their attachment may be attributed to this circumstance. In | found 27 abscesses, 11 in the cerebellum and 10 or 11 more in the them alone can friendship be found in the fullness of perfection. posterior lobe, there being but one in the intellectual region. The Taking advantage of this proneness to attachment--this conse-brother then stated his reason for making the request he had. cration of the heart to the object of affection--some men, for the His brother, he said, had been a resident of London, where his gratification of a most despicable vanity, or from a worse mo- family then resided, and that he was formerly very much attachtive, sport with this beautiful trait of female nature--conducted to his family; that when he first came to Edinburgh he maniwhich would subject them to double infamy, but which is too fested about them the usual anxiety, but that before he died atoften counted nothing of,-the seducer, glorying in his success-tachment to them was utterly lost, and that he would hardly ful villany, while the wronged one is mourning in utter wretch-have mentioned them in his will if he had not been urged to edness over ruined hopes and a blighted name. do so. COMBATIVENESS. The organ of this faculty is situated immediately backward and upward of the ear. Gall discovered this organ by collect We often find strong attachment subsisting between persons of very different mental characters, in whom there are many points of repulsion; but the strength of this feeling serves as an eternal bond of union. There are husbands and wives in whoming together a number of the lower classes of society, studying the attracting and repelling forces are so balanced that they can be happy neither together nor apart. They are forever quarrelling and making matters up; they part and unite, part again and again unite; again fly off, and again come together. They are a complete puzzle to their friends, who can place no dependence on their assertions or protestations. In these cases, Adhesiveness will generally be found largely developed in both parties. This faculty is the bond of union among men, and gives rise to society. It is found large in many animals; but there are some, as the fox and magpie, which live in the marriage state; that is, they are attached for life: some, again, as the dog, live in society, but are not attached for life. Spurzheim thought attachment and attachment for life as modifications of the same faculty. Gall inclined to think them distinct faculties; and Dr. Vimont thinks he has proved this to be the case, and considers the region which we ascribe to Philoprogenitiveness as compris. ing two organs--love of young in the middle, and on each side attachment for life. This organ is sometimes so active in oxen and horses, that they become sick when deprived of their accustomed companions. This diseased condition of the organ in man is called nostalgia. Many are unaware of the strength of this feeling till they have occasion to leave home. When away from their friends and companions they feel a yearning toward them, and a longing and craving to be again at home. Amativeness, philoprogenitiveness and adhesiveness form the group of domestic affections, in the due regulation and proper exercise of which so much of our happiness depends. The natural language of this faculty is to embrace and cause the organs to approach, as you see in this plate of two little girls, and this of a girl and dove. When a dog or cat is under the influence of this faculty, and wants to show great attachment, it will rub this part of the head against its master's leg. When two persons meet in whom this organ predominates, they feel an involuntary attachment toward each other springing up in their minds, unless their other faculties be very incongruous. Those who have it large give the hand a hearty shake on meeting; those who have it small, hardly press the hand at all. With the first, absent friends are ever present; they think of them with a warm glow of affection. With the last, out of sight out of mind. The organ was large in Burns, and his poetry is full of its spirit. It was large in Mary Mac Innes the murderer, and she strongly manifested the feeling. A person to whom she was firmly at tached had sent her a pocket-handkerchief with his name written on one corner, and also half an orange, requesting that she would eat it on the scaffold in token of their mutual affection, he having eaten the other half the preceding morning at the corresponding hour. She held the corner of the handkerchief on which his name was written, in her mouth all the night preceding her execution. When seated on the drop she took the orange from the turnkey, saying, "Tell him that I die perfectly satisfied that he has done all in his power for my life, and that I eat the orange as he desired me. May God bless him. Say to him that it was my dying request that he may avoid drink and bad company, and be sure never to be late out at night." She forgot eternity in the ardor of her attachment. In 1836, Dr. John Scott, of Edinburgh, had