resemblance? But which resemblance is infinitely varied, by differently changeable and changed circumstances; so that the germ continually preserves sufficient of its own original nature and properties, yet is always very distinct from the parents, and sometimes even seems to have derived very little from them, which may happen from a thousand accidental causes or changes.

Hence family resemblance and dissimilarity being summarily considered, we shall find that nature, wholly employed to propagate, appears to be entirely directed to produce an equilibrium between the individual power of the germ, in its first formation, and the resembling power of the parents; but the originality of the first form of the germ may not wholly disappear before the too great power of resemblance to the parents, but that they may mutually concur, and both be subject to numberless circumstances, which may increase or diminish their respective powers, in order that the riches of variety, and the utility of the creature, and its dependance on the whole, and the general Creator, may be the greater and more predomi

nant.

Every observation on the resemblance between parents and children, which I have been enabled to make, convinces me, that neither the theories of Bonnet and Buffon give any systematic explanation of phenomena, the existence of which cannot be denied by the sophistry of hy

pothesis. Diminish the difficulties as much as we will, facts will still stare us in the face. If the germ exist preformed in the mother, can this germ, at that time, have physiognomy? Can it, at that time, resemble the future, promiscuous, first, or second father? Is it not perfectly indifferent to either? or, if the physiognomonical germ exist in the father, how can it sometimes resemble the mother, sometimes the father, often both, and often neither?

I am of opinion, that something germ-like, or a whole capable of receiving the human form, must previously exist in the mother; but which is nothing more than the foundation of the future fatherly or motherly I know not what, and is the efficient cause of the future living fruit. This germ-like something, which, most especially constituted agreeable to the human form, is analogous to the nature and temperature of the mother, receives a peculiar individual personal physiognomy, according to the propensities of the father or mother, the disposition of the moment of conception, and probably of many other future decisive moments.

Still much remains to the freedom and predisposition of man. He may deprave or improve his state of the juices, he may calm or agitate his mind, may awaken every sensation of love, and by various modes increase or relax them. Yet I think, that neither the nature of the bones, nor the muscles and nerves, consequently the character, depends on the physiog

nomonical preformation, preceding generation; at least, they are far from depending on these alone, though I allow the organizable, the primitive form, always has a peculiar individuality, which is only capable of receiving certain subtile influences, and which must reject others.

CHAP. XXV.

Observations on the New-born, the Dying, and the Dead.

I HAVE had opportunities of remarking, in some children, about an hour after a birth attended with no difficulties, a striking, though infantine resemblance, in the profile, to the profile of the father; and that, in a few days, this resemblance had nearly disappeared. The impression of the open air, nutriment, and, perhaps, of position, had so far altered the outlines, that the child seemed entirely different.

Of these children I saw two dead, the one about six weeks, and the other about four years old; and nearly twelve hours after death, I observed the same profile, which I had before remarked an hour after birth, with this difference, that the profile of the dead child, as is natural, was something more tense and fixed than the living. A part of this resemblance, however, on the third day was remarkably gone.

One man of fifty, and another of seventy years

of age, who fell under my observation while they were living and after death, appeared, while living, not to have the least resemblance to their sons, and whose countenances seemed to be of a quite different class; yet, the second day after death, the profile of the one had a striking resemblance to that of his eldest, and, of the other, to the profile of his third son, as much so as the profile of the dead children before mentioned resembled the living profile an hour after birth, stronger, indeed, and, as a painter would say, harder. On the third day, here also, a part of the resemblance vanished.

I have uniformly observed, among the many dead persons I have seen, that sixteen, eighteen, or twenty-four hours after death, according to the disease, they have had a more beautiful form, better defined, more proportionate, harmonized, homogeneous, more noble, more exalted, than they ever had during life.

It occurred to me, that there might be, in all men, an original physiognomy, subject to be disturbed by the ebb and flow of accident and passion, and is not this restored by the calm of death, like as troubled waters, being again left at rest, become clear?

I have observed some among the dying, who had been the reverse of noble or great during life, and who, some hours before their death, or perhaps some moments, (one was in a delirium) have had an inexpressible ennobling of the countenance. Every body saw a new man;

colouring, drawing, and grace, all was new, all bright as the morning; beyond expression, noble and exalted; the most inattentive must see, the most insensible feel, the image of God. I saw it break forth and shine through the ruins of corruption, was obliged to turn aside, and adore in silence. Yes, glorious God! still art thou there, in the weakest, most fallible men!

CHAP. XXVI.

Of the Influence of Countenance on Countenance.

As the gestures of our friends and intimates become our own, so, in like manner, does their appearance. Whatever we love, we would assimilate to ourselves; and whatever, in the circle of affection, does not change us into itself, that we change, as far as may be, into ourselves.

All things act upon us, and we act upon all things; but nothing has so much influence as what we love; and among all objects of affection, nothing acts so forcibly as the countenance of man. Its conformity to our countenance makes it most worthy our affection. How might it act upon, how attract our attention, had it not some marks, discoverable or undiscoverable, similar to, at least of the same kind with, the form and feature of our own countenance !

Without, however, wishing farther to penetrate into what is impenetrable, or to define