which the whole economy has undergone new wants are engendered,
new appetites, &c.; these are again lulled by the mother’s breast.
During all this no one sympathises with the little sufferer, the
grimace with which he enters the world excites only smiles.
“ On parent’s knees, a naked new-born child,
Weeping thou sat’st, while all around thee smiled—
So live, that sinking in thy last long sleep
Calm thou may’st smile, when all around thee weep.”
From the Persian.
“ Anger,” says Lord Bacon, “ is certainly a kind of baseness, as it
appears well in the weakness of those subjects in whom it reigns—
children, women, old folks, sick folks.” But this I may say, that
anger is at no period of life so strongly impressed upon human
features as in the first moment of our visiting the light. At that
instant an association of muscles is formed, or then put into operation,
which stamps a character of expression that continues for life,
betraying the wants of the body in early infancy, and the sufferings
of the mind in the after period. The frame of the body, constituted
for the support of the vital functions, becomes the instrument of
expression; and an extensive class of passions, by influencing the
heart, by affecting that sensibility which governs the muscles of
respiration, calls them into co-operation, so that they become an
undeviating and sure sign of certain states or conditions of the
mind. They are the organs of expression.
Returning now to the contemplation of any of the stronger
passions, we comprehend much which was before obscure. We see
how that grief which strikes the heart should affect the regularity
of breathing—why the muscles of the throat should be affected with
spasm—why slight quivering motions pass from time to time over
the face, the lips, and cheeks, and nostrilsbecause these are the
organs of respiration, organs which have their muscles united to
the sensibility of the heart, and moved under its influence. Now
we comprehend how the passion of rage or terror binds and tightens
the chest, why the features are so singularly agitated by the indirect
as well as by the direct influence of the passions—how the words
are cut—how the voice sticks in the throat—how the paralysed lips
refuse the commands of the will, so that they are held in a mixed
state of violence and weakness, which, more than any fixed expression,
characterizes the influence of the passion.