a patient whom he examined after death, and in whom he found the lungs extensively diseased. This was conceived to be a sufficient cause of death, and the examination proceeded no further till the brother of the deceased asked them with eagerness what they had found to be the condition of the brain; and when he learned that no examination had taken place, he requested that they would proceed to examine it. They did so, and to their astonishment their characters and comparing their developments. He found such as were remarkable for being bravoes to have this part large, such as were noted for cowardice to have it very small. Subsequent observations established the discovery. In Vienna animal combats were frequently exhibited, and one man was so intrepid that he often presented himself alone in the arena to sustain the attack of a buil or a wild boar. In him Gall found it very large. He found it very large in a young lady who had repeatedly dressed herself in male attire and maintained battles with men. Dr. Brown speaks of this faculty. "There is," says he “a principle in our mind which is to us like a constant protector, which may slumber, indeed, but which slumbers only at seasons when its vigilance would be useless; which awakes, therefore, at the first appearance of unjust intention, and which becomes more watchful and more vigorous in proportion to the violence of the attack which it has to dread." "Courage," says Dr. Johnson, "is a quality so necessary for maintaining virtue, that it is always respected even when it is associated with vice." Sterne's Uncle Toby is a personification of great combativeness, benevolence and integrity. This faculty produces active courage-the instinctive propensity to oppose. It gives that boldness to the mind which enables it to remain undaunted amid opposition. A considerable endowment of it is therefore indispensable to all great and magnanimous characters. I know a gentleman in whom the moral sentiments are large and combativeness very small. He confessed that he felt the want of a proper development of this organ as a great deficiency in his character. He lacked the courage to oppose even manifest wrong. He felt that he should have been a much more useful man with a proper endowment of combativeness, and he sometimes shed tears at his own pusillanimity. A man without proper combativeness is always trodden under foot. This organ is very large, as you may see by this head, in General Wurmser, who defended Mantua against Bonaparte. Fighting was his chief delight. His intellect was by no means remarkable, and Napoleon said he gave him more trouble than ten better men. By his sudden and fierce attacks, made in defiance of all military principles, he kept the French in a continual state of alarm. It is very large, as you may see, in King Robert Bruce, and all know how strongly he manifested the faculty. Let the skull of either of these heroes be compared with this of a Cingalese boy. The faculty is of great service to the barrister. It causes his energies to rise in proportion as he is opposed. Combined with destructiveness it inspires authors with the love of battles. Sir Walter Scott, who possessed this combination, was above his usual energy when describing the fight, the slaughter, and the shouts of victory. From this sympathy of authors with warriors, a successful butcher is too often elevated to the rank of a hero, and success in arms considered glorious without reference to the merits of the quarrel. This faculty, large, gives the love of contention. Thus you find persons who dispute every thing. They say it is the love of truth which instigates them; but it is in reality the love of quarrelling. If you say to such a one that it is a fine day, he will perhaps ask you who is finding fault with the day. When combativeness is large and undirected by the moral sentiments, it becomes a great disturber of domestic peace. The hours which should be devoted to pure and quiet enjoyment are embittered by strife and contradiction. This organ it is for the gratification of which the prize-fights of England are sanctioned. It is generally very large in those who murder from sudden impulses, as Haggart and Mac Innes. It is generally more developed in man than in woman, but some- | times it predominates in the latter, and gives her a bold, forward air. It gives girls a tendency to romp. You see this organ very large in the statue of the ancient gladiator. Those in whom it is large are very pugnacious when intoxicated, though at other times they may restrain the propensity within proper bounds. Here is the skull of a native of one of the British Isles, where the people have the propensity so strong that it is said in song that "when one meets his friend he for love knocks him down." I How earnestly thou watched the boy unfolding How leaped his heart whene'er thou told the story In the dim twilight from all stranger eyes, Among the armies of the "Better Land!" An Irish gentleman told me that at their fairs it was not uncom-Oh! for that hour again, when softly