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possibility of making himself useful to his country.'

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"In a country enlightened and refined to such a pitch as that which has been attained by England, the nature of the habitual feelings and dispositions of the people may be gathered, with almost unfailing certainty, from the pages of their popular poets. The present age of English poetry is a rich and brilliant one. It boasts, at this moment, of at least three great masters, each intensely original, and two of them eminently national. What is the voice of these interpreters of the thoughts of their countrymen? Does Scott minister to the sickly cravings of change, or the cowardly fears of decay? His works have nourished the high spirit of chivalry and honour, and stimulated and refreshed the martial ardour of British bosoms. He has been, like the nation to which he speaks, unmoved and unshaken amidst the vicissitudes of the times. His voice has been like the music of a rich rejoicing trumpet, cheering, and animating, and ennobling the souls of men-loud and invigorating in the hour of danger-soft, airy, and delightful in the season of repose. They who embalm, within their memories and their hearts, the echoes of such a voice as this, can they be a set of doleful, desponding, trembling, unsatisfied, unhappy changelings? The supposition is monstrous and absurd.Wordsworth is a poet of profounder sentiment; his delight has been in solitude, and he has therefore spoken less to the ordinary passions of active men. His familiarity has, indeed, been "Not with the mean and vulgar works of

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declamations of demagogues, the hypocritical dogmas of self-constituted judges, have never deceived the stately intellect that holds its converse with the

"Wisdom and spirit of the universe, The soul that is the eternity of thought." His patriotism has been like his poetry, affectionate, tender, and beautiful, but at the same time strong, rational, and sublime.

"The only great English poet of our time, who seems to despise the triumphs of his country, to despair of the security of her freedom, and to treat without respect the instruments to which she has delegated her authority, is Byron. It is pity that it should be so. Such a spirit deserved better things than it has found. But we must beware of drawing any general conclusions from the tone in which this gloomy poet speaks of political affairs. If he be a just interpreter of the political feelings of his countrymen, shall we not admit his testimony to be of equal weight in regard to their notions of religion, but, above all, of morality? Alas! Byron is no Englishman in any of these things. His creed seems to be that of a dark despairing fatalist, who despises exertion, and almost disbelieves futurity. His morality is apparently even more unworthy of his genius. Formed by nature to be the promoter of high thoughts and magnificent aspirations, he condescends to extenuate the foulness of heartless corruption, and to scoff with bitter derision at the proudest of all his country's distinctions— the purity of her domestic virtues. We must lament the perversion of this great mind; but we should beware of quoting that as an authority, which can only be viewed as a lamentable and unnatural exception.

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to England, my thoughts were often During the last visit which I paid directed to the subject on which you have addressed me; for so must the thoughts be of every one who reads the daily newspapers and tracts circulated among all classes of this people of politicians. The more I reflected, the more confidence did I gain. But I must confess that the circumstance which made most impression on my mind, was one, which has never, perhaps, presented itself to you, and whose weight I suspect, indeed, is not duly felt by those who are more nearly

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interested in these matters than any foreigner can pretend to be.

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Many years have now elapsed since the aged King of England has been able to exercise, for himself, the high duties of his office. It has pleased God to visit this virtuous monarch with the severest infliction to which our nature can be subjected,-to darken in him the light of Reason, and render him a stranger in the midst of his friends. Heartless, indeed, must they be who can contemplate, without compassion, any victim of such an awful visitation. But the people of England have, in their conduct towards their unfortunate Prince, displayed, I think, something far more than mere humanity or pity could have prompted. A reverential silence has been observed by all, as if they were afraid that even the whisper of anxious affection might disturb the repose of his affliction. The whole nation (I know scarcely of one exception,) have behaved as a family of kind and dutiful children might have done, had their father been touched with such a calamity. Is there not something very affecting and very noble in this quiet and tender sympathy of a proud and generous people? And do not this quietness and this tenderness bear with them the most unequivocal testimony, not only of respect to the individual, but of attachment to the system? The King of England is venerated by his people as the descendant of their ancient monarchs, but above all, as the living witness of their freedom. On his person they willingly concentrate not a little of the love which they bear for that unequalled constitution, which reconciles, in their happy land, the interests of the subjects with those of their Prince, and renders affection for him the symbol of reverence for those laws which are as imperious over him as over the meanest of his people.

