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assume the mind to represent the moving power-the brain to be the thing moved, the faculty, the particular portion of brain which is moved, and the function the act of being moved, and what are the facts which support this hypothesis?

During deep slumber, we are unconscious and insensible, all the voluntary actions are suspended, the senses transmit no impressions, or else, the brain being dormant, does not perceive them. The mind having no instrument through which to hold communion with the world of matter around it—is, as though it were not. During partial sleep we experience the phenomena of dreaming, for the mind is acting through the brain, i. e. through that portion which is not quiescent. Now, observe how the hypothesis and the facts agree. The mind is the moving power, the brain the organ, or thing, moved, and sleep is the insensibility of the material brain to the action of the immaterial mind. The legs become tired with much walking, and the brain is exhausted with much action. Sleep is the restorer of muscular vigour, and of mental activity. If all the brain were in action, we should not be asleep, but awake, and we should not be dreaming, but thinking, and conscious of all around us, but if the brain were one homogeneous, simple and indivisible mass, the organ of the whole mind, how could an imperfect manifestation take place if the instrument were not diseased or imperfect? the mind being active. We do not partially employ our senses during sleep, we do not taste in part, feel imperfectly, and smell partially-how then, if the brain be one instrument without separate powers, as the ear, or the eye, can the imperfect manifestations evident in dreams be elicited? but if we admit the existence of separate functions performed by separate organs, we can account for these things. In Insanity and Somnambulism, nay, even in the differences existing betwixt one man and another, the admission of this will obviate the difficulty which has hitherto existed respecting their causes, and although it may be objected that we are assuming one series of facts as necessarily true, because, otherwise, we could not account for another series, it will be shown in the subsequent proceedings of this class, that the synthetical, and the analytical, the a priori, and a posteriori-view, exactly harmonise. We shall have facts presented to us hereafter which will establish the hypothesis upon which we have been reasoning, that the brain is sub-divided into sections or organs, each of which has some peculiar duty or function to perform.

Observation of the actions of mankind, and the study of history exhibit many seeming paradoxes, which this view of the matter sets in a clear light; for if there be a variety of motives influencing a man, we know that he has many separate springs of action. If it be true of the whole brain, that in proportion to its perfection will be the perfection of its functions, it must also be true of all its parts; and, therefore, if the brain consist of parts having separate functions to perform, each part will perform its function in proportion to the perfection of its organization. The nature of man is threefold, he has animal, moral, and intellectual powers. His brain should therefore be organised so as to manifest these faculties; but since the brain is made up of a congeries or assemblage of organs, each having a separate function, and each function being perfect as the organ is

perfect, there may be a striking discrepancy betwixt the manifestations of the animal and intellectual, or the moral and intellectual faculties.

A man may be vindictive, passionate, nay, a murderer, with good intellect, or benevolent, pious, conscientious, with moderate intellect, and thus the third difficulty may be disposed of.

The positive affirmation that the brain is the organ of the mind, is susceptible of proof in a variety of ways-the facts are admitted, and the inferences self-evident. If there be a constant coincidence betwixt injuries of the brain, and imperfect mental manifestations; if there be the testimony of consciousness, and the facts connected with sleep, dreaming, drunkenness, insanity, and idiotcy; and if, added to this, we have the facts which a knowledge of the structure of the human body teaches us; we have a mass of evidence fully as satisfactory as any that can be pointed out in regard to any other science. So also in respect to the threefold character which we have ascribed to man; these are two fundamental truths upon which the solid temple of mental philosophy must be based. The inference with respect to the subdivision of the brain into organs, and the ascription of certain definite duties or functions to these organs, may be shown a priori to be necessary; but we have the means of ascertaining their validity by a less objectionable process. If the brain be thus subdivided into compartments, we have an opportunity of proving this, by examining its configuration. If these organs have certain functions connected with them, we can take a wide series of facts, and observe whether there is a constant coincidence betwixt configuration and function. If the brain be the instrument or organ of the whole mind, then must all the mind's manifestations be made through the brain. If the brain be divided into separate organs, having separate functions, then must all the powers of the mind be represented by these organs of the brain. There must, therefore, be a coincidence between individual organs, and individual powers, and also between the whole mind and the whole brain.

