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face with crimson, which in the language of the old cynic,* is virtue's own color.

Whoever looks around upon the circle of his acquaintance, will not fail to perceive that those who are the most endeared to him, and whose countenances are the most agreeable, are not those who are abstractly beautiful, possessing regular features, or fair complexion, or symmetrical form. The countenance is a lantern, and when illumined by the noble sentiments of a cultivated intellect, and the pure affections of a gentle spirit, it is truly beautiful; and as with the lantern, we see the lines and figures that adorn it, only as the lamp within, shines through them, so we see the lineaments of the countenance to the best advantage, when the imprisoned soul shines forth, giving expression and life to its lines.

As the plastic material of the statuary, indurates into a permanent expression, beneath the touches of his genius, so the living countenance gradually assumes that fixed and settled expression, which enables us to determine the cast of soul within. Here are two visible illustrations of this:

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No one, not even the child, needs the least word of advice,

* Diogenes.

relative to the choice of a companion; a language more conclusive than words, endears him to the one, with a power which only finds a parallel in the fear and abhorrence with which he would shrink from the other. How striking the contrast! The mildly-beaming eye, the softened cheek, the open brow, and the calm, sweet expression of the mouth, in the one; and the deep lines of passion, the demoniac eye and the disheveled hair in the other, cannot possibly be misunderstood.

"She reminds me of Eve, before the Almighty infused the breath of life into her," is the remark once made by a gentleman, on seeing a lady of faultless symmetry of features, but sadly deficient in expression; a remark, though rather harsh, involving much truth. To resort to the simile of the lantern, if it is dark, the presumption is, that there is little light within; in other words, little feeling, little soul.

It was remarked that this language is common both to man and the inferior animals. This, every one has seen in the flashing eye, or the retracted lip of the canine race; in the arching, bristling back of the cat, the laid back ears of the ill-tempered horse, and the mild, intelligent eye of the elephant, and the dog. One would think that my artist considered the case a difficult one to make out, from the specimen of humanity which he has sketched below; the head of an idiot.

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I had thought of proposing a question, relative to the

comparative superiority of expression in an ordinary human countenance, and a Newfoundland dog, but query or comment is unnecessary, and I pass them over in silence.

The eye, too, has been the theme of the philosopher, and the bard, and a worthy one it is. Through its crystal orb, the light of intellect shines the clearest, if it shines at all; through this the soul can speak, when words are denied, and the tongue falters. Who has not read and felt its language? No matter in what unseemly mold the features may have been cast; no matter how dark the tinge which summer suns may have given them; no matter how harshly the voice may grate upon the ear; whether it rumbles like distant thunder, or shrieks and breaks like the noise of a file, or assumes the dissonant alto of the toothless crone; if this light of the features is there; if

"That pure, though captive effluence of the sky,

The vestal-ray, the spark that can not die,"

gleams out in this glorious mirror of the soul; THIS possession redeems them all. We may turn to the features and be repulsed, but we look upon the eye and are fascinated; we turn to the former, and a light and a beauty radiating from the latter, lend them a grace and glory, not their own. In the apostrophe of Mrs. Hemans:

"Throne of expression! whence the spirit's ray
Pours forth so oft the light of mental day,
Where fancy's fire, affection's melting beam,
Thought, genius, passion, reign in turn supreme,
And many a feeling, words can ne'er impart,
Finds its own language to pervade the heart;
Thy power, bright orb, what bosom hath not felt,
To thrill, to rouse, to fascinate, to melt?
And by some spell of undefined control,
With magnet-influence touch the secret soul!”

If such is the power of the eye, when lighted up with genius, when purity and truth are mirrored there; what must it be, if that light be darkness; how profound the gloom! One pair of eyes, I shall ever remember, and I regret to say, their owner was a woman! It is long since I met their gaze, but even now, as I think of them, an indefinable feeling of uneasiness and fear steals, over me; such a feeling, as some contend, warns a sleeping person, that one is standing by him, and looking intently upon his closed lids. It was not that those eyes were brilliant, or black, or piercing; but it was something, for which "coats and humors" could not account; of which the oculist, professionally, knows nothing. It always seemed to me as through a spirit-cloud, dark and fearful, and freighted-how, I dare not say, rested heavily upon those orbs and weighed them down. Now and then, I saw lightning-flashes there; not like the purifying principle, that consumes the noxious exhalations which taint the air, but scorching, withering gleams, and when I saw them, I must confess I thought those eyes their most befitting home. It is impossible for me to convey, by cold words, laid out corpselike, upon this page, any adequate idea of the language which loomed gloomily out, at those mental casements. smiled sometimes, but such a smile! It seemed as if her real, laughing muscles, (Zygomaticus minor,) were refractory, and her sneering, contemptuous ones, (Mastoideus and Depressor anguli oris,) remarkably obedient, and fairly pulled down the angles of her mouth, despite the utmost contractions of their antagonists. There was no mistaking the expression; a benevolent smile did not sit gracefully upon her dial-plate..

She

To the different species of laugh, combining as they do, vocality and visibility, I will allude hereafter.

Some individuals possess a greater command over their

muscles than others. Garrick, an English comedian, of much celebrity, of whom it was quaintly remarked, that he made an alphabet of faces, possessed this command of his muscles in an eminent degree. It is related of him, that passing along the street one day, and observing a hackney coach standing at the corner, awaiting passengers, as is usual in large cities, he hailed the driver, inquiring, if he had made out his complement. "No, sir-get in," was the prompt reply; upon which Garrick speedily appropriated to himself, one seat in the empty coach. Presently, another man presented himself; another, and another entered the carriage, until the driver, supposing the seats were all occupied, prepared to drive off, when a man, panting for breath, (books and umbrella in hand,) hailed him with "stop, driver! another passenger,” and had already seized the door, when he was coolly informed that he could not be accommodated. He reiterated loudly, that there was room enough for half a dozen; as is often the case, a great altercation about a little matter, ensued, the driver constantly affirming that there was no room, and the tenacious would-be passenger, as often giving him the lie. At length the driver dismounting in a rage, looked into the vehicle, when lo! to his infinite chagrin and astonishment, he saw nobody but our hero snugly ensconced in one corner, quietly awaiting the result of this strange controversy. This was totally incomprehensible to the poor coachman, but we can easily solve the mystery, by our knowledge of the muscles. Garrick, loving laughter more than he did the interest of the coachman, had, through an expressive countenance, succeeded in passing for five different individuals, in the space of half an hour, oddly illustrating the motto of our national banner, "Epluribus unum," from many, one.

The power of the countenance in enforcing the words ut

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