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haps some of its details deserve, yet there are many circumstances stated, which receiving confirmation from other unquestionable sources, yield to us materials for very interesting conclusions. A Mr. Petit, who was magnetized before them, gave evidences of electric action in those parts of his body to which the fingerof the magnetizer was approximated. This has been ridiculed, but both Coulomb and Dr. Young have satisfactorily shown that even animal substances are susceptible of magnetism. Considering, indeed, the intimate connexion between heat, electricity, and magnetism, such a result is hardly surprising. Dr. Locke, in this country, has constructed so delicate a thermo-electrical battery, that when it is attached to a galvanometer, and the end of the finger applied to it, the magnetic needle moves ninety degrees, and even the warmth of the breath affects it.* In view of these facts, the account of Caspar Hauser may be readily believed. When the poles of a magnet were extended toward him, he put his hands to the pit of his stomach, and said he felt it draw outward, as if a stream of air were proceeding in that direction. The South Pole affected him in a contrary manner, and less powerfully, and his feelings always told him correctly which pole was held toward him. On moving his hand over a paper under which were concealed small articles of different metals, he could distinguish them by the difference of the sensation, and the strength of their attraction: he experienced magnetic sensations when in contact with men or other animals, or even when the finger was pointed at him from a distance. Knowing then, as we do, that the light of the sun and the varieties of weather induce changes in the electrical state of the atmosphere, and that many of the functions of the body are influenced by, and perhaps dependent for their performance upon electricity, it is highly probable that this is the method in which weather affects our nerves, and through them the brain and the mind. In the same way the close nervous† sympathy between every part of the body affords a chain of communication which, when one link is imperfect or in disorder, spreads sickness through the system, and most of all afflicts the fountain head of life and action, the brain, and by its means the manifestations of the mind. The more the human frame is scrutinized, the more will it be found to assimilate to the rest of nature. The same laws of attraction and affinity, the same electric and magnetic action, will be seen in operation, and producing most of its phenomena. In this light it was observed by the astrologer, and viewing the subject fundamentally, he was correct in his principles, though erroneous in his deductions. It is quite probable that the body is subject to the same attraction as the waters of the ocean. Like them it is a part of a great chain the universe- and if we reason theoretically, it must be influenced and must sympathize with every object in existence. Sun, and moon, and stars, must all affect it. The rock on which the astrologer split, was in attributing any apparent or even appreciable influence to these objects; in giving form, and size, and power, to that which is so minute as to be beyond human calculation; and which, for all practicable purposes, has to us no existence.

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SCEPT. Perhaps this may be as you argue; but there is another sympathy, that between mind and mind, which cannot be attributable to the same cause. I have heard it maintained that the mind, if its power over the nerves be electric, may at will, by a conduction of this fluid from one body to another, raise an emotion in a person when in contact or at small distances.

THEO. That is quite visionary. Sympathy between mankind is exclusively mental. It is one of the kind ordinances of Providence, that emotions tend to awaken their counterparts, and as virtuous feelings possess greater attractions than vicious, as beauty has a fascination denied to deformity, we should look upon this arrangement as the noblest branch of the social system. But this sympathy most usually demands similar instruments to extract harmony. The coward and the brave have no affinity. You might as well assimilate the war-cry to the whinings of the wretch craving for mercy. To effect unison, the harps must be tuned alike; then it is they respond in perfect melody. How rarely do we find this exact similitude! There is, most always, some broken chord, some dissonant sound to interrupt the melody. But let them be accorded, then touched by the same hand, they will be awaked to music. This is the sympathy of individuals. Time may wither the affections, misfortune scathe or vice steel the heart; yet this emotion will survive and even rise more beautiful from the ruins of kindness and of virtue. It is a wand which opens the rock for the flowing waters of feeling, softens the obdurate, and impels the hardened criminal to share his slender pittance with his more innocent and unfortunate fellow-prisoner.* In crowds where we cannot discover such similarity, there is often some one feeling possessed in common. These are the weapons of the orator; with them he sways the populace of Athens by appeals to their vanity, or the Romans by apostrophes to their glory. These are fearful sympathies, for as they strike to every heart, and inspire every spirit, they act in a mass; and though when good, course on to great and beneficent results, when bad, burst into a blaze, to be quenched only by exhaustion of materials, or by rivers of blood. Do you stand in the French convention, the voice of Marat and Robespierre urging on the hounds of death may be heard reechoed with shouts of acclamation. Are you at Clermont, before a superstitious audience, excite them by hopes of chivalric fame and eternal happiness, and Deus Vult runs from mouth to mouth, and seals their enterprise. There is a power in the union of a vast assembly almost irresistible, and cries of applause have often changed disapprobation into approval, and the judgment of condemnation into mercy.

