ourselves. But, were the membranes which
cover the internal organs as sensitive as the
skin, every vital function would be attended
with pain. Existence would be agony.

I have now briefly described three sorts of
nerves: first, the spinal nerves and the fifth
from the brain, which form a system sufficient
to supply all the voluntary movements of an
animal that has to seek and grasp its food;
the system being rendered complete by the
singular fact of the fifth nerve giving off one
branch endowed with a special sense—taste.
Second, when the food is caught and
swallowed, another system, the sympathetic,
presides over the offices of digestion and
nutrition. Third, superadded to these are the
nerves of the special senses—sight, hearing,
and smelling; a distinct nerve or rather
pair of nerves for each.

There is yet another class, perhaps the
most interesting of all, called respiratory
nerves, four in number, which arise from a
very circumscribed part of the brain where
it is prolonged into the spinal cord; have
very extensive ramifications; and whose
office it is to regulate and combine all the
parts which are concerned in the act of
breathing. Breathing is not merely the
simple drawing in of the breath, the nostril
must be distended, the tubes leading to the
lung must be kept firmly open by muscular
power; the heart must at the right moment
contract, and send the blood into the lung to
be purified. Numerous muscles are employed
in this process. When breathing is difficult
additional muscles are put in exercise. The
patient takes hold of something that, by fixing
the arms, the muscles which go from the arm
to the chest may raise the ribs, and all the
muscles of the body give their aid. The
harmonious action of all these parts is secured
by their nervous energy being derived from
the same source. One of these nerves emerges
from the skull just in front of the ear, and
regulates the movements of all the muscles of ,
the face and eyelids (these parts derive
sensibility from the fifth). Another goes to the
muscle of the eye. The other two supply the
heart and lungs, and all the parts connected
with their function.

The first action of a new-born child and the
last of the dying man is to breathe; and, during
the passage from the cradle to the grave,
every movement of the body affects the
respiratory organs, and every emotion of the mind
is outwardly expressed by their agency. It
is no poetic fiction which describes the
bounding heart of woe, or the sinking heart of
sorrow. All passions of the mind exert an
influence more or less powerful on the heart
and on the breathing, and the muscles of the
face, being supplied by a respiratory nerve,
sympathise with their condition; and the
quivering lip and spasmodic twitch
of the throat reveal the agony which
pride strives in vain to conceal. No
anatomy could depict all the changes of
an animated countenance. But we may, I
think, draw one broad distinction between
those mental emotions which have an exciting,
and those which have a depressing influence
on th heart's action. Laughter is, pehaps,
the best instance of pure healthy excitement.
The muscles round the mouth relax, and the
involuntary muscles expand it into a smile;
the man draws a full breath, and sends it out
with jerks, and so agitated are the muscles
of his sides and throat, that he is incapable
of voluntary action, and holds his sides to
steady them.

In weeping the mouth is drawn aside,
not from the relaxation of the circular
muscle as in laughter, but by the strong
action of the antagonistic muscles
particularly one which draws down the
angle of the mouth; inspiration is quick
and jerky, expiration slow, because the flow
of blood to the lung is languid. All the
other muscles are affected spasmodically by
mental emotions, as pain, rage, fear, &c., but
our knowledge will not enable us to explain
why one muscle more than another should be
the exponent of a certain passion. Yet, so sure
is the sympathy between the heart and the
mind, that long-continued grief has been
known by its depressing influence to weaken
the heart so much that its walls have yielded
to the pressure of the blood, and the sufferer
has died not only figuratively but literally
of a broken heart.

I will here quote a few lines from Sir
Charles Bell:—

Let us contemplate the appearance of terror. We
can readily conceive why a man stands with eyes
intently fixed on the object of his fears, the eyebrows
elevated to the utmost, and the eye largely uncovered;
or why, with hesitating and bewildered steps, his eyes
are rapidly and wildly in search of something. But,
observe him further: there is a spasm on his breast, he
cannot breathe freely, the chest is elevated, the muscles
of his neck and shoulders are in action, his breathing
is short and rapid, there is a gasping and convulsive
motion of his lips, a tremor on his hollow cheek,
a gulping and catching of his throat; and why
does his heart knock at his ribs, while yet there
is no force of circulation? for his lips and cheeks are
ashy pale.

So, in grief, if we attend to the same class of phenomena,
we shall be able to draw an exact picture. Let
us imagine to ourselves the overwhelming influence of
grief on woman. The object in her mind has
absorbed all the powers of her frame, the body is no
more regarded, the spirits have left it, it reclines, and
the limbs gravitate; they are nerveless and relaxed,
and she scarcely breathes; but why comes at intervals
the long-drawn sigh? why are the neck and throat
convulsed? what causes the swelling and quivering of
the lips, and the deadly paleness of the face? Or,
why is the hand so pale and earthly cold? and why,
at intervals, as the agony returns, does the
convulsion spread over the frame like a paroxysm of
suffocation?

The answer to the questions in the above
quotation is, that the heart and lungs suffer