voice of execration they did not fell him lifeless to the ground. He was unguarded and within reach. If the charges against Henry come near to the truth, Nero was the better character of the two. Nero knew not what he did; he was beyond question a lunatic and one of a family of lunatics. Henry’s enormities were the enormities of a fairly sane and responsible man.

In order to read Henry’s character more correctly, if that be possible, than it is read by the “two voices,” more light is needed. Let us see what an examination of Henry’s bodily organisation, and especially of his parentage, will do for us. In this light—if it be light, and attainable light—it will be well to examine afresh (at the risk of some repetition) the grave charges which are so constantly and so confidently laid at his door and see what of vindication or modification or damning confirmation may follow. Before looking specially at Henry’s organisation and inheritance, I purpose devoting a short chapter to a general view of the principles which can give such an examination any value. It will be for the most part a brief statement of views which I have already put forward in my little work on character as seen in body and parentage.

THE RELATION OF BODY AND PARENTAGE TO CHARACTER.

NOTE II.

It is unwise to turn aside from the investigation of any body of truths because it can only be partial in its methods or incomplete in its results. We do this however in the study of the science of character. It is true that past efforts have given but little result—little result because they ignored and avowedly ignored the connection which is coming to be more and more clearly seen to exist between character on the one hand and bodily organisation and proclivity, and especially the organisation and proclivity of the nervous system, on the other hand. Those who ignore the bearings of organisation and inheritance on character are, for the most part, those who prefer that “truth should be on their side rather than that they should be on the side of truth.”

It is contended here that much serviceable knowledge may be obtained by the careful investigation, in given individuals, of bodily characteristics, and the union of these with mental and moral characteristics. The relationship of these combined features of body and mind to parentage, near and remote, and on both sides, should be traced as far back as possible. The greater the number of individuals brought under examination, the more exact and extensive will be the resulting knowledge.

Very partial methods of classifying character are of daily utility. We say, for example, speaking of the muscular system only, that men are strong or weak. But this simple truth or classification has various notable bearings. Both the strong and the weak may be dextrous, or both may be clumsy; both may be slow, or both may be quick; but they will be dextrous or clumsy, slow or quick, in different ways and degrees. So, going higher than mere bodily organisation, we may say that some men are bold and resolute while others are timid and irresolute; some again are parsimonious and others prodigal. Now these may possibly be all intelligent or all stupid, all good or all bad; but, nevertheless, boldness and timidity, parsimony and generosity, modify other phases of character in various ways. The irresolute man, for example, cannot be very wise, or the penurious man truly good. It must always be remembered in every sort of classification of bodily or of mental characteristics, that the lines of division are not sharply defined. All classes merge into each other by imperceptible degrees.

One of the most, perhaps the most, fundamental and important classification of men and women is that which puts them into two divisions or two temperaments, the active, or tending to be active, on the one hand, and the reflective, or tending to be reflective, on the other. To many students of character this is not anew suggestion, but much more is contended for here. It is contended that the more active temperament is alert, practical, quick, conspicuous, and—a very notable circumstance—less impassioned; the more reflective temperament is less active, less practical, or perhaps even dreamy, secluded, and—also a very notable circumstance—more impassioned. It is not so much that men of action always desire to be seen, or that men of thought desire to be hidden; action naturally brings men to the front; contemplation as naturally hides them; when active men differ, the difference carries itself to the housetops; when thinking men differ, they fight in the closet and by quieter methods. Busy men, moreover, are given to detail, and detail fills the eye and ear; men of reflection deal more with principles, and these lie beyond the range of ordinary vision.

The proposition which I here put forward, based on many years of observation and study, is fundamental, and affects, more or less, a wide range of character in every individual. The proposition is that in the active temperament the intellectual faculties are disproportionately strong—the passions are feebler and lag behind; in the reflective temperament the passions are the stronger in proportion to the mental powers. Character is dominated more by the intellect in one case, more by the emotions in the other. In all sane and healthful characters (and only these are considered here) the intellectual and emotional elements are both distinctly present. The most active men think; the most reflective men act. But in many men and women the intellect takes an unduly large share in the fashioning of life; these are called here the “less impassioned,” the “unimpassioned,” or for the sake of brevity, “the passionless.” In many others the feelings or emotions play a stronger part; these are the “more impassioned” or the “passionate.”

Character is not made of of miscellaneous fragments, of thought and feeling, of volition and action. Its elements are more or less homogeneous and run in uniform groups. The less impassioned, or passionless, for example, are apt to be changeable and uncertain; they are active, ready, alert; they are quick to comprehend, to decide, to act; they are usually self-confident and sometimes singularly self-important. They often seek for applause but they are sparing in their approval and in their praise of others. When the mental endowment is high, and the training and environment favourable, the unimpassioned temperament furnishes some of our finest characters. In this class are found great statesmen and great leaders. A man’s public position is probably determined more by intellectual power than by depth of feeling. Now and then, especially when the mental gifts are slight, the less pleasing elements predominate: love of change may become mere fitfulness; activity may become bustle; sparing approval may turn to habitual detraction and actual censoriousness. Love of approbation may degenerate into a mania for notoriety at any cost; self-importance may bring about a reckless disregard of the well-being of others. Fortunately the outward seeming of the passionless temperament is often worse than the reality, and querulous speech is often combined with generous action. Frequently, too, where there is ineradicable caprice there is no neglect of duty.

The elements of character which, in various ways and degrees, cluster together in the more impassioned or passionate temperament are very different in their nature. In this temperament we find repose or even gentleness, quiet reflection, tenacity of purpose. The feelings—love, or hate, or joy, or grief, or anger, or