is also a moral intelligence, and that they together form the man.  This important truism (we say important, for it seems to have been not seldom overlooked) makes the foundation of all his future observations; nor can he advance a step without continual reference to this double nature.  We find him accordingly in the daily habit of mentally distinguishing this person from that, as a moral being, and of assigning to each a separate character; and this not voluntarily, but simply because he cannot avoid it.  Yet, by what does he presume to judge of strangers?  He will probably answer, By their general exterior.  And what is the inference?  There can be but one; namely, that there must be—­at least to him—­some efficient correspondence between the physical and the moral.  This is so plain, that the wonder is, how it ever came to be doubted.  Nor is it directly denied, except by those who from habitual disgust reject the guesswork of the various pretenders to scientific systems; yet even these, no less than others, do practically admit it in their common intercourse with the world.  And it cannot be otherwise; for what the Creator has joined must have some affinity, although the palpable signs may elude our cognizance.  And that they do elude it, except perhaps in a very slight degree, is actually the case, as is well proved by the signal failure of all attempts to reduce them to a science; for neither diagram nor axiom has ever yet corrected an instinctive impression.  But man does not live by science; he feels, acts, and judges right in a thousand things without the consciousness of any rule by which he so feels, acts, or judges.  And, happily for him, he has a surer guide than human science in that unknown Power within him,—­without which he had been without knowledge.  But of this we shall have occasion to speak again in another part of our discourse.

Though the medium through which the soul acts be, as we have said, elusive to the senses,—­in so far as to be irreducible to any distinct form,—­it is not therefore the less real, as every one may verify by his own experience; and, though seemingly invisible, it must nevertheless, constituted as we are, act through the physical, and a physical medium expressly constructed for its peculiar action; nay, it does this continually, without our confounding for a moment the soul with its instrument.  Who can look into the human eye, and doubt of an influence not of the body?  The form and color leave but a momentary impression, or, if we remember them, it is only as we remember the glass through which we have read the dark problems of the sky.  But in this mysterious organ we see not even the signs of its mystery.  We see, in truth, nothing; for what is there has neither form, nor symbol, nor any thing reducible to a sensuous distinctness; and yet who can look into it, and not be conscious of a real though invisible presence?  In the eye of a brute, we see only a part of the animal; it gives us little beyond the palpable outward; at