we take exercise in a cold atmosphere, and when consequently the amount of inspired oxygen increases, the necessity for food containing carbon and hydrogen increases in the same ratio; and by gratifying the appetite thus excited, we obtain the most efficient protection against the most piercing cold. A starving man is soon frozen to death; and everyone knows that the animals of prey in the Arctic regions far exceed in voracity those in the torrid zone. In cold and temperate climates, the air, which incessantly strives to consume the body, urges man to laborious efforts in order to furnish the means of resistance to its action, while in hot climates the necessity of labour to provide food is far less urgent.

Our clothing is merely the equivalent for a certain amount of food.