stealing This organ is often diseased. Penil says, "A maniac naturally peaceful and gentle in disposition, appeared to be inspired by the demon of malice during the fit. He was then in an unceasingly mischievous activity. He locked up his companions in their cells, provoked and struck them, and at every word raised some new quarrel and fighting." I have before related a case in which diseased manifestation was attended with abscess in the organ. The natural language of this propensity is to throw the head backward and to one side, as in the attitude of boxing. The painters have noticed this. It gives a cutting expression to the lips, and a harsh thumping sound to the voice. Boys who have it large, stand up boldly when fighting, and look their adversary in the face. Those who have it small rarely fight, but if they do they generally poke their head as soon as possible to the breast of the adversary. It has been objected to this view of the natu. ral language, that men put themselves into the described attitude because it is the best position both for attack and defence. We reply that boys who are quite young instinctively assume this attitude without in the slightest degree considering its propensity; and that this attitude is best is an inevitable consequence of its being natural. It may not be! The hour when Life's young roses Weary and dark upon its wrinkled brow; Weep o'er the dust of Memory's holy urn- W. WALLACE. TO MY MOTHER. Yes! we have met again! Tho' Time's cold fingers On those of whom I form a cherished part. On the broad page of Heaven's bright mystic dome, VOL. V.-77 IS THERE A GOD? Is there a God? Go gaze upon the stars, Whose course is ever to his bidding true; Whose bright glad beauty nought of sorrow mars! Go! gaze upon them in their homes of blue, Undimm'd by age, unchanged by aught that's new; Will they not tell thee there is One whose might Holds up that gorgeous arch of azure hue, And placed the keystone of the "solemn night" Within its broad blue bosom, beautiful and bright? Is there a God? Look round on this green earth, Upon the Iris-tinted flowers that lay In wild profusion where he gave them birth! Will they not in their silent beauty say, "The ONE who made us is our shield and stay? "Tis He sustains each pale and fragile stalk, "Who beautifies, or smites us with decay, "In garden bower, or simple forest walk! "Mortal! we dare not his high power to mock?" Clark's Mills, O. EGERIA. MY COUSIN HELEN. ONLY A SKETCH. comprehended. Her eyes could fill for the tragic, and shine for the comic muse; but then she could no more have read the Paradise Lost than she could have written it. What could be received without effort, she received with enthusiasm. What cost her trouble, she repelled with all her might--and Heaven knows that was far from inconsiderable. Add to all this, that Helen was a most incorrigible mimic, and I think I have When I first saw my cousin Helen, she was just seventeen, and the very image of Hebe. Image, did I say? Alas! the word was ill selected-for Helen, besides being the most beautiful and sentient creature in life, was also, at that time, the wildest-the gayest-pretty well showed up her defects. and the most uncontrolled. She laughed! How she did laugh at the old and the ugly-the good and the bad-the cross and the careless-the harsh and the indulgent and all this out of the mere overflow of high spirits, and without the smallest admixture of malice. She was only irrepressibly happy-so cheerful and so good natured, that it was infectious even to look at her. She loved climbing-she loved walking. She followed, on horseback, all her male cousins over fence, ditch, and stream, with as bold a consciousness of competence to the amusement, as they themselves experienced. She danced like a sylph run mad--so easy, so graceful, yet so free and capricious were her motions. She ran like Atalanta-she bounded like a fawn. Equal muscular spring did I never yet see; and withal her figure was, even then, the perfection of form-a little full in its proportions, but grace itself. And then her face! Such a complexion-so utterly fair, and yet so clear that the blood flowed about her cheek as if shown through a half transparent medium; whilst, if you had judged from the blue veins that streaked her temples, you would have thought the creature's life fed by some celestial essence. Never did darkly auburn locks part over a beautiful forehead in lines so wavy or so shining-never yet did flowing curls arrange their rich rings around a face in adaptation to it so clinging and entire-never were brows so delicate, yet so marked, or lashes so long, so dark, so soft. And never looked life more laughingly from human eyes, than from the clear hazel depths of hers. Her features put all other lineaments to shame, for separate beauty and combined harmony. Her lips too, bright and fragrant as some matchless bud. Neck, bosom, hand, arm-I think the keenest fault-finder could have found none with either. She was, of course, an acknowledged beauty, and the best of her beauty was