that

And

nervous impulses make their way from the viscera to nerve centers. Besides the physiological evidences on this point, the evidence of human experience is very weighty. Here we have the bodily or somatic feelings that give the psychologist the main elements out of which he builds up the empirical ego. in pointing out that the stream of nervous impulses from the viscera to the nerve centers only occasionally emerges into consciousness as sensations, no psychologist ever suggested that this stream does not start until the instant these sensations arise, or that it ceases the instant they sink from consciousness again. There is everything to indicate that the stream keeps flowing continuously while life lasts. And most important of all comes evidences available from observation of the excited visceral movements themselves. We must note how animals have organized some of these movements in connection with minor disturbances, as the visceral movements of yawning, and also the visceral part of the movement of stretching. And in human life the visceral movements of laughter.

Then advancing to greater occasions of disturbances or shock, until we reach cases of extreme emergency when the central functions of the nervous system are in immediate danger of failing, what do we see?

Here the conflict between the interests of circulation, respiration, etc., and those other interests which we are trying to trace out, as belonging to visceral movements, becomes more and more violent according as the danger of central nervous failure increases. And what is the lesson taught by the ultimate behavior of the muscles that normally work the viscera, and all the muscles and tendons, etc., of their enClosing walls?

The lesson is this. Whatever be the nature of the interest, apart from circulation, respiration, etc., which animals have in the movements of these muscles, this interest becomes the pre

vailing one in extremity. It bears every stamp of being the primary interest of muscular movement. In the extreme stages of central nervous failure, the interests of circulation and respiration have to give way to it. It may now assert itself with an utterly blind and elemental fatalism over all other interests of visceral movement, as in the convulsions that in higher developed animals produce asphyxia. And in extreme stages of central nervous failure, as is well known, the locomotor muscles, tendons, etc., may join those controlling the viscera in making convulsive movements; then it is significant that among the few experiments which have been successful in dodging the enormous difficulties of testing the state of nerve centers while animals are in convulsions, those of Verworn and Baglioni show that nerve energy passes inward to nerve centers in consequence of these convulsive

movements.

So much at present for the viscera as a permanent source of centripetal nerve energy, a source which is masked by other functions of the viscera in normal conditions, but which is to some extent unmasked during extreme excitement.

We may now pass on to note very briefly a permanent source of centripetal nerve energy which is not masked by the organs in question performing any other functions. I mean the source of centripetal nervous impulse in the semi-circular canals and their lower analogues. As every one acquainted with the subject will admit, if there is a general point which has been clearly established above all the mysteries surrounding the functions of the semicircular canals, it is that they contribute centripetal nervous impulses to nerve certers. But the centripetal functioning of the semicircular canals is not obviously affected by excitement, and therefore they are, of course, never placed among the means of expression of excitement.

Let us next approach what may be

called the auxiliary sources of supply of centripetal nervous impulses, namely, the movement of muscles which remain more or less quiescent in normal conditions, but which may come into action on occasion of shock or excitement. The most important of these are the muscles of the sound-producing apparati of animals, both stridulatory and vocal, muscles already to some extent brought into action by excited visceral or other movement. Only in the case of sound-production it is not only the centripetal nerves of the moving muscles that conduct the nervous impulses inward. Here we have a centripetal channel of a very high order, namely, that of audition. And the way in which animals have taken advantage of this inward channel for the business of centripetal stimulation is witnessed by the development of music in both lower animals and man, and the development of language in man.

The second great auxiliary source of centripetal supply of nervous impulses in excitement is that of the pilomotor and facial muscles, and the muscles of the hands. And here, again, as in the case of sound-production, these movements are connected with centripetal charnels of a higher order than those of muscle spindles or organs of golgi, namely, the channels of the tactile sense which are so richly supplied to the face and hands.

In the case of these various auxiliary muscles and apparati for the supply of centripetal stimuli, it may be noted that as the more highly developed receiving organs in the skin, and in the cochlea, are here available, the muscles of the face, and also of the larynx, are not so richly endowed with muscle spindles as other muscles, indeed some physiologists (Sherrington in England, Cipollone in Germany) have announced their failure to find any muscle spindles at all in many of the muscles of facial expression.

We may now venture a step closer to the most interesting aspects of the old riddle of expression, and note that

various needs and circumstances of life in different families and classes of animals have affected the use of development of the auxiliary arrangements for centripetal supply of nervous energy.

Let us take that distinction in habits of expression between carnivorous and plant-eating animals which has always proved the greatest of the many puzzles of lower animal expression. Who was ever satisfied that the difference between biting herbs and biting living prey accounted for the differences in the behavior of the muscles of the head and face in the carnivora and herbivora, to say nothing of the vocal differences in these animals?

But from our standpoint we must see that the constant dangers involved in the hunt for, and battle with, prey bring repeated and sudden calls for increased centripetral supplies of nervous impulses to the carnivora. Thus the machinery of supply starts to action at any moment on the slightest cause; it may be always more or less in motion in the waking hours of these animals. The constant movement of this machinery gives the carnivora their character. The grin and snarl of ferocity is always ready to supply a share of the centripetral impulses required for the actions of battle and slaughter, upon which the obtaining of food depends.

On the other hand, the animals that obtain their food from plants have no such sudden calls for auxiliary centripetal supplies of nervous impulses, hence their "meek" character; the machinery of centripetal nervous supply only getting into motion in the last extremity of danger.

