The difference is as striking as that which we know from daily observation to exist between the face of a rogue and that of an honest man; indeed, we are disposed to believe, with Benjamin Franklin, “that if rogues knew the advantages attached to the practices of the virtues, they would become honest men from mere roguery.” It was for this reason, probably, that beauty of form and proportion were so highly prized by the ancients; and when they prayed the gods to grant them the beautiful with the good, was it not because by experience they had found that in fact they were most frequently associated? In support of this position, we may cite the authority of Bacon, who, in his Essay on Beauty, remarks, “that Augustus Cæsar, Titus Vespasianus, Philip le Bel of France, Edward IV. of England, Alcibiades of Athens, and Ismael the sophi of Persia, were all high and great spirits, and yet the most beautiful men of their time.” Again, the physiognomy of the passions affords us further proof that the emotions of the mind betray themselves by peculiar corporeal phenomena,—each having, as it were, its own proper dialect. Notice the expression of the passions which follow each other in such quick succession, and are so forcibly depicted upon the mobile countenance of an infant, even before any voluntary movements can be executed by the feeble and powerless limbs. Look at a coward, his countenance blanched, and almost cadaverous,—the heavy limbs drooping and powerless,—the instruments of life paralysed, as though the fountain of existence were suddenly dried up. For grief, take the testimony of Byron, where he describes its effects in producing “The intersected lines of thought,— Those furrows which the burning share Of sorrow ploughs untimely there,— Scars of the lacerated mind Which the soul’s war doth leave behind.”