that it left upon your mind the memory of perfect agreement and perfect grace. And these were characteristics also of her conduct-manners she had none--and not less so of her heart and mind, ungoverned and ungovernable as they certainly were. Nothing could be less hoyden than her ways. She laughed more than any body I ever saw, and yet she did not laugh too much, for you could not for your soul help joining her. And she sang like a bird, though she never could be kept quiet long enough to acquire the remotest idea of music, as a science-Nature having vouchsafed to her all the tones, and all the taste, of which she ever was mistress. As for study-she ran away if any one even spoke of it and "in respect of" painting, she loved the coloring that God has spread upon the world by far too well, to have the preliminary patience, with crooked lines and blotches, by virtue of which alone good imitators are formed. And so of the sister art. She really (after her fashion) loved poetry. She felt its influence even in life and action, which contain more of its spirit than is generally The daughter-the only child indeed-of people bred in the courtesies and indulgences of the first station, and withal extremely wealthy, she had never known restraint, far less repulse; and she was, for this reason, confiding, näive, and sincere. I said she had never known restraint, nor said I so, forgetting the frequent exhortations of her maiden aunt--a person high in the family esteem--but, as they were never heeded by reckless Helen, they could never be said to have imposed a check upon her exuberant spirits. "Helen! Helen!" would the old lady exclaim, as the young lady's laugh, or too active motions occasionally invaded her own most starched and proper repose,-" You startle me to death! When, when will you acquire even the rudiments of propriety? Indeed, my dear, you really are becoming a very rude girl!" "Girls will be girls, Miss Molly." Such would sometimes be the old housekeeper's indulgent apology. But this was a truism of which the spinster's experience was so far removed from the date then present, that she very seriously thought of questioning it; and Helen, as she turned away with another laugh, as gleeful as that which had drawn upon her the admonition, did not say, but thought, that "It was impossible aunt Molly could ever have been young!" A great many other people had come to the same conclusion. "My ears have been singing all day, Helen, and so have you!" This remark was always made fretfully, nor was it by any means unfrequent. Helen generally ceased to sing for half a minute, forgot the reproof, and went on with louder cheer than ever. She was incorrigible; but then, as she was so only because she really could not help it, she was generally allowed so to be in peace-nobody ruling her-because (though she was the sweetest tempered and gentlest creature in the world) it must be confessed, to her endless shame-nobody could. She would have been delighted to comply with every body's wishes, only she never exactly knew how, and so it always ended at last by her pleasing herself, and, in her mode of doing so, charming every body else. Her mother, though she entertained a housekeeper, was herself a great "notable," and would gladly have made Helen so likewise; but for such things she had neither head nor hands. Both were a thousand times too beautiful-and Helen knew it, though she was not vain. Only she had good sense enough to appreciate her natural advantages, and, therefore, though her literary papa could never coax her to one hour of serious study, she was as familiar with all the mysteries and magic "effects" of dress, as if she had been born heiress of all the sorcery of the toilette. No painter could have clothed her beauty with more admirable arrangements than those which emanated from her own skill, and no painter could have brought out such results-at once so various and so striking. Yet I do "Oh! is it you, Frederick? Where have you been all this time? And, for pity's sake, what is the matter? You look fatigued to death." "Yes, you have almost killed me! I am so tired I can hardly move." "Tired of what?" "You are too much for me, fair cousin. I cannot follow you. You are gifted with powers beyond my attainment. Either of your favorite exercises is enough to kill an ordinary man, when its duration is left to your discretion. Do you not see my appetite is gone? Absolutely I am dying-and to-morrow it will devolve upon you to compose my epitaph." not think she had any design to use this knowledge as I had not then any definite "idea" of Helen, I watched a means of winning admiration. She only dressed their proceedings without uneasiness. This employwith care, because she sincerely admired herself as long ment was the more easy, as, when I came in late, I as she was before the mirror-for, afterwards, her own found but one seat vacant, and that beside Miss Wharidea, I dare affirm, never crossed her mind until she ton. She looked round as I occupied it. was again pictured on its surface. In her way