The facts in psycological and physicological science ought therefore to agree. And the intellectual emanations, moral powers, and animal propensities of mankind, as evinced in the history of individuals and of nations, should be reconcileable to the configuration of their brains; action being but the result of organs in motion.

Here then is a wide field of enquiry for the philosopher:―here is a new and unploughed soil, which will amply repay the labour of cultivation. There is no dark and mystical speculation here, it is dependant upon a process of reasoning, partly mathematical, partly logical. Mathematical, as regards the definite value and fixed signification of the terms and elements employed; logical, as far as the inferential and expository portions of the enquiry are concerned.

This is Phrenology; the enquiry which it proposes is, as to the nature of humanity; the means which it adopts, are those of accumulating facts, and of reasoning from them; its text book is human nature, its truths are unchangeable laws; its aim is the acquisition of solid and useful knowledge; its tendency-the amelioration of the human race. Out of the chaos of moral and mental philosophy, which has been heaped together, by giant hands perchance, but yet without order or design, it will create an universe of harmonious

beauty, and consistent power; it will link man to man by ties, yet more endearing; it will exhibit God to man in the light of His own Majesty, power, and beneficence. "Vox Populi-Vox Dei"-will no longer be an idle and senseless catch word, it will be fraught with meaning. The laws of mind will be reverenced as the laws of God. In proportion as man approaches nearer to perfection, will he approximate nearer to him in whose image he was made? Yet even in the most despised and degraded of the human race, shall we recognise no longer a mere wretched caricature of humanity, but an immortal soul in an unsightly edifice. In every branch of investigation, general laws are evolved by the classification of individual phenomena, but in relation to the whole universe, these laws become so many individual facts, to be subjected to a yet higher generalization, and to be assigned their proper place in the scheme of creation. Thus is it in relation to phrenology, simplified at every step; most consistent, when seemingly most involved. As we ascend from the animal propensities to the intellectual powers, and then to the moral feelings; we see their design, scope, and harmony, evidenced more clearly at every step. First, in their individual nature, next in the laws of their combined action, then in relation to the rest of the creation, and finally we ascend to the evidence of the existence of the Supreme. Far, far, above the intellectual gladiatorship, which aspires to renown by the destruction of its antagonist, it seeks to destroy nothing but error. Nor does it seek this by fierce contention, and by clamourously assailing all other systems; content to shew their falsehood by evidencing its own truth, and calmly repelling its enemies with argument, without having recourse to invective; it has hitherto won its way, and now stands

"Like some tall cliff that lifts its awful form,

Frowns on the vale, and midway leaves the storm,
Though round its breast the rolling clouds are spread
Eternal sunshine settles on its head."

Honour to the genius of Gall and Spurzheim! If ever Providence raised up men to fulfil its own beneficent intentions, it ordained them to be the heralds of a mighty revolution. They had in their characters all the elements of that greatness, which in the fulfilment of its mission disregards contumely, reproach, and ridicule. Patient, laborious, and methodical in the accumulation of facts; acute, profound, and systematic, in tracing their indications. Eminent alike as anatomists and philosophers, they were not to be turned aside from their path, by the jeers of apothecaries, nor by the hostility of professors and lecturers. The old cant of dangerous tendency, the laughter of the shallow, and the arguments of the learned, the apathy of some, and the enmity of others; the imputations of irreligion, materialism, and of atheism; these are the tests by which their discoveries have been tried, and notwithstanding the repeated confutation of all really solid objections, there is still a fearful array of prejudice to be encountered, but I hail the establishment of this class, as one of many proofs, that when the spirit of determined enquiry is awake, ridicule is powerless, and opposition only stimulates to research. Thus truth still conquers by its own inherent vitality, gathering strength from opposition, as the coiled spring relaxes itself the more readily when violently compressed.

159

THE POET AND THE MUSE.

РОЕТ.

Farewell to thee, Muse! I have worshipped long
At thy beautiful shrine;

I have sought out the heart-thrilling pleasures of song
And made them mine;

But alas! thou hast cheated me sadly, and drawn
Sweet pictures of mornings that never may dawn,
Thou hast shown me sweet faces that falseness have worn,
Farewell to thee, Muse.

