to the heavy burden of affliction which it pleased heaven to permit should bow down the spirit of this lovely mourner.

Such was my first interview with Agnes Mandeville. Three years she remained under my roof. Let me describe, if I can, the extraordinary, the incomprehensible, I might almost add, with regard to some of them, the awful incidents that marked those years; and, in conclusion, let me detail the romantic circumstances which led me, seven years afterwards, to stand beside "the stranger's grave," listening, in the dim twilight of a summer's evening, amid the wild scenery of a mountainous country, to the plaintive recital of a grayheaded old man, as he told me what he knew of the " poor inhabitant below."

She seemed to be aware of the sort of gentle imprisonment, and partial solitude to which she was doomed; for though no intimation of it ever fell from me or my wife, she never once expressed a complaining wish to cross the threshold of our door, or breathed a sigh because she did not; while, on all occasions, when we were visited by friends or acquaintance, she would rise to retire before they entered. I felt, however, so keenly, the hardship of this voluntary seclusion in her forlorn and desolate condition, that I very soon circumscribed, within the narrowest possible limits, the number of my visiters, as well as the number of their visits. I was more happy in seeing her (no, I cannot say happy, for that she never was, but)-calm and undisturbed, than in any social enjoyments which were purchased at the price of banishing her from our presence. It is no wonder, therefore, I was selfish enough thus to seek my own gratification. In my dear Jane, too, she found, what, I am afraid I must acknowledge, exists only in a woman's heart-that untired benevolence, that still fresh and ever-flowing stream of sympathetic feeling, which sheds a spirit of gladness over the duties of humanity, and makes the thousandth kindness as warm, as generous, and as prompt as the first. It was not long before she loved Agnes,

and Agnes repaid her love with all she had to offer in return-the gratitude of an outcast, to whom the world, and its many-cherished hopes and delights, were a blank.

But

Very soon after her arrival, a harp, a pianoforte, and a fine chamber organ, were sent for her use. She played beautifully on all those instruments; and sometimes sang plaintive, melancholy airs to her harp. But it was when she touched the organ, that her whole soul seemed to dwell upon the tones she produced. A scientific musician, a professor of fugues and fingering, an ear-taught lover of time and tune, and a disciplined scholar in the mysteries of brilliant execution, might, for aught I know, have detected a thousand faults in the performances of Agnes Mandeville. this I know, it was impossible for any one who had a heart to feel the divinity that dwells in music, and own the secret spell which breathes in harmony as its living essence, to listen to the wild, wondrous, subduing sounds which she would extract from the deep, solemn, and swelling stops of that sublime instrument, without emotions such as were never yet excited by the greatest master. She sometimes seemed as if she were entranced, while pouring forth, with spontaneous melody, strains that appeared to link themselves with all her hidden sorrow, with all her saddest recollections, with all her sorrowful_forebodings: with the silent tears she so often shed, and with the grief-fraught sighs that waited ever upon her thoughts.

"There!" she would exclaim, after one of these self-inspired performances, and then sink into meditation, "there! I have been holding converse with the past. I have beheld the departed. I have heard the voice that enthralled me. I have shed unseen tears-basked in unseen smiles; and with miraculous speech, which only two can understand -the living and the dead-I have told what I am, because of what I was.Lord! Lord! there is a future, which thou alone canst look upon!"

(To be continued.)

"THE proper study of mankind is Man." Thus says Pope; and a more useful truth never was pronounced in poetry or prose. But towards this study what have your metaphysicians, ancient or modern, contributed? Nothing. Put their works, from Aristotle downwards, into a scale, and they will not weigh the value of a feather against the system of Gall and Spurzheim. I am an idolater of phrenology: I kneel down and worship at her shrine. My bump of veneration is as big as an ostrich's egg. To behold the form and fashion of the inward man mapped out upon the surface of his cranium is, to me, a joy unutterable. Initiated, as I am, in the mysteries of the science, I seem admitted into the sanctum, from which the uninitiated are wholly shut out. All the passions and propensities of man-and of women too are at work, as it were, under my observation. All their functions and faculties, from No. 1 to 35-the alpha and the omega-are familiar to me. Are not our days numbered? Are not the very hairs of our head numbered? Why, then, should not the head itself be numbered, and its cranial configurations subjected to the rules of division? Skulls vary in their shape to infinity: they are like the stars; one skull differeth from another skull in glory; while each, in its degree, contributes to the harmony, moral and political, of the universe.

