of nervous energy by affording a medium of communication with other nerves, and the imparting of additional energy to the particular nerve which forms it. Having effected this, the great sympathetic descends down the neck, into the lower parts of the body, sending its branches in its progress to the heart, lungs, stomach, &c.

From the course and distribution of this very important nerve, we are now enabled to account for that extensive and extraordinary sympathy which exists between parts so remote from each other, and apparently unconnected either by a reciprocity of function, or otherwise. Above all, it will show us the influence which the mind has over the body; and how the different senses, which may be said, in the aggregate, to constitute mind, are distorted and deranged from a corresponding derangement of the internal organs. Here is a direct, continuous and most sensitive sympathy between the senses and all parts of the body; and there are few of us who have not, at some period of our lives, experienced a painful proof of its influence.

Before we quit this subject, we must advert to the fact of these nerves being independent of the will, and of their enabling the different organs, which they immediately supply, to continue their functions without interruption or suspension. When we say that the will has no power over these nerves, we mean, that a person cannot control the actions of the vital organs, as he can those of his arms, or legs, or hands, &c. that is, while he is in health. But a very little observation will show us that certain passions, emotions of the mind, or irregularities of living, with several other causes, have an especial and a powerful influence over these organs, as far as a derangement, merely, of their functions is concerned; thus establishing what Mr. Bell calls, "a reciprocal influence between the nerves and the vital organs." We all know that violent rage, continued grief or anxiety, deep study, and even great joy, very materially interfere with the healthy actions of the frame, and, if continued, that they eventually affect the whole nervous system. "We must be sensible," observes Mr. Bell," how often the exercise of the passions, and even the images which occupy the mind, produce physical changes on the body."

Here, then, is a clear, intelligible, demonstrable, nervous system, easily comprehended by the meanest capacity, and the public, as well as the profession, have much reason to be grateful to Mr. Bell for the vast labour, research, and perseverance, which he has devoted to this intricate, interesting, and most important matter. In physiological pursuits, as well as in many others, we ought to estimate a man's labours by their useful application, not by the toil or mysticism by which they are attended. A gentleman, who ranks very high, or, at least who has ranked very high among modern physiologists, has devoted much of his time to the discovery of air-bubbles (carbonic acid gas) in the blood, and the Lord knows what in the brain, and, with the assistance of M. Baur's magical microscope, already hinted at, he certainly has made some singular discoveries. Now, all this may be very amusing to the philosopher himself, but cui bono? Where is the use of

*To such of our readers as are anxious for information on the subject of this physical sympathy, we beg to refer them to a little work just published by Hurst and Co. "On Nervous Disorders."

it, even if established? or what good-what practical good are such discoveries likely to effect? Charles Bell had too much good sense to mystify his pursuits; and, accordingly, his discoveries were not, at first, received with that reverence which they otherwise would have obtained.

We have already seen, and briefly described, the result of one branch of his researches: we shall now mention another equally important and interesting, equally useful in its application to a tangible, practical good. In tracing the nerves, which originate immediately in the brain, and which supply the machinery of the organs of sense, Mr. Bell remarked that each organ was provided with two distinct sets of nerves: one set supplying the sense of the organ, the other its machinery only, For instance, the eye has two sets of nerves; one producing vision, the other distributed to the various muscles, glands, and membranes, that constitute the machinery of the organ. The same with the tongue, the nose, the ear. Now these two sets are totally distinct from each other, both in their distribution and modes of action: and if the nerves of taste in a dog, or ass, or any other animal be divided, so as to interrupt its connexion with the brain, the unfortunate animal will still retain the power of munching or grinding its food, but no power of discrimination as to its quality. This favourite experiment of Mr. Bell was performed upon an ass. The nerves of taste were divided, so as to destroy that sense. Some oats were then placed before the animal, and, after smelling them in the usual way, he thrust his nose into the sieve, and turned the grain over and over with his tongue, occasionally munching a mouthful, but swallowing none; for, the organ of taste being destroyed, he knew not whether the oats were food or poison.

The prosecution of this interesting subject has been the business of Mr. Bell for many years; and now, having overcome all silly, unjust, and bigoted opposition, and all illiberal envy and prejudice, he is regarded, by honest men, as a man of great talent, a master spirit among the philosophers of the age. Mr. Bell is not a man of the world. There is too much independence about him to permit him to truckle to its servile usages. Had he demeaned himself by being one, much of the upright manliness of his character would have been frittered away in idleness and adulation; and science would have lost what fashion and " the world" would have gained.