"The kings of England may well be grateful for the lot which has fallen to them. Preserved from the dangers which surround a despotic throne, far above the torments which attend the consciousness of instability, it is their privilege to enjoy the blessings, almost entirely unmingled with the disadvantages, of monarchy. The confidence which they repose in their people is not founded on any arrogant or delusive claims of personal talent or importance. They are the repositories

of national dignity, and they are aware that the nation will not be unjust or disrespectful to itself.

"Be assured that, in spite of all the ravings of violent, and the sarcasms of cold-blooded demagogues, the edifice of British Freedom and British Confidence is entire. Blest in the possession of those privileges which the wisdom of their fathers obtained for them, the only prayer of Englishmen worthy of the name is, that their children may be as happy as they are. Undazzled by the specious pretences of those who seek in innovation the chances of unmerited advancement, they place their hope and their attachment where they should be. Proud as they may well be of their own elected representatives in parliament, they do not allow themselves to despise or envy the duties or dignities of the hereditary magistracy in the Peerage; and sensible as they are that legislation should always proceed from the collective wisdom of many, they accord without hesitation a rightful homage to the legal executive prerogatives of One. It is still as true as it was in the days of Shakspeare, that "The king's name is a tower of strength."

THE CRANIOLOGIST'S REVIEW. No II.

Greek Heads.

THE peculiar form of the Greek nose, which comes down from the forehead in a line almost straight, has long been a subject of wonder and of speculation with physiognomical observers. Some have supposed it to be ideal, and a violation of nature; but those busts, which are believed to represent real individuals, frequently exhibit this configuration, although certainly in a smaller degree. Neither could it have been considered as beautiful by the Greeks, unless they had met with it under their eyes daily. For my part, I am inclined to consider it as the indication of a very vigorous and powerful temperament, which shot out in a superfluity of bone, and which was derived from a noble breed of semi-barbarians, who spent their lives in physical exertion, and were nurtured un

der one of the finest climates in the world. Nations may lose this boney prominence between the eyes, but I suspect they will never regain it after having lost it. A debilitated organization has not materials within itself to work its own restoration.

But let us inquire a little more narrowly. Let us compare old facts with theories recently started. The cerebral organs, situated immediately above the nose, were those with which the Greeks, (from what we know of their intellectual constitution) ought to have been most amply provided. All those organs which observe and judge of external objects, and which constitute what may be called perceptiveness, are placed in this region. The organ of form is behind the root of the nose, locality and observation above, and colour above the eyes. Hence the peculiar prominence of the lower part of the Greek forehead, which advances over the eyes, and has a tendency to carry out the nose along with it, and hence the exquisite talent of this nation for painting, statuary, architecture, and their sensibility to the loveliness of forms and proportions; so that the remnants even of their most homely furniture are still a mine of beauty for less gifted nations. Hence also their turn for individual facts which gratify the organ of observation, and their thirst for amusing sights and wonderful objects, as well as their passion for news and gossipings. No people was ever so much awake to external impressions, and hence in some measure the vivacity and flightiness of their dispositions. The mind which broods over considerations generated within itself, commonly pursues a uniform track, because the source of its impulses is always the same.

As an exemplar of an ideal Greek head, we may take the Meleager, which exhibits the configuration above mentioned in a remarkable degree. This love ly hunter is still in his youngest bloom, and we do not find the metaphysical and reflective part of the forehead so much developed. The Greeks were by no means profound thinkers as to cause and effect, and, with all their observation, they wanted philosophical observation, which calls in the metaphysical organs to ascertain the dependence of one phenomenon upon another, and which also solicits the aid of

the comparative organ, to arrange objects into classes, for the sake of generalizing upon them. Neither does Meleager's head exhibit much imagination, at least so far as the hair enables us to discern. That which characterises this head, and which helps to give it such a noble aspect, is the great developement of all the faculties on the top of the head. As an ideal head (for it is more than mortal), it exhibits the very pattern of energy, enthusiasm, and nobleness of mind. The back part of the head presents a very suitable and well proportioned developement.