Never was there a period so favourable to the science of phrenology as that in which we live. Of every ten men you meet in these our days, five of them are baldpated. What a field is here opened -as if by Nature herself-for the moral inspection of man. I regard every bald pate as polished expressly for furnishing a subject to the phrenological student. Whatever causes the hair to fall from the head, I consider in the same useful light as the resurrection-man who supplies subjects for dissection to the anatomical lecturer. Whether it comes from the greater activity of their brains, or from what other cause, I know not; but I have generally observed that the members of the bar are usually more or less bald. How often at the Temple Church on a Sunday, with my eyes wandering from pole to pole, have I caught

myself studying the characters of the forensic congregation; and, I am ashamed to say, attending more to their heads than to the heads of the sermon. When I go to the theatre, nothing delights me like the cry of hats off! In an instant I am in my element. No odd-shaped head within the range of examination escapes me. I can appreciate the value of all that surround me to a hair's breadth. When curiosity carries me, as sometimes it does, into the courts of Westminster-hall, the judgesas far as their intellectual capacity goessit before me as in a glass case. I can tell precisely the extent of their perceptive and reflecting faculties-where they are deficient in either-and the propor tion which each bears to the other. These faculties carry their indications in the anterior of the forehead; above that -with a judge-all is darkness. The awful magnitude of the wig is a foe to free inquiry; it sets all scrutiny at defiance. This appendage is, I know, averred by many to be the seat of legal wisdom; but to me it is no better than a windingsheet which covers the remains. What would become of the nation, if in the House of Commons the head of every member were clothed with a wig? If his talents were thus hidden under a bushel, in what would the head of a representative of Gatton, or Old Sarum, differ in appearance from that of the most enlightened county member? As it is, a skilful phrenologist in the gallery can distinguish as exactly a patriot from a place-hunter as if he were in his sleeve. In a motion for reform, the arguments, however forcible, of the different speakers, go with him for nothing; he takes first a glance at the cerebellum, next casts his eye over the cranial developinent, and, having thus examined them respectively, as they rise to

address the chair, he needs nothing further to let him into the secret of their movements. He can tell to a man which is the real, and which the pretended advocate for reform: who they are that are clandestinely rolling the stone of faction up-hill, and who are honestly setting their shoulders to the wheel. When I hear a member proudly boasting his independence, his disdain

of corruption, and his reverence for popular rights, I watch him till I get a fair sight of his organ of conscientiousness; if I find no prominence, no manifestation of this feeling, I perceive at once that his rhetoric is not worth a rush; there is no mistake; there can be no mistake. He may call gods and men, and Mr. Speaker, to witness his sincerity, but depend upon it he has no love of justice; self-interest is his ruling principle; he has no more honesty in him than a unicorn.

But it is when I enter the circle of private society that I exercise my phrenological skill with most profit as well as most amusement. I have, as it were, a touchstone in this science, which brings the truth of every man's character to the test. I can discover private profligacy in a serious Christian, and licentiousness in a Methodist preacher, as plainly as if I were their father confessor. It is to me often a source of real pain and sorrow to behold how enormously the world are imposed upon by the whine of mock piety, and the cant of mock patriotism; the empire of all the Russias is as nothing to the empire of hypocrisy. How many a one do I see enjoying high place and honour, when, if he had his deserts, his carcass would give the crows a dinner.

What a wicked race would man be, if women did not redeem it. Were it not for the amiable sex, a phrenologist would lose all patience and all hope. It is their lovely and gentle nature that alone makes the world tolerable. It is no doubt with a view to give their attractions fair play, that nature has made the eye the organ of language. This organ is denoted by the prominence of that part of the brain which lies above the upper part of the orbit. Speech is the channel of communication between man and man-the eye-more sublime is the channel of communication between man and woman. It speaks in the spirit of all languages. It is endowed, as it were, with the gift of tongues. Its eloquence is wonderful. There is no sentiment that it cannot express—no meaning that it cannot convey. It can glance with tenderness-it can flash with indignation. In affairs of love its soft and

fluid brightness needs no interpreter, It can give an assent in silence as effectually as if the marriage contract were signed, sealed, and delivered.-I speak of the female eye. The eye of man has no such empire: in him, whenever it is prominent, it is an organ of words, and nothing more. His memory for words makes him talkative, but he will be a mere talker. If combined, as in Coleridge, for instance, with high intellectual powers, he will procced in a fine strain of thought and sentiment with a rapidity which knows no stop. But if, as happens in ninety-nine cases out of a hundred, he is a commonplace proser, he will bore you to death with his perpetual and tiresome loquacity. He will be a personification of the Vox et præterea nihil; and it had been better for your peace that his eyeball had been sunk an inch within its socket.