an original, Helen was yet very simple-and she neither spoiled her hands in learning to make pastry, nor allowed study to imprint one line on her smooth forehead. She saw that aunt Molly made beautiful filagree and rice baskets, and embossed paper and card-board boxes, and pincushions like harps, and needle-cases like guitars, and velvet cherries and strawberries that looked exactly like any thing but their originals, and that she painted and embroidered natural flowers that looked very unnatural, and worked the meeting of Joseph and his brethren, and several other interesting occurrences, in tent-stitch-besides she could not but observe that she worked collars and cuffs, and then "did them up" to admiration-but she was never the girl to ask that aunt Molly would teach her to do so too. Assuredly Helen could have worn the collars and cuffs, (if aunt Molly would have let her,) and that with an arrangement so becoming, that the old lady would herself hardly have recognized her own work, but, as the respectable person in question never once thought of allowing the trial to be made, its issue was matter only of conjecture-whereas, it was beyond contradiction certain, that my cousin could turn her hands neither to this branch of female industry, nor to any other useful thing in the whole world. But, like other people, she could do mischief, if not good-and I was not long in making the discovery. After I had laughed with her a whole evening, galloped at her side an entire forenoon, danced with her at a party given in the neighborhood, walked myself to death next morning, and followed her accustomed amusements all the rest of the day, just before dinner I found myself utterly exhausted, and as I lay upon a sofa, with which (thank Fortune!) my own apartment was enriched, I came to the full conclusion that my cousin Helen was as restless as a monkey, and ten times more troublesome. Then I slid into a reverie, I do not exactly even now remember how, in which her face and figure flitted about, as they incessantly did in the real world, and yet left an impression of preeminent grace and beauty. And when I rose to descend to the dining room, I found my study of my hair and neckcloth unusually interesting. Perhaps even then I cared for Helen! At dinner, I found her in the full tide of conversation with a young and very handsome officer, then only a lieutenant, but, as I recollected as soon as I heard his name, of high character for gallant and gentlemanly conduct, and social qualities. I remembered too, that he was just from the Mediterranean; and happening to catch some half dozen words, respecting "parties on shore," "curiosities," and "a ball on board," I could perfectly comprehend the interest displayed by my cousin. I perceived at once too the enthusiasm with which Mr. Neville joined in the laugh he created, and the admiration with which he regarded the glowing effects his descriptions excited in her face; but, either because the young are unapt to forestall evil, or because "I fear such a task would be as fatal to me, as my poor diversions threaten to be to you. I do not think I could be quiet long enough to write it—and, besides, I may anticipate a greater difficulty." "Indeed! What?" "Something might be expected in the way of eulogy?" "Ah! that, I am sure, could never be a difficulty." "And yet what could I say?" "To determine that would tax my modesty. Try and think." "Try and think! Alas! thought is an exercise to which I am not inured. Would you have me also a victim? Ah! pardon if I cannot consent. Excuse me, and I will attend your obsequies, if not with panegyric, at least with pity." "Will you not shed one tear of sorrow?" "Not speak one word to the assembled throng?" "And what?" "I come to bury Cæsar-not to praise him." "There-that will do! That suffices to finish my earthly course!" "Then rest in peace! And as it would be unreasonable in us to expect exertion from a person so disposed of, I shall not look for more. You will really be a great loss to me, and I feel uncommonly annoyed." Here Lieut. Neville addressed some words to my cousin Helen, and she forgot thereafter again to honor me with her attention. I continued for some time to listen to their conversation, in which, after a little while, I began to be interested, but during the discussion of our repast, I made no effort to participate in it. Lieut. Neville was at this time a newly arrived visitor at the house of his brother-a gentleman of large landed property in the neighborhood-and as he was but just returned from a long cruise, it may reasonably be supposed that he was not unwilling to prolong, as much as possible, the time during which he "waited orders." His brother's family was intelligent, gay, and liberal. Large parties were frequently formed there. His sister-in-law was an exceedingly pretty woman, of fashionable tastes and manners; and her having three or four engaging little children, contributed no further to check her devotion to large entertainments at home and abroad and to the young and agreeable of both