As a lecturer, Mr. Bell ranks very high. Till his advancement to the chair of physiology in the London University, he supported the credit of one of the first anatomical schools in London, with a dignity and a suavity which have endeared him to all who have reaped the benefit of his tuition; and when we consider the number of able surgeons which that school, originally founded by Hunter, and subsequently supported by Cruikshanks, Baillie, and Bell, has produced, we shall be enabled to appreciate with justice the value of Mr. Bell's qualifications as a teacher. To his pupils, whether at the hospital or in the lecture-room, he is kind, attentive, and abounding in practical information; at the hospital, indeed, his kindness is of the utmost advantage to the poor suffering patients, and they can testify how greatly his attention has alleviated the pangs of disease, and how much it has conduced to their comfort and recovery. This, after all, is the true test of benevolence, for where a person is not paid for kindness, and where

the assumption of it is not necessary to advance his interests, if exhibited at all, it must spring from an inherent habitation in the heart.

As a scientific writer, Mr. Bell is well and widely known. His numerous anatomical and physiological works evince the deep research, the untiring industry, and the unwearied desire to instruct and improve, which so eminently characterize their author; who possesses two qualifications, which distinguish him above all his contemporaries. One is an acute and comprehensive knowledge of mechanics; the other a proficiency in drawing: both of which accomplishments have afforded him the means of illustrating his works in a manner which has added very considerably to their interest and utility.

T

It is well known that Mr. Bell has already contributed one tract to the library of useful knowledge, namely, that " On Animal Mechanics." We are happy to inform the public that he has pledged himself to give another, and on a subject which, treated as it will be by him, must indeed prove highly interesting. It is on the circulation of the blood, explained, if we are not mistaken, with reference to Mechanics,-in the same manner, indeed, as the "Animal Mechanics." It is pleasant to see the leaders in science condescending to enlighten and instruct the mass of mankind, for it is thus that science, as it becomes popular, becomes also surpassingly useful and enduring.

OXFORD is vaunted as the prince (or rather the princess) of Universities; and there is no denying that Europe can show nothing else to compare with it, in point of picturesque and architectural beauty united. But its sister, Cambridge, is not without attractions of a similar kind. There are several things at Cambridge, each of which is well worth a journey from London to see; and, taking the whole of this University together, there is perhaps no other University in Europe (Oxford always excepted) that will so well repay a passing visit.

As we are not aware of our readers being able to find anywhere in print an intelligible sketch, however slight, of the principal points claiming admiration in this famous seat of learning, we shall endeavour to furnish them with such a sketch; only premising that it is not a "Guide" we are about to offer them, but merely a glance, by which they may be led, by the nearest road, to the most noticeable objects, without being needlessly delayed by the way.

The situation of Cambridge is bad, and the town itself devoid of a single point of public interest, except those growing out of it as the seat of the University. We shall therefore confine our attention exclusively to these latter, and shall treat Cambridge itself as if there were no such place; merely placing our readers at once before the objects we wish them to observe, and "cutting short all intermission" between one and another in other words, we shall avoid all generalities in our descriptions, except in so far as relates to the general effect of the particular object, or set of objects, that we may have to describe. We are by no means satisfied as to the good effect of keeping back the most striking points of a description to the last. But whether such a plan be politic or not, we confess ourselves to be totally incapable of 'pursuing it, in cases where the objects to be described have already

taken their stations in our memory according to their respective powers of exciting and fixing the attention and admiration.

Having to describe the architectural beauties of Cambridge, we cannot begin with the pretty little ivy-clothed cupola of the gate of Caius', and so arrive gradually at the splendid coup-d'ail formed by the assemblage of buildings in front of St. Mary's Church, but must beg leave to place the reader within view of the latter at once; just as we should do in regard to a visitor who might claim our ciceroneship on the actual spot. Indeed, if the reader will please (in imagination) to accept of our services in the latter capacity, it will perhaps facilitate our object, of exciting his attention towards some of the most striking scenes of their kind that can anywhere be met with.