The organ which most offends me when I mix with society, is secretiveness. It belongs to the middle lobe of the brain. In a minister it is the cradle of intrigue. In the mass of mankind, wherever it is found in full development, it is the little workshop of cunning, dissimulation, and stratagem. The animal man, when he is sly by nature, is of the same texture with such of his brother animals as are crafty by instinct. "If I consider the nature of man and animals," says Dr. Spurzheim, "it seems to me that this special faculty is the propensity to be clandestine in general; to be secret in thoughts, words, things, or projects. The fox is careful not to be observed; a cat watching a mouse moves not a limb; sly animals, if pursued, hide themselves dexterously; a dog secretes his bone; and cunning persons conceal their intentions, and sometimes profess opinions opposite to those they really entertain."* Now this is an organization which makes the whole man false. It turns him absolutely upside down. And yet this organ is by no means rare. In members of parliament, previous to a change of ministry, it is always in full activity. So in affairs of gallantry. Whenever the middle of the side of the head is above the level, the brain in both sexestruth must be spoken-male and fe

male, is all in a bustle, at No. IX. Double-dealing is the order of the day, and intrigue is in its element. Maids of honour, and men of no honour-sighing bachelors without a head, and dissimulating damsels without a heart, all playing with false counters at the same game -every one deceiving the other, and each deceiving himself. This masquerade is a feast to the phrenologist, and to him alone. He is the only one in the secret. He sees the actors and actresses dressing for their parts, and this, too, when they have no suspicion that any one is behind the screen.

When I go forth into the political world, it is, alas! but a continuation of the same sad scene of disguise. I have seen men whose pills and potions are to purge the world from its dross, secretly stirring heaven and earth to obtain their own selfish ends. I have seen commissioners of revenue inquiry, under the pretext of ridding the government of

I

corruption, themselves its agents-effecting the removal of a public board, that their official employers might no longer find an obstacle to their Scotch jobs in the integrity of its chairman. Lord Wallace could let the public into some edifying secrets upon this matter. could expatiate much further, for as a looker-on upon the mighty maze of party politics, an expert phrenologist is an Argus, with his hundred eyes. But I have seen enough of parties to be distrustful of all alike. Whether a whig lord is in, or a tory duke is out, it ceases to give me any concern. All that I should say to either of them would be,

Taking it either way for granted,
Seeing you're out, and he is in,
There's still a point to be descanted,
Whether it signifies a pin:

Then for your Grace's, and each whig,
Another point requires some thought,
Whether you both are worth a fig,
Or all your party worth a groat.

Canticles.

"ALAS! alas! Jerusalem! How cometh it to pass that thou art brought thus low? The Gentiles have rule over thee they raze thy walls, they cast thee down! Yea, they are in the midst of thee! Woe be to us for our sins! Thy might is gone from thee-thy sanctuary is trodden under foot-and made a sink for the blood of thy slain! Drink now of thy cup, O Jerusalem! drink with thy daughter Sion: drink, I say, thy cup of bitterness and grief, together with her; for thou art fallen, and vexation girdeth thee round. Thy soldiers are swifter than eagles, and fiercer than lions; but the scream of the eagle is faint, and the spring of the lion is feeble, when they are famished. Lo! we die, and there is no place to bury our dead, they are so exceeding many; we die unmourned; for all custom of mourning hath ceased, because of the famine, whose greatness cannot be told. Our sufferings are so manifold, that

Titus, who besiegeth us, is amazed with fear, stretching out his hands to heaven, and saying, 'Lord God of Heaven and Earth, in whom the Israelites believe, cleanse me from this sin, which surely I am not the cause of; for I required peace, and they refused it.''

