more emphatically children of fire than they.  Be this, or be some other, the true theory of the fact, the fact itself unquestionably is, that our climate produces the highest nervous intensity.  As there are conditions of atmosphere in which the magnetic telegraph works well, and others in which it works ill, so some conditions stimulate, while others repress nervous action.  The air of England seems favorable to richness and abundance of blood; there the life-vessels sit deep, and bring opulent cargoes to the flesh-shores; and the rotund figure, the ruddy solid cheek, and the leisurely complacent movement, all show how well supported and stored with vital resources the Englishman is.  But to the American’s lip the great foster-mother has proffered a more pungent and rousing draught,—­not an old Saxon sleeping-cup for the night, but a waking-cup for the bright morning and busy day.  It is forenoon with him.  He is up and dressed, and at work by the job.  Bring an Englishman here, and nothing short of Egyptian modes of preservation will keep him an Englishman long.  Soon he cannot digest so much food, cannot dispose of so much stimulant; his step becomes quicker, his eye keener, his voice rises a note on the scale, and grows a trifle sharper.  In fine, the effects observed in our autumn foliage may be traced in the people themselves, a heightening of colors; and while this accounts for much that is prurient and bizarre, it infolds also the best promise of America.

The effect of this upon American physiology and physiognomy is already quite visible.  Of course we must guard against hasty generalizations, since the interfusing of various elements in our Western States is producing new types of manhood.  But the respective physiques of Old and New England can easily be compared, and the difference strikes every eye.  The American is lean, he has a paler complexion, a sharper face, a slighter build than his ancestors brought from the Old World.  Mr. Emerson is reported as saying (though the precise words escape us) that the Englishman speaks from his chest, the American more from the mouth or throat,—­that is, the one associates his voice more with the stomach and viscera, the other with the head; and, indeed, the pectoral quality of the prevailing tones catches the ear immediately upon setting foot on British soil.  Every man instinctively apprehends where he is strongest, and will tend to associate voice and movement with the centre of his strengths.  The American, since in him the nervous force predominates, instinctively lifts his voice into connection with the great household of that force, which is the brain; for an equally good reason the Englishman speaks from the visceral and sanguineous centres.  The American (we are still dwelling chiefly on the New England type) is also apt to throw the head forward in walking,—­thereby indicating, first, his chief reliance upon the forces which that part harbors, and, secondly, his impulse to progress; so that our national motto, “Go ahead,” may have a twofold significance, as if it were in some sort the antipodes of going a-foot, and suggested not only the direction of movement, but also the active agent therein!