All things have seemed decked with a livelier hue,
When thou wert near;

Love has been sweet and Friendship too,
And both sincere ;

Thou hast led me on with many a wile,
To bask in the sunshine of many a smile,
Which was but treachery all the while,
Farewell to thee, Muse!

I'll seek thee no more in forest or glen,
Sunshine or shade;

But view the world coldly, as other men
Who spurn thine aid;
No more, alas! shall be quaffed by me
Life's glistening springs of Poetry

No! Earth's weary prose my dull portion must be,
Farewell to thee, Muse!

MUSE.

Poor child of the earth! dost thou bid me depart
And leave thee thus ?

Knowest thou not that no mortal art

Can sever us?

I haunt thee at morn in the violet's hue,
I float in the firmament's heavenly blue,
Lie hid in a rose leaf, or swim in the dew;
Thou canst not forget.

In the evening I come in a car of gold,
With the setting sun,

Thou'lt find me when planets and stars untold,
Come out one by one,

Thou canst not look coldly as other men,
On blossoming flower, on valley or glen,
But must view all things with a poet's ken,
For ever and aye.

Some mortal hath stayed the full tide of thy song
And made thee complain;

Some friend has been false, and the rankling wrong
Hath infected thy strain;

Oh! take out the string that is snapt in thy lyre,
For soon of this bondage thy spirit must tire,
And again thou wilt waken the trembling wire,
Thou canst not forget.

Come forth in the sun! there is joy in its ray,
Come forth and be blest!

All nature around thee invites to be gay,
And thee with the rest.

Come forth

thou wert meant for a happier lot Than to sigh for those joys that are granted thee not, Thou may 'st find in the desert, perchance a bright spot

In store for thee yet.

CHARLOTTE.

TACT AND TALENT.

CHAPTER IX.

"O Dea certe !"-VIRGIL.

It is not intended to enter into all the details of a wedding day, to tell how brightly the sun shone, and how merrily the birds sang, as though they knew the reason why the bells kept ringing round and round such joyous peals, and why the little children of the village had brought their offerings of early flowers, emblems of their own innocence, to strew the pathway, and the church porch. Descriptions of weddings and wedding days present to the mind of the reader a tame and powerless picture. Those who have been principal actors in such a scene, can recall the deep and vivid feelings of that time, with a force which no description can arouse, and to those who have it yet before them the mere enumeration of smiles, and blushes, and beaming, and happy faces, still needs the rich and glowing colouring of a young and living imagination to complete the picture. Enough that Hamilton believed himself to be the happiest of the happy, that Mrs. Mansell, though her tears fell fast, declared again and again that she only wept for joy, and smiled through her tears when she placed her child's hand in Walter's, saying she had not lost a daughter but gained a son. And uncle William with his nankeen gaiters, and broad-flapped coat, forgot his age and knotted stick together, and hurried to and fro to see that every thing was right, laughing and talking as though he were a boy again. And then the bride flush'd with the struggles of her own emotions, now smiling in subdued and quiet happiness, now fixing a tearful gaze upon her mother as she thought upon the parting moment so rapidly stealing upon them! Louise was an only child, but was not on that account a spoilt one; Mrs. Mansell had possessed too much good sense and affection for her daughter to weaken her mind, and ruin her disposition by a boundless or ill-judged indulgence. Educated in a country village her health had been spared the pruning knife of fashion and, so-called, gentility. She had been allowed to bound along the meadows in her childhood with a step as fleet as the young fawn, or to stretch herself at length upon a mossy bank to watch the sporting of the insects on the surface of the brook. She might gather wild flowers on the heath, with the fresh breeze dancing in her hair, or bare her pure and innocent brow to the touch of the summer sunbeam, and yet she grew a beautiful and graceful girl. Alas, for those young creatures whose spring time is passed in the brick wall'd prison of a city. The pure, free breath of Heaven is not for them, the breeze that touches them leaves but a shiver, a cough, or death. The blessed sun-they cannot bear its beams, it fades their bloom, it sullies the dazzling whiteness of their brows. And the bounding step, the round and joyous laugh, are to them unknown. Alas, for these fragile beings, they know not the luxury of health.

About three weeks after the marriage Walter Hamilton returned home, bringing with him his young and interesting bride. What a

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