Let us now turn our attention to that most interesting portion of natural language, the countenance; a subject, which has strong claims to be ranked as a science, and which is well worthy the attention of the physiologist, the metaphysician, and, allow me to add-yourself. By Pathognomy or passiondialing, you are to understand, the knowledge of some apparatus for determining the emotions or passions that agitate the

bosom, though not expressed in artificial language. Who does not know that the inmost feelings of his soul may be shadowed out upon the countenance, or in the positions of the body, in characters so legible that even an indifferent observer can read them? That, though he may say he is not offended, or grieved, or terrified, that his countenance bears a better testimony? How careful should we be, then, that no emotion heaves our bosoms, that we indulge in no habit of thought, which we should blush to have "known and read of all men," for it is a species of natural language, understood alike by Greek and barbarian; it requires no key, no vocabulary; in it, the inhabitant of Greenland can hold converse with the swarthy son of the tropic, and the native of America with the Ishmaelite of the desert; and it is the language of brutes as well as of men.

Let us now, examine the structure of this wonderful apparatus, which may be appropriately termed the passion-dial. The human body is the dwelling of the mind, and without it, would be inanimate as a clod of earth, which indeed it is, though wonderfully formed and filled with life. Now, though the ethereal tenant has the control of every part of its earthy dwelling, yet its particular residence is in the brain, which is situated in the head. Few muscular movements of the body when in a healthy state, occur without the volition of its inhabitant.

These motions are performed by means of five or six hundred bundles of cords or fibres which are called muscles, and compose what is generally termed the lean part of the flesh. Some of the muscles act in opposite directions, and are called antagonist muscles; thus if the mind wills to bend the arm, the obedient muscle contracts; it wills again, and this cord

simply relaxes while another acts, and the arm can be thrust out, violently, as in giving a severe blow.

The force of a muscle is in proportion to the number of fibres or strands which compose it, but only a small number could be attached to a point, therefore they are converged and united to one cord talled a sinew or tendon, which is fastened to the bone, without enlarging the joints in such a manner as to destroy the symmetry of the limbs.

While treating of these curious instruments of natural language, it may not be uninteresting to allude to the muscular sense. Every one is not aware that he is blessed with six senses; perhaps you are not, reader; but a few facts will convince you, that for elegance and rapidity of movement, and for a vast amount of physical convenience and happiness, the animate world are indebted to this seeming supernumerary. When you wish to lift your hand to your head, how do you know where the useful member is? Are you ever under the necessity of looking for it? It might be crossed upon your breast, or be lurking behind you; it might be reposing lazily in your pocket, or be hanging by your side; but I have no hesitation in saying that you never were obliged to institute such a search. Again; when you reach upward for an article, what acquaints you, that the hand is elevated to its utmost height, when you neither touch nor see any object? In the darkness of night; you are as well aware of the state of the "voluntary muscles, as in the glare of day; it cannot be the result of vision, for the blind man never errs in this particu lar. When you wish to turn your eyes toward any object, I will venture to say, that you never make two efforts to direct them as you desire, now contracting one muscle too little, and now relaxing another too much; and yet, how do you become acquainted with the condition of these six muscles?

Certainly neither by sight nor touch, for then would these senses be constantly employed in superintending the operations of four hundred muscles, and their millions of fibres. Indeed, it is by no means probable that these senses are at all competent to the task, for such is the position of many of the muscles, that they are inaccessible, either to the eye or the hand. These duties then, the benevolent Creator has assigned to the sixth or muscular sense.

I will mention an instance of the loss of this sense, as giv. en by Dr. Griscom. "A mother, while nursing her infant, was seized with a paralysis, attended by the loss of power on one side, and the loss of sensibility on the other. In this situation, she could hold her child with the arm that retained its strength, only when she looked upon the infant. The moment her attention was diverted thence, the flexor muscles relaxed, and the child was in danger of falling." The loss of this sense could be seen no where so clearly, as among those who are yet in all the vigor and buoyancy of youth.

Reader, did you ever attend District School? If so, you remember what I cannot describe but poorly. Let us visit the time-tinged building near the close of a long, summer afternoon. How many anxious, how many impatient countenances are watching the sunlight, streaming in, at the dingy panes of a west window, as it moves toward a particular nailscratch upon the floor, the handiwork of some juvenile dialist. Who would not know that some mighty revolution is about to be effected in this little community? The hum of forty pairs of lips, which are plied with a rapidity precisely proportioned to their owner's zeal, is gradually dying away; the small folks have had their last ennui for the afternoon. The light has reached the mark-is on it-beyond it! Some are packing their books for the third time in ten minutes.

Even the "large" boys, on the back seats, look up from their copy, and as for the low seats, every occupant is a little model of attention.

Let us make the best of our way out, before they get their hats, bonnets, books and slates. Here they come! Some skipping and jumping; others hopping like veritable treefrogs. What shouts of joy and exultation and sheer love of noise fill the air! One sets up a whistle that a regular "northeaster" might envy. Another gives a whoop worthy

of Black Hawk or Tecumseh. Away they go, hither, thither, in all directions to their homes. Let us rob this little troop of their "sixth sense," and witness the result.

What a change! Now they come slowly out, one by one, peering and peeping about, one for his hand to put on his hat; another is closely watching the already ascending arm, to be assured that it reaches its destination; a third has advanced one foot, and is looking behind for its lagging companion; some drop their books, others their slates, and a singular appearance they make. Such is the importance of the sixth. sense to the animate world; but, interesting as it would be to trace, still farther, the action of this sense, my limits forbid me to dwell longer upon it, and we must return to the mus cles of expression. Some muscles are circular, as those which surround the eye or the mouth, called sphincter muscles, from a Greek word, signifying "to draw together."