These were the lamentations of Gorion, the priest, who was in bonds and in prison. Gorion was a man of great age. A hundred and thirty years were upon him. In his dungeon no one could come unto him, nor from him. Joseph, his son, went, therefore, towards the tower, that he might see his father, and comfort him; but as he approached, the soldiers hurled down stones at him, and struck him from his chariot.

When they perceived this, they would have rushed forth to seize him; but a great strength of friends gathered together, and his enemies were not able to do him wrong. At the sound of their

brazen trumpets, as they issued from the gate, the mother of Joseph, who was in Simon's house, inquired the cause of the tumult; and when they told her the soldiers had gone forth to take her son, though she was fourscore and five, she ran out, and climbed the walls of the city, as a young girl, weeping, and crying aloud to those who were present, "Is my hope, then, come to this! Could I have expected that I should outlive my son? Alas! I trusted he would have buried me, and been a help to me in mine age; for when my whole family almost were taken from me, yet, said I, this one remains to comfort me. Lord! that I might now die; for I cannot live, since my son Joseph is slain !" Then went she yet further on the walls, till she came to the turret, where her husband was in prison, and, stretching her hands to heaven, she cried with a loud voice, "Oh my son, my son, where art thou? Come and speak unto me and comfort me!"

The soldiers, who heard her piteous complainings, laughed her to scorn; and she said to them, "Why do ye not also kill me, that bare Joseph, my son, and nursed him with these breasts? God be judge between us, for ye have slain my son who is guiltless!"

One of the soldiers, a rough, pitiless man, said to her deridingly, "Canst thou not, if so thou wishedst, throw thyself from the walls and die? We will give thee good leave; and when thou hast done it, the Romans shall take thee up and bestow honourable burial upon thee, because thou art Joseph's mother, who is their friend."

“And if I were to do such violence to myself, should I have hope in the world to come? Or would they, of this world, give honourable burial to one who had destroyed herself?"

Now, when Joseph heard his mother speak thus to the jeering soldiers, he put on his armour, and being surrounded by many faithful and valiant Romans, to defend him from the arrows of the Jews, he approached the walls.

"Fear not, my mother," said he, "nor have any thought of me, for you see God hath not suffered me to fall into the hands of mine enemies. I have heard the words of the wicked counsellors who bade thee kill thyself, and I have heard thy answer, which I knew would be thy answer. God forbid that

thou, the wife of Gorion, the priest, should fall into the snares of the scoffers. Be content rather, and bear thy yoke patiently; humble thyself before thy oppressors; strive not against the miseries and calamities of the time, which thou canst not alter nor remedy; for they shall perish, but we shall stand and continue."

The mother of Joseph fell upon her knees, and blessed the name of the Lord, who had vouchsafed that her son should come and speak unto her, and comfort her." So she departed to the house of Simon, rejoicing.

While these things passed before the walls of Jerusalem, there took place within them a horrible act.

There dwelt in Jerusalem a certain rich and noble woman, whose name was Miriam. Her dwelling was beyond Jordan; but when she perceived how the wars and troubles of the land did multiply, she came, with her neighbours, her men-servants, her womenservants, and her whole family, to the Holy City. She had sumptuous apparel, costly furniture, and great wealth. Her raiments were of white, and of purple, and of red, with silken girdles, and bracelets, necklaces, earrings, and mitres : her bedsteads were of ivory; her beds soft, and sprinkled with odoriferous waters; the walls and ceilings of her chambers were of the fragrant woods, cedar and cypress, decked with rich stuffs; and the chambers themselves were filled with vessels of gold and silver.

Miriam had an only son, of whom, when her hour of travail was at hand, a menachesch, or soothsayer, foretold, in fearful words, a dismal death; but swooned as he would have described the funeral rites that followed. Miriam trembled. Believing it was Lilith, the Queen of Smargad, called "THE DESTROYER OF CHILDREN," of whom the augur had darkly spoken, she summoned a holy man, who drew mystic circles upon the walls, the doors, and about her bed, inscribing thereon these words, "Adam Chavah Chuts Lilith." So the child was thought to be sufficiently defended from the sorceress; and Elnathan, her son, grew to be ten years of age.

It was a sore affliction to Miriam, when the famine became very grievous in Jerusalem, to hear Elnathan's cravings for food, which, alas! she could