either in the brain or the blood of the animal, and in cases where the injection of alkohol proved fatal, no marks of disorganization could be detected in the blood, which possessed all its usual qualities of colour, fluidity, coagulation, &c., and Andral, a celebrated french physician, in ten persons who died from drinking enormous quantities of brandy, found no smell of it either in the brain or elsewhere. Under such circumstances we are told that "an instantaneous stupefaction ensues, and the person is at once knocked down."

A further illustration of this theory may I think be drawn from the study of the action of powerful external stimulants, such as extensive burns and scalds. Of course the parts on which they act and the symptoms they induce are widely different, but these are mere accidents; the essentials of the action which are what we have to look at are exactly the same. There is a powerful action of the skin set up, and the vital power is so irresistibly attracted thither from the internal organs, that if a very large amount of skin be scalded or burned the unhappy sufferer always sinks, whether any internal organ be affected or not.

In these as in many other forms of accident men say the patient dies from the shock inflicted, and then they seem to think they have said enough. The term is supposed to include everything, though many of those who employ it so freely would be rather puzzled to give a clear explanation of their own views as to the manner in which a shock acts. I remember a case in which by a collision on a railway a man was rendered almost useless to himself and society. There was not a sign of internal injury and very little if any outward damage; yet at the end of a year he could not sign

his name. He brought an action against the directors, and one surgeon who gave evidence in the case spoke of the nervous shock being the cause of the prostration and debility under which the patient suffered; but when asked to explain what he meant by shock to the nervous system and how it acted, he wisely fell back upon generalities and said that he knew what it meant as any practical surgeon would, but that he must decline to attempt a definition. The fact he considered undoubted, the nature of the fact and its mode of action were too recondite questions to enter upon.

Now, had he said that apart from any mechanical injury it inflicts, a shock simply means violence applied to some part of the frame, and in consequence attraction of the vital power so thoroughly from other parts as to leave them too little for the proper functions of life, I don't see that there would have been so much difficulty in explaining the matter. In the case mentioned it may be surmised that the shock produced a violent concussion accompanied by great fright, that this force acted on some part of the brain, if the seat of fear be in that organ, and that it withdrew the vital power from the muscles.

Some of the passions act still more quickly though in much the same way. Thus in sudden emotion, great enough to induce fainting, the vital power seems to be so completely withdrawn to the seat of the passions, wherever that may be, that the structures both of animal and organic life are deserted by it. For it must be obvious that when a man cannot stand, the muscles by which he stands are weakened or that the power in them is lessened, and

that when the heart ceases to beat the same change is taking place in it.

How far we are to believe some of the tales so often alluded to, of people dying while in the midst of health from the effects of sudden joy and fear, it is difficult to say. I confess myself extremely incredulous on the point and rather disposed to admire them in an epic or romance than to give them a place in philosophy. They are often spoken of, but when we come to sift the evidence on which they rest, we find that one writer has borrowed from another till there is no clue to the beginning of the story.

Thus Dr. Darwin, in his great work on the "Laws of Organic Life," says it is well known that many persons have died instantaneously from the painful excess of joy, but he does not give a single case in point.

One of the few instances told directly by any modern author is that given by Mr. James, in his "Life of Richard the First."* This famous writer, one of whose novels is worth a score of the rubbishing sensation things by which men pander to the most despicable taste, tells us that "when the army of Godfrey of Bouillon approached within sight of Jerusalem, such enthusiasm seized them at the sight of the holy city that some cast themsleves on the ground, some fainted, and some died upon the spot." It is always sad to be obliged at the call of reason to dissolve the bright visions created by genius, but it must be done. Truth must pronounce Mr. James's history to be in some parts rather romantic. He talks of

* Vol. iii. p. 18.

"thousands on thousands "" falling at every moment in a fight by the Euphrates, so that if the fight had lasted two minutes, more men must have been exterminated than in the dreadful fields of Leipzig, Waterloo, and Inkerman, all put together!

However useful in moderation, however absolutely necessary within reasonable limits for high health, it is yet certain that immoderate exercise of the muscles will as surely destroy the health as excessive exercise of the heart, stomach, or brain, and probably were our observations acute enough we might reduce to an accurate figure the time it would take to wear a man down by walking or riding.

If the healthiest exercise possible be carried to the length of extreme fatigue, it will be found that after a time the mind can with more and more difficulty be directed to the consideration of abstruse subjects requiring great mental exertion, and consequently a larger supply than usual of vital power. So far as biography can enlighten us on this point, it tells us that great works and great thoughts have seldom been produced by men undergoing excessive fatigue at the time. In fact I think it will be found, that though some very famous men have distinguished themselves by their power of enduring fatigue, like Napoleon, Wellington, Nelson, and Alexander, great thinkers have generally shunned it, partly from the strong instinctive action of this law, I expect. Moreover, I doubt whether the great ideas and vast projects which animated these men, who, like Napoleon, signalized themselves in both fields, thinking and action, arose to their minds during the fatigue of campaigns and marches so much as amid lonely quiet

walks. Bourrienne relates that Napoleon used to weave his vast projects for

"The rise of empires and the fall of kings,"

when he was taking his constitutionals, and that he used every now and then to shrug his shoulders with a mighty effort as if he was "compressing thought." Goethe used to say that all his best thoughts and expressions came to him while walking, but then this was amid some gentle stroll or pensive saunter, not when going four miles and a half an hour. According to Maturin's statement, he had not found a reliable account of any person who could write poetry under a burning sun or a bright moonlight. A certain amount of rest and abstraction always seems necessary for mental work. Gibbon dictated walking, but it was in his room; Molière wrote with his knees in the fire, and Lord Bacon in a small room which helped him to condense his thoughts.

If the strain which great exercise brings to bear upon the muscles be carried to such an extent as to induce complete exhaustion, it will be found that the mind at last becomes indifferent to everything beyond gratifying the craving for eating, drinking, and rest. A man utterly wearied out

"Dreams as appetite is wont to dream,

Of meats and drinks, nature's refreshment sweet."

Many instances have been recorded where death has occurred from this cause, as when people have lost their way and wearied themselves out in vain attempts to find some place of rest, in struggles to escape from