Coming now to the immense uses man has made of what we have called, from our standpoint, the auxiliary sources of centripetal supply of nervous impulses, it may be noted that with lower animals it is, generally speaking, only when shock overtakes them, or special life-caring efforts are required, that the auxiliary sources of centripetal supply, in vocal, pilomotor,

and facial, muscles are called upon. But in the case of man we have to face a great structure of habits that has been built up upon these auxiliary sources. For example, the habits of human emotion, will, language, memory, and thought. A man's use of voice, gesture, and facial expression is as constant as his use of these habits. Passing over, as, of course, is inevitable as far as this article is concerned, the profoundly interesting question of the manner in which man made the auxiliary sources of the centripetal supply of nervous impulses lead him on gradually to the development of human emotion, will, language, memory, and thought, we may take these habits in their fully developed state, and still compel them to reveal at least a glimpse of the secret of their origin.

You are, let us suppose, an orator making a speech. Never mind for the moment the deeper grounds of the processes of thought and memory and language within you; but note that your ear, the centripetal nerves (organs of touch) of your face, and hands, are all, so to speak, subscription plates held out for contributions toward the central fund of nervous energy. And contributions are picked up from every contraction of your brow, every pursing or compression of your lips, every wave of your arm, every clenching of your hands, no less than from the sounds of your words. It is, however,

no

more necessary that these tiny streamlets of centripetal nerve energy should appear in consciousness than it would be necessary that the athlete should be aware each time he bends a limb of the centripetal nervous impulses which passed inward from the movement, and helped to extend it again.

Or take a case where the significant uses of the gestures made are less intentional than those of the orator, namely, in the case of any suddenly conveyed incitement to amazement, admiration, or even abhorrence.

It need no longer puzzle us that these gestures might be made as strenuously

in the dark and in perfect solitude as when in the light of day and in the presence of others. The centripetal nerves of the raised arms and hands, and the delicate receiving organs of the facial nerves, pick up nervous impulses from these movements and transmit them inward to nerve centers that had just suffered a slight shock from the object of amazement, admiration, or abhorrence.

It must be admitted, of course, that every possible movement of voice, lips, eyes and hands has become significant. And the value of these movements to convey meaning may entirely mask their primary centripetal values. But the mask can be torn away by many very simple experiments. If you are what is called a "sensitive" or "nervous" person, an uncontrollable impulse often comes to your hands, fingers, lips, orows, eyes, to make some "nervous" movement-a movement of some of the machinery of expression. You are most keenly aware of the impulse, and precisely because of the communicative aspects of the threatened gesture, because it will betray your emotion, you try and, may be, succeed in suppressing it. But if you carefully note what has really happened, you will find that instead of entirely suppressing the movement your act of will merely transferred it from one part of the machinery of expression to the other-probably to a part whose movements are less visible. You may suppress a contraction of the brow, to find that at the same moment you have, however, slightly accented the closure of the lips or jaws-anu Vice versa. You may unclench your teeth, to find that, at the same instant, you clenched your hands. You may again unclench both fingers and teeth, and find that some part of the viscera, or their walls, at the same instant, backed your act of will with a barely perceptible spasm, and so on.

In short, the entire machinery of human expression in voice, face and hands, with its infinite varieties and complexities of movement, appear

H

E who would trace the prototypes of Thackeray's characters is met at the outset with the novelist's declaration that he never copied any one. There can be no doubt, however, that, like all writers of fiction, he derived, more or less consciously, from his acquaintances many suggestions. "Mr. Thackeray was only gently skilful and assimilative and combinative in his characters," said the late George Augustus Sala. "They passed through the alembic of his study and observation. The Marquis of Steyne is a sublimation of half-a-dozen characters. So is Captain Shandon; so are Costigan and the Mulligan. And the finest of Mr. Thackeray's characters-Becky, Dobbin, Jos Sedley and Colonel Newcome-are wholly original, from the celebrity point of view at least." The accuracy of these statements will now be examined.

It is commonly supposed that the inimitable Becky had an original, though her name is known to few. Mrs. Ritchie saw her once. She drove to Young street to see Thackeray, a most charming, dazzling little lady, dressed in black, who greeted the novelist with great affection and brilliancy, and on her departure presented him with a bunch of violets. Thackeray always parried with a laugh all questions concerning this prototype. However, a lady who knew him intimately was not so reticent. She said the character of Becky was an invention, but it had

been suggested to him by a governess who lived in the neighborhood of Kensington Square, and was the companion of a very rich and very selfish old woman.

The governess, strange to say, followed in the footsteps of Becky. Some years after the publication of "Vanity Fair" she ran away with the nephew of the lady with whom she was living, and for a while made a sensation in society circles, quite in Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's style and entirely by Mrs. Rawdon Crawley's methods. This living handsomely on nothing a year resulted in the usual way; and in the end the ex-governess fled the country, and was to be seen on the Continent flitting from gambling place to gambling place.

Charles Kingsley used to tell a good story of a lady who confided to Thackeray that she liked "Vanity Fair" exceedingly. "The characters are So natural," she said, "all but the baronet, Sir Pitt Crawley, and surely he is overdrawn; it is impossible to find such coarseness in his rank of life." "That character," the author smilingly replied, "is almost the only exact portrait in the book." The identity of the prototype was not revealed for many years; but it has recently been asserted that the character was sketched from a former Lord Rolle. "Sir Pitt's letters to Becky were very badly spelled and written," remarks the gentleman who puts forward this theory," "and I may say that I have in my possession a letter written by Sir Robert Brownrigg to