It is remarkable, that the sculptor has given Apollo, the god of poetry, more perceptiveness than imagination, in which respect it corresponds with the Meleager; but the dressing of Apollo's hair is such as to disguise the rest of the head. The Venus de Medicis is also well provided with those organs which enable one to judge of beauty.

These remarks upon the perceptiveness of the Greeks lead me to advert to a circumstance highly characteristic of modern nations, who, in contemplating a work of art, pay much more attention to those traits which offer food for the imagination and the sensibilities, than to the palpable and real beauty of form and symmetry residing in the object before them. Instead of exercising their perceptions, they exercise their imaginations; and consider a statue or picture only as a sort of centre, round which to assemble poetical ideas. Hence the vague, frothy, and spurious enthusiasm with which so many people came charged from the Louvre. There can be little doubt that the pleasure which the Greeks took in works of art was a very matter-of-fact sort of pleasure. Their perceptions clung closely to the object, and their gratification was legitimately and directly derived from examining it. A great many modern amateurs, on the other hand, might as well shut their eyes at once, and fall a dreaming about it. They would have learnt as much about Apollo by sleeping a night at the foot of the pedestal, as by staring at it a whole day. When we consider these constitutional differences, we are naturally led to the conclusion, that modern painters should trust more to expression,-to well chosen subjects, and to the art of telling a story

pathetically upon canvass,-than to any thing which taxes the perceptiveness of the spectator.

After these general remarks (which might be improved upon were they stated more at large), I shall throw into the bargain one or two modern heads, by way of recreation.

No III.-Oliver Cromwell. THIS man had many strange points about him; yet the power of his character was sufficient to make us look up to him as a person energetically and formidably absurd, and hardly to be contemplated with levity. David Hume seems to have enjoyed him. Cromwell's sagacity and ability were of a peculiar kind, working almost in the dark, and partaking rather of the nature of instinct, than of reasoning or reflection. Although practically wise in his conduct, his ideas seem to have existed in a state of utter confusion; a fact which would lead us to suppose, that the watchfulness and activity of mere personal organs will often carry a man forward in life, with little assistance from the speculative faculties.

Upon surveying this man's portraits, we perceive a forehead high, but flat, being probably a mere face work for the brain behind. The top of the head is well expanded; and there can be little doubt that Cromwell was sincerely religious, notwithstanding that worldly craft found means to join issue with pious zeal, and to pursue its own ends, without scandalizing the upper strata of his brain. The first years of his life were dissolute and impetuous; for he had strong animal faculties. Then came his devotion, and the first uncouth stirrings of his understanding, when he used to detect "flat popery” in the sermons which passed well enough with other people. As yet he had probably conceived no ambitious thoughts, but circumstances opened upon him. Opportunities came and jostled and dallied with him, and nature gradually awoke.

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was there an individual, however, more happily compounded by nature. Serene in his temper,-virtuous and rational in his inclinations,-sage in his schemes,-his personal feelings and understanding seem to have walked hand in hand. He was, like Socrates, not only wise in consequence of observation and thinking, but also from the happy natural ingredients of his character-wise even in his wishes.

On examining the portraits, we see a forehead apparently well advanced, although not uncommonly high. It narrows a little from the lower part. His metaphysical and comparative organs were probably less expanded than that of observation. We see nothing here of that magnificent pile of brain, in the upper part of the forehead, which enabled Bacon to become the legislator of philosophers.

Franklin had a good ear for music, as also a turn for the mechanical arts, which two organs help to spread the forehead laterally in the lower part. Farther up, the sides of his forehead incline to fall inwards; the reason of which is obvious, for he had little imagination.

Franklin was pious from reflection, but had not by nature much ardour of devotional sentiment. He lived at a time when religious opinions were so much canvassed as to exercise rather the metaphysical faculties than the moral ones.