sexes, than did the presence of certain pet dogs, which, as well as the human "responsibilities," were inmates of Hollywood.] weeks of my stay at Oakley. I began, by degrees, to The neighborhood was then very populous, and its in- find riding with Helen through the fresh woods, then habitants were, for the most part, people of fortune, in height of beauty, the most agreeable exercise I had and, whether sensible or otherwise, at least familiar ever enjoyed. Sometimes we went out in large parties, with the forms and civilities of what was once called but, with the exception of Miss Neville, Helen was "genteel life." There has been of late years, by the generally the only lady. I had at first been content to way, an infinite deal of contempt accumulated upon take my place beside either of these two, to fall back this word "genteel”—and why? I confess I cannot with other gentlemen, or with them to ride forward. discover. To be sure there is, in our country, always But in less than a fortnight I began to consider my some danger of its too great extension and consequent cousin Helen a much better rider than Miss Neville, misapplication, but even that abuse tends to good. It and to that circumstance ascribed my preference for a gives the second class, both in station and qualifica- canter neck and neck with her palfrey. By degrees too, tions, a motive to "come up higher"-and its substi- I grew very petulant when I found that Lieut. Neville tutes, as the reflecting cannot but perceive, have a rode like a landsman, and was naturally willing to decided tendency to reverse this interesting process, leave the care of his sister to other gentlemen, whilst and bring lower that standard of manners, which, in himself kept pace with Helen and myself. Then it the days of yore, was erected by the chivalry and the was exceedingly disagreeable, when, in our evening courtesy immediately derived from Britain-the nur- rambles, or in the frequent dances to which we were sery of our fathers. "Fashionable," "ton," "the parties, he became as forward and as successful as thing," (and for Heaven's sake, my masters, what myself in obtaining companionship or partnership with thing?) may be words very imposing upon certain Helen. I had long since learned to think all her unears, but, precisely because they are the slang of a set governed and useless habits the dearest ways in the who carry every thing by words, they seem to me to world, when they brought me, as her cousin and escort, insult the good sense of the whole community. In into close communion with her; but now I began very short I have my fears, that since the antiquation and often to find serious fault with them, for they frequently disuse of that proper old English dissyllable "genteel," afforded to Neville this very advantage. On such a great portion of the thing signified, has accompanied occasions I angrily, but, as in truth I must add, secretly, the exile of the name significant, and that it may be characterised them as "wild, unusual, unladylike, looked for long, and seldom seen, among people whose proceedings;" and vowed internally, at the very mo lips are, nevertheless, entirely familiar with those tire-ment when I would have given my eyes to profit by some continuals, " ton," "distingué," and "quite the thing." But all this, though a very sensible digression, delays the history of my cousin Helen. them, as my rival was then profiting, to my own exclusion, "that I would not have such a wife or sister for the universe." And yet, fifty times in the day, I trembled upon the brink of a proposal. Her father's neighborhood, as I said, was populous and wealthy. Indeed, in my frequent visits to that Meanwhile Lieutenant Neville was becoming very mirth-loving district, I could never make out how its intimate with Helen. That I could not but see, and I limits contrived to contain so many rich and extensive detested the former in proportion as the intimacy grew. farms-so numerous and yet so opulent a community. Yet I did not blame Helen for this. She was candor The consequences were, however, as inevitable as the itself. Countenance and lips alike were perfect truth; fact was certain. A round of gaiety-as people phrase and though she rendered it apparent, without particuit-expensive and hospitable habits of life-large and larly designing to do so, that she found his society liberal establishments-continual visiting-entertain- agreeable, yet, even to my apprehensions, there had ments at the various houses-parties of pleasure, on never appeared in her conduct towards him any thing horseback, in carriages, on foot, in any way, by any that looked like intentional encouragement. I did her means, with any-sometimes without any object-justice when I loved the natural delicacy which prefilled the time of its happy inhabitants, who continued vented her discovering either his admiration-already the pleasures of extreme youth, even to the period of extreme age; and lived in joyous exemption from the cares, foresight, and troubles of existence, in order that the next generