tions of the brain is attended by waste of its substance, just as the use of the muscles is attended by waste of their substance. Mr. Liebig regards the nerves as conductors of the vital force, by means of which an equilibrium of force may be established; or available vital force may be conveyed from one part where it is not wanted, to another where it is rapidly consumed in producing motion. As the involuntary muscles never cease their motions, sleep is necessary that the waste in the voluntary as well as the involuntary muscles may be supplied. In the waking state, one voluntary muscle may be acquiring new matter, while another which is exercised is undergoing waste. In pursuing this investigation, we find that the waste of matter, the supply of oxygen, and the amount of force, mechanical or otherwise, exerted in the body, are most closely connected together. In plants, for want of nerves, the vital force cannot be conducted away from the point where it is produced; it therefore manifests itself in an unlimited growth or increase of mass. In animals the presence of nerves permits the vital force to assume at one time the form of chemical attraction, at another that of mechanical force; and when the nerves lose, wholly or partially, their conducting power, we have paralysis, syncope, or spasm. But we feel the impossibility of giving anything like an accurate notion of this most interesting section, unless we were to quote the whole of it. Recommending it, therefore, to the physiologist, we shall merely transcribe the concluding paragraph:

'In what form, or in what way, the vital force produces mechanical effects in the animal body is altogether unknown, and is as little to be ascertained by experiment as the connection between chemical action and the phenomena of motion which we can produce with the galvanic battery. All the explanations which have been attempted are merely representations or descriptions, more or less accurate, of the phenomena, and comparisons of known phenomena with these unknown ones. this respect we resemble the ignorant man, to whom the motion of an iron piston-rod in a cylinder, in which the eye can detect no visible agent, and its connection with the turning of thousands of wheels at a distance from the piston-rod, appear incomprehensible.

In

'We know not how a certain something, in itself invisible and imponderable, namely, heat, gives to some bodies the power to exert an enormous pressure on surrounding objects; we know not even how this something is produced, when we burn wood or coal.

So it is with the vital force, and with the phenomena presented by living bodies. The cause of these phenomena is not chemical attraction; it is not electricity-nor magnetism: it is a force which possesses the properties common to all causes of motion and of change in the form and structure of matter; and it is a peculiar force, because it exhibits manifestations not to be found in any of the other forces.'

The

The remaining sections contain the application of the principles developed in this one to the investigation of the modifications in waste and supply which characterise the vital processes in infancy, in adult age, and in old age; they offer to us besides a theory of health and of disease, in the most general sense; and finally an elaborate research into the means by which the blood in the lungs is enabled to absorb oxygen and to convey it to those parts where it is to be employed in the vital transformations. These sections are probably the portions of the work which will attract the greatest share of attention among physiologists, but it would be unfair to the author to give an imperfect account of his striking and original views on such subjects; and more we could not attempt in this already too long article. The Appendix contains a large number of the most recent and accurate analyses, which constitute the evidence on which the conclusions of our author are founded. Among other things it includes extracts from a most ingenious paper by Gundlach, on the production of wax from sugar by the bee. Professor Liebig has throughout been most conscientious in quoting his authorities, and in giving due credit to his predecessors and cotemporaries.

While we have given but a very imperfect sketch of this original and profound work, we have endeavoured to convey to the reader some notion of the rich store of interesting matter which it contains. The chemist, the physiologist, the medical man, and the agriculturist, will all find in this volume many new ideas and many useful practical remarks. It is the first specimen of what modern organic chemistry is capable of doing for physiology; and we have no doubt that, from its appearance, physiology will date a new era in her advance. We have reason to know that the work, when in progress, at all events the more important parts of it, were submitted to Müller of Berlin, Tiedemann of Heidelberg, and Wagner of Göttingen, the most distinguished physiologists of Germany; and without inferring that these gentlemen are in any way pledged to the author's opinions, we may confidently state that there is but one feeling among them as to the vast importance of chemistry to physiology at the present period; and that they are much gratified to see the subject in such able hands.

ART.

ART. V.

Journal of a Tour in Greece and the Ionian Islands. By William Mure of Caldwell. 2 vols. 12mo. Edinburgh and London. 1842.

GOOD

OOD sense and good taste will enliven the most barren, and freshen the most worn-out, subject. Mr. Mure's Journal is not only the work of a shrewd and intelligent observer, and of a sound though modest scholar, but withal a very pleasant book. He is neither too rapid nor too elaborate in his descriptions; his classical illustration is apposite and copious, but without pedantry; and his glimpses of the existing state of things in the new Hellenic kingdom apparently just and discriminating. He is no romantic Philhellene, yet inclined to judge the leaders in the war of freedom, as well as the young kingdom of Greece, with fairness and candour.

Travels in Greece are now inevitably doomed, like the country itself, to this singular and ill-harmonised contrast of the grey and venerable Ancient with the glaring and unimposing Modern. The ruins were doubtless far more solemn and picturesque when nothing was seen but an indolent and turbaned Turk reclining among shattered pediments and fallen pillars, not disturbing the grave stillness, but with the contrast of his barbaric costume heightening, as it were, the classic grace of the broken statues or mutilated reliefs, and almost deepening, by showing into what hands Greece had fallen, the melancholy emotions of decay and desolation. The associations which stirred within at the thought of what Greece had been-Greece, the wreck of whose religion appeared in those pillars of unrivalled height or exquisite proportion-Greece, the sculptor of those living forms, fragments of which strewed the ground-Greece, whose history was crowding on the memory with all its stately and heroic names, whose poetry was sounding within our hearts, and whose philosophy perhaps had been our favourite study-what that Greece had been was more forcibly displayed by what it was, the dominion of that utterly unintellectual Barbarian, the possession of a rude iconoclastic Mahometan. We'doubt whether all this was not far more congenial to the frame of mind in which he who was worthy to gaze on the ruins of Greece contemplated those memorials of the past, than now that they are peopled by the busy and bustling so-called descendants of the Athenian and the Spartan, or shown by guides and conservators appointed for the purpose by a Secretary of State. As to the actual remains of ancient buildings, they likewise were perhaps more safe under the contemptuous neglect of the Turk, his superstitious awe of those haunted places, or his jealousy of those supposed treasure-houses

of

of buried wealth, than when they are built about by modern dwellings, and enclosed perhaps in lines of regular streets. The Turk might occasionally use them as a quarry when he wanted stone, or pound their fragments into mortar; and if decay, storm, or accident threw them down, he would take no precaution to preserve them but at least they escaped the greatest danger— restoration. In fact, desolation is the proper accompaniment of ruins; repose, silence, remoteness from the haunts of men, even difficulty of access, are required to give them their full influence over the mind. Even scenery which is hallowed by great events is desecrated and vulgarised by intrusive modern change. We have every ardent wish for the prosperity of the Græco-Bavarian kingdom; we hope that the subjects of King Otho, when they have thoroughly cast off the slough of their long servitude, may become a free, enlightened, and happy people; but, as lovers of elder Greece, and even as archæologists, we confess that we envy those who explored its wild oracular glens and fabled mountains, the sites of its dimly-discovered cities, and the wrecks of its oftenmisnamed temples, when all the mysterious gloom of centuries of devastation brooded over them,-when the region was, as it were, one vast Campo Santo, a land of hoary but sacred sepulchres, with scarcely a sound of life, and peopled only with the shadows of the mighty dead. No doubt we shall gain much in the accuracy of our knowledge. The German scholars, who are encouraged by the court of Athens, will explore every site, measure every building, and assign every temple to its proper god (and we are the last to speak disdainfully of this kind of erudition); but much, we fear, of the romance of classic pilgrimage (if we may couple such words) will be lost; we shall be less able to realize the Greece of older times; the imagination, the only restorer of the past, will be checked in its re-creative energies, and perhaps, knowing far more, we shall understand less of the Greece of our youthful adoration and our maturer reverence.

We shall endeavour to keep Mr. Mure's classical studies, as far as we may, apart from his observations on the present state of things in Greece. We are indebted to him for some very happy illustrations of ancient authors, especially of Homer. The first place, indeed, on which he trod the poetic region of Greece was Ithaca; and we looked not without interest to the opinions of a scholar, so sensible and well informed, on the great Homeric question connected with the kingdom of Ulysses. We acknowledged ourselves (some years since) somewhat disturbed by the arguments of a certain Professor Völcker, who had thrown very great doubts on the Homeric geography of these islands.* We

* Quarterly Review, vol. xliv. p. 161.

have since read the reply to those doubts by General Rühle von Lilienstern, which has in great degree restored our peace of mind, and brought us back to the orthodox Homeric faith; though we are still somewhat embarrassed by the disappearance of Dulichium. This indeed was a difficulty which had puzzled Strabo and Pausanias before us, and we presume we must content ourselves with placing it as part of, or as connected with, the mainland at the mouth of the Achelous. But we are now fully convinced that the ancient Ithaca need not be banished, as by Völcker, to the extreme west of the whole group of islands, but may be restored to its traditionary site in the island which has so long borne the name.

This is no trivial and unimportant question to those who feel, like ourselves, unexhausted interest in all which throws light on the history of the two great poems of antiquity, or rather on that of poetry itself. It is intimately connected with the personality of Homer, with the unity of the poetry, that is, its composition by one master-mind, the native place of the poet, and the parts of Greece in which the Odyssey, at least, if not the Iliad, was recited in the courts of the heroic kings. It involves the extent of the Greece of the heroic ages, the limits to which their early federation reached, the boundaries of their acquaintance with the circumjacent regions. Was Ithaca within or without these boundaries? If the descriptions in the Odyssey are altogether loose and inaccurate; if the relative situation of Ithaca with regard to the other islands, not according to strict geographical rule, but the ordinary observation of the common voyager, is entirely wrong; if the localities in the island itself, as they appear in the poem, are irreconcileable with the permanent form, structure, and character of the land; if there are no indenting bays; if the whole shore is a flat, level sand, where sea-nymphs could have found no rocks in which to form their grottoes; if there be no site for the city which would answer to the vivid description of the poet,then Ithaca must be altogether excluded from the Greece with which his hearers were familiar: it was, if not an imaginary island, one the fame of whose existence had dimly reached the popular ear, and which was the lawful domain, we say not of poetic invention, but of any vague conception which the poet might form from common rumour, or the floating intelligence derived from adventurous voyagers. For, it must be borne in mind that Homeric poetry offers itself to the hearer as truth; truth, that is, within the limited sphere of the hearer's knowledge. The Muses are the daughters of memory, not of invention; the poet of those days is the sole historian, and, in great degree, amenable to the laws of history. The poetic privilege of unreality,