Placing ourselves at once, then, with our backs to the chief door of the University Church, St. Mary's, we shall see before and about us an assemblage of buildings, that, for richness and variety of architectural beauty, cannot, perhaps, be rivalled even in Oxford itself, within an equally limited space of ground. On the extreme right is the Senate House, where the principal official business of the University is trans. acted. This is a building uniting simplicity and ornament in so judicious a manner as to produce an effect at once extremely rich, yet perfectly sober and chaste. It is constructed of Portland stone, and after what is understood by the term classical models; and from the point of view which we have chosen, it presents a perfect view of its principal front, and its eastern end; its general form being an oblong square. The end which is next to us consists of four Corinthian columns, supporting a somewhat low pediment, and having the windows one above the other,in each intercolumniation, except in the centre one, where the place of the lower window is occupied by a carved oaken door. The front or flank (for in a building of this form one is apt, from an association growing out of the form and office of the Greek religious temple, to regard the ends as the fronts, those being invariably the points of entrance, and also those where the chief architectural and sculptural ornaments were placed)-the front or flank, whichever it should be called, consists of a centre compartment, exactly corresponding in form and character with that just described; and on each side of it a wing, about equal in extent to the centre compartment, but ornamented by pilasters only, and surmounted by a balustrade, running the whole length of the building. This handsome erection is detached; though built a hundred years ago, it is in as perfect preservation as if raised but yesterday; and the effect of it is, with one or two exceptions, the most satisfying and complete of any thing that we shall meet with in our examination. Indeed, to those who prefer the classical to the Gothic style, it will perhaps present the most striking object in the University. At a right angle with the Senate House, and therefore exactly in front of us, stands the chief front of the building occupied as the Schools and the University Library. This building, like the one just described, is in the Roman style; but on account of its being without either columns, pilasters, pediments, or any of those imposing details which usually form a portion of those buildings dedicated to public purposes, it produces but an indifferent effect. As a specimen of domestic architecture on a large scale, it might have attracted and satisfied the attention; or even as part of a separate college of the University; but being erected

expressly for so peculiarly public a purpose as that of the Schools and the University Library, its general effect becomes, by association, poor and inappropriate. It is constructed entirely of Portland stone, and consists of two stories, surmounted by a balustrade, supporting, at wide intervals, six urns. The lower story consists of rusticated arches, forming an open piazza; and above the upper story run festoons of flowers. Passing the eye onward towards the left, it rests upon what is not merely the great architectural boast and glory of this University, but what may be looked upon as one of the most beautiful and perfect objects of its class now in existence: we mean King's College Chapel. Perhaps the spot whereon we are now standing presents as good an occasion as can anywhere be found of comparing the general characteristics and effects of the modern Gothic and the classical styles of architecture, and of estimating the relative merits of each. Assuredly, we have no wish to institute any such comparison at the present moment, nor would it be in place if we had. But still we cannot resist the temptation of pointing out the triumphant superiority of the one style over the other, so far as the instances here presenting themselves are concerned. We do not know where to point out a more perfect example, and a more effective one for its size, of the Roman or classical style, than we have here before us in the Cambridge Senate House. We are speaking, of course, of modern existing erections, and not of the superb remains of the Greek temples, whether in Greece or elsewhere. But let the spectator who is interested in these matters turn from the classical Senate House to the Gothic Chapel of King's College, and let him admit at once, for he cannot deny, the vast superiority of the latter, in every respect connected with singleness and beauty of external effect. There is, notwithstanding a certain impression of smallness, a majestic solidity and grandeur of general effect about the Senate House, which is not to be denied or overlooked. But the eye refuses to rest upon and contemplate this effect for more than a passing moment, while in presence of its exquisite rival, whose beauties, whether of simplicity or of ornament, of airy lightness or of immovable and majestic gravity, rivet and fascinate the senses, and produce together a general unity, consistency, and appropriateness of effect, which, when once received, can never be forgotten. There is a certain bland and graceful sweetness, so to speak, about this building, which we can compare to nothing but the living and breathing loveliness of a certain class of female forms and faces. We are tempted to believe that something like this general impression was produced upon the spectator by some of the ancient Greek temples, erected previous to and during the era of Pericles. But we do not believe that such impression has attended the contemplation of any specimens of classical architecture erected since, or of any other buildings whatsoever, only excepting some few of the modern Gothic ones; and of those only among the latter which can be seen under favourable circumstances of position, preservation, &c. To see a building of this kind to the best advantage, it must be detached from all other buildings, it must be in perfect general preservation, and you must see the whole of it at once, and from a particular point of view, which shall take in the end and the flank at the same time. In a near view of it there must be no part intercepted; but in a distant one, the intervention of a grove of trees produces an exquisite addition to