SCEPT. If you do not believe that sympathy between individuals is produced by physical causes, I presume you attach as little faith to the existence of a power by which we can annihilate distance, and introduce ourselves into the presence of the absent. You remember the story of the English lady whose lover was engaged in the wars of the Peninsula. She would tell her friends of conversations and interviews which could have existed but in her fancy. One day, while immersed in

At Bristol, in the prison, the debtors are compelled to support themselves, while the criminals receive but a small allowance. The latter frequently share their meal, hardly sufficient for one, with those debtors who have been deserted by their friends.

BUXTON ON PRISONS.

thought, she suddenly shrieked and fell senseless, exclaiming, ' He is dead!' Her own death soon ensued, but not before the news of late battle confirmed the decease of her lover, at the very time she had stated. THEO. Perhaps sympathy, or rather its effect a desire to be with those we love-may be an intensifier of the senses. Enthusiasts have asserted this. They reason thus: Mind affects mind only through the senses: distance is no barrier to sympathy, if sense can overleap it. Thus as far as the eye can penetrate, or the voice be heard, we can be influenced by objects. The sigh of the lover breathing in the ear of his mistress, may cause no more emotion than his voice heard from afar; his form near by raise no stronger feeling than when seen from the watch-tower. Sense, then, is the only measure of sympathy. The moon, though thousands of miles distant, and stars far away in space, thus affect us. If, too, habit or excitement sharpen sense- if the ear of the anxious wife catches her husband's footsteps, when unheard by others- if the Indian hears the tread of a being when all is silence to the white man- if the most delicate sounds and motions reach the sense of the blind, why cannot an intensity of mental action so magnify the power of sense as to bring the most distant objects in our presence? As the lens displays sattelites without the range of ordinary vision, so may the vivid power of a heated imagination act as the lens of sight, and hearing, and feeling, beat down the barriers of space, and extend the powers of sense to the extremity of the universe. 'Tis thus the visionary has dreamed. In the account of Caspar Hauser, there is an instance of a partial extension of hearing and seeing by certain habits of body. So also in the case of Mr. Petit, who was magnetized before the French Committee, and who was said to have been able to distinguish objects, and even play accurately at cards, with his eyes shut, or heavily bandaged.* But allow all these to be facts, we must conclude that though sense may be enlarged to some extent, yet its power cannot be increased beyond a certain point. The ideal may often so preponderate over the real, as to assure us of the possibility of this sympathy; but reason, my friend, dissolves at a touch this fairy castle. The whole of this subject is of engrossing interest, but has been so much the victim of wild speculation as to induce a dread of approaching it, lest the mania of theorizing should carry us beyond the region of reason. The late discoveries in electricity and magnetism are, however, slowly conquering this disposition; and from the new light they have imparted, the curious analogies they have unfolded between the human frame and the rest of the material world, will eventually turn the stream of inquiry into this channel, and must result in a complete explication of most of the phenomena of our existence. There is no reason why the probe of observation should not be applied here fearlessly, nor why we should not reach by its means such an acquaintance with our own mechanism as will lay open to view each part of the machinery, be it ever so delicate, excepting the connecting link between the body and mind, which must ever lie beyond cognizance. Experiment and a patient attention to facts will in time insure the reward, and at the same moment we exult in our triumph, we shall rejoice in the utility of the discovery. The advantages to result from it shall be unbounded, and the most grateful incense to Him who gave us the capacity to discover, will be in the suc

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cessful endeavor to promote our physical and moral happiness by the use of the gift. As in ancient philosophy yvwo seaUTOD was the key to perfection, so in modern physics the brightest gem of the diadem of knowledge will be in the KNOWLEDGE OF OURSELVES.*

A.

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The breaking harp yields a sublimer sound
The dying lamp revives, and sheds around

A momentary ray, more pure and deep;
The swan, at her last hour, looks toward the sky;
Man -man alone-strains back his languid eye
To count his days, and o'er them weep.

And what are days, that I should now deplore?
A sun, a sun-an hour, another hour:

The coming, like the one that has ta'en flight-
This sweeps away what on the other came;
Labor-repose and sorrow-oft a dream-

Such is the day, then comes the night.

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* We read of a Leyden professor discoursing on the management and cure of the disorders of the mind by application of remedies to the body.' In a few years the subject may not seem quite so German as it now appears.

Of several popular fragments from LAMARTINE, which have appeared under an English garb in some of the higher periodicals of the United States, few are so eminently poetical as' Le Poete Mourant.' In presenting the above translation, which has been lying by the writer for three years past, he is actuated by the desire of communicating to others a little portion of that inexpressible delight which he has experienced in perusing the inspired melodies of one who may justly be pronounced the greatest lyrist of the age.

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Yea, I obtest the gods! - my tongue did ne'er,

Since first I breath'd, utter without a sneer

That great word, offspring of man's phrenzied brain; I've prest it oft, still found 'twas but of wind,

And cast it from me, like a juiceless rind

My wearied lip would press in vain.

Man, in the barren hope of doubtful fame,

On the fleet stream that bears him casts a name,
Which less'neth daily as it speedeth on:
From age to age, the bright wreck to and fro -
Sport of time's wanton wave-is swept, and lo!
To oblivion's deepest depths 'tis gone!

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