—like any other, even the simplest piece of music. How, then, does it differ from every other musical composition? Among which of its parts shall we look for the grandeur of movement, the rush of harmonies, and the eloquence, more powerful than that of words, which, as it thrills the metallic strings, awakens responsive vibrations among those differently constituted and conditioned strings which form the organ of hearing, and through this organ arouses emotions among the deepest of which our natures are susceptible? It is true, the effects produced are but poorly represented in the symbols of the musical score, or in the strings of the instrument which respond to the performer's touch; these elements are, however, not only important, but absolutely essential to the production of the results, and they must not be ignored in the statement of the problem with which we have to deal. When, however, we attempt to follow the transformations of energy which have taken place between the first and last links of the chain connecting the brain of the composer with that of the listener, we are lost in a maze of hopeless intricacy—hopeless, because we are unable to include in our limited grasp the innumerable threads which together constitute the clew to the labyrinth.
Nevertheless, we are compelled to believe that a clew exists, and that it depends on these twin principles—the correlation of forces, and the inseparableness of force and matter—since each link in this seemingly endless chain, when separately examined, is found to connect with some form of matter and some kind of force, with both of which we are more or less familiar.
Functions of mind cannot be formulated in terms of matter—there is no correlation in the language employed; but this is equally true of other phenomena—as, for example, of combustion. We know that chemical reaction between carbon and oxygen results in heat-production; and we know that certain combinations of vibrations of musical strings, communicated to the membrana tympani of the human ear, result in the production of emotions. It is safe to promise an explanation of the latter phenomenon, whenever an explanation of the former shall be forthcoming.
The phrase "principle of life" is deceptive; the expression "manifestation of life" means something definite, since life may be regarded as the sum of the forces manifested by certain forms of matter brought into certain relations with each other, and with the environment; but a "principle of life," although it may be talked about, cannot be located nor described; it is a phrase, et præterea nihil.
That which is called the ego—the sum of the various elements which make up the character—cannot, from a scientific point of view, be regarded as an entity, unless the combined forces and powers of any machine may be so regarded.
When a machine is taken to pieces, or falls into decay, what becomes of the forces previously manifested by it? Have they gone off,