No V.-Voltaire.

VOLTAIRE is generally represented with such great perukes, that we can see nothing but his forehead; and his interest certainly was, that nothing more should be seen, for it was probably the best part of his organization. Those effigies that represent him bareheaded, disagree, and I know not which to trust. It is difficult to say whether or not he was destitute of enthusiasm. I think not.

Is there such a thing in human nature as an abstract love of mischief? or have certain faculties a tendency to run into mischief if not suitably counterbalanced? Perhaps the sense of ridicule is one of these; for as it delights in ideas strongly contrasted, it sacrilegiously rifles the recesses of our nature for conceptions repugnant to each other, and violates the moral order which should prevail within. It is

like a person who crushes and distorts a beautiful piece of tapestry, in order that he may gratify his wantonness by bringing remote corners of it together, so as to join the head of a man to the body of a dog, or the ears of an ass to the bishop's mitre. Too strong an appetite for ridicule, tears asunder materials which, if viewed in their proper places, would make a commanding appeal to our moral nature, but which, when scattered, are mere straws to be blown about by the wind. Of all the faculties, it is the only one which finds its harvest in the midst of disorder, and in the reversement of the true bearings of objects and feelings. Yet ridicule goes hand in hand with perspicacity and judgment; for he who does not perceive the consonance of ideas, can never perceive their discrepance. Wit and reason both consist in examining the relations of ideas, although for different purposes; and hence an individual, who is remarkable for a discriminating intellect, is seldom without some share of pleas antry.

These observations apply to the abstract nature of wit. Like all other faculties, it is capable of good applications as well as bad ones. True moral satire does not tend to corrupt our feelings, or produce anarchy in our associations; because, in combining ideas, it is constantly exercising our sense of right and wrong, as well as the sense of pleasantry. The ridicule of perversity and absurdity, cannot be perceived without a reference to their opposites. Dean Swift therefore, with all his outrages, is not so vicious a jester as Voltaire:

whelming power when it was first started, and every true thinker must look with astonishment upon the genius which was capable of originally giving it birth; but it will lose its point in proportion as the composition of human nature comes to be more profoundly understood, and the arrangements of providence inquired into with less precipitation.

Voltaire's forehead presents a very fine organization. It is both high and broad. The upper department of it, however, seems to have been better de veloped than the under ones. He delighted more in wit and reasoning than in observation. He had also more wit than imagination; and hence the corners of his forehead seem to have gone sharply off. His mind was not much stored with pictures of the details of human nature. Hence he could never write comedies. He took no pleasure in fixing his attention long on individual facts, but flew about, like an eagle, from peak to peak, delighted with birds-eye glances, and with the comparison of remote objects. Therefore, although he made us acquainted with many general conclusions before unattended to, he noted no new particulars.

His temperament was vivacious, sensitive, and excitable, but not passively excitable, for he was all elasticity and rebound. His feelings seem to have been intense, but short-lived and inconceivably rapid in their succession. His nose, arched and prominent, corresponds with his sanguine restless disposition. We see in it that headlong energy which run him into so many scrapes. Upon the whole, he wanted solidity, perseverance, and moral earnestness, to make him a dignified character.

ON DRESS.

But there is a sort of desperado gaiety, which mounts its infernal horse without any purpose, and takes the road with a determination to have sport at all ventures. This is the species of wit for which Voltaire is culpable. His comprehensive and penetrating mind sought for exercise in examining the nature of man and his condition; and not being contented to mock, like a comedian, at the ordinary exemplifications of folly which occur in social life, he looked for sub-pass along our streets, without feeljects of raillery in the fundamental principles of the human constitution, which he endeavoured to contrast ludicrously with each other, as well as with the external condition of man. This species of raillery had an over

IT is impossible to see people of semibarbarous nations, as we are pleased to call them,-an inhabitant of Turkey, or India, or Persia, for example,

ing into what a lamentable state the art of dress has degenerated among us! This is very far from being a trifling evil. The moment the necessary arts take place of the ornamental ones in a tion,-the moment utility supersed

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