Some of these gestures are motive, or made by design. Such are the exterior and voluntary motions by which we know the affections, the desires, the tendencies, and the passions of the souls, which they are the means of satisfying. To this class, for example, belong the inclination of the person towards the object which excites our interest. The attitude firm and prepared to attack an adversary, when angry-the arms extended in love-thrown back in fear, &c. &c. Other gestures are imitative ones, not as painting the object of the thought, but the situations, effects, the modifications of the soul,—and these I define

ANALOGOUS GESTURES.

These are partly founded on the tendency which the soul has to approximate itself to sensible ideas, and consequently to express itself by the imitative modifications of the form, until they acquire a due degree of vivacity; as, when one refuses assent to a position, one scatters it abroad (in idea) and, with a motion of the hand reversed, seems to put it aside.

Analogous gestures are likewise grounded on the force or influence with which certain ideas

naturally operate upon others, upon the communication (if the phrase may be allowed me) which there is between the regions of clear and obscure ideas, which generally direct and modify each other by a reciprocity of action.

It is thus, for instance, that the series of ideas will determine a walk; whether the step shall become more tardy, or more rapid; more firm, or more moderate; in a word, more or less uniform. This walk is determinable by the series of obscure ideas which tacitly direct the will, and receive the laws of the clear ideas which govern it.

The influence of their several powers are reciprocal. For this reason, every situation of the soul, every interior movement, has its regular progression; so that we may say of all characters, in general, that which the wife of Hercules says of Lychas,

His mind is like his walk.

Seneca, Trag. Herc. fur. Act ii. Sc. 2.

There are several other gestures which are kinds of involuntary phenomena; these are really physical effects of interior movements of the mind; but we only comprehend them as signs which nature has affixed by mysterious cords to

the secret passions of the soul; and for this reason, says a philosopher, that, in the common affairs of civil life, one man may not be able easily to impose upon another. No one has ever yet explained to us, in a satisfactory manner, why sad and sorrowful ideas operate on the lachrymal glands, or why gay and cheerful ones act upon the diaphragm; why fear and anxiety discolour the cheek, or why shame and modesty tinge it with a deep and sudden crimson. I shall reunite all these phenomena under the head of

PHYSIOLOGICAL GESTURES.

I beseech you, in mercy to me, not to consider this classification as arranged under the severe laws of logic: it is the simple idea of a mere observer, who solely seeks to establish some kind of order amongst facts, the comparison and truth of which must be refuted or confirmed by an ulterior examination.

Amongst the physiological gestures, many will be found which do not obey the arbitrary will of the soul; she cannot retain them when sentiment commands: she cannot fail them when the real sentiment does not exist. The tears of grief, the paleness of fear, and the blush of

shame or modesty are all of this involuntary kind.

As no one can have a right to expect impossibilities, we dispense with these involuntary variations in the comedian, and are perfectly satisfied if he gives us a faithful imitation of those which are voluntary. Even here, however, some prudence and judgment are requisite in the execution of his designs. The rage which tears the hair in a frightful manner, which throws the whole visage into the distortions of grimace, which pants till every muscle swells, and the blood gushes up to the extended eyes, -such a rage may, perhaps, be a true representation of nature, but is very, very disgusting in the imitation.

"O, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings, who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb shows, and noise."--Hamlet.

Thus says Shakspeare, and thus speaks nature. Is it then necessary to become absolutely intolerable to the ear and the eye to affect the

heart? There exists one sole mode of exciting the action of involuntary feelings, but this mode is not at the command of every one. Quintilian mentions having seen actors who, after performing pathetic characters, wept and sobbed for a long time after they had laid aside their masks.

"Vidi ego sæpè histriones atque comodos, cum ex aliquo graviore actu personam deposuissent, flentes adhuc egredi."

And speaking of himself, he assures us that he had often shed tears and turned pale in the course of his pleadings.

"Ipse frequenter ita motus sum, ut me non lacrymæ Solum deprehenderint sed Pallor et vero similis dolor."—Instit. 1. vi. c. i.

The whole of the secret consists in an ardent imagination, which every artist ought both to possess and exercise in the strong and rapid reproduction of images. He will thus habituate himself to penetrate entirely into the subject with which he is occupied. Then, without our labour, without our exertion, they will in time act with all the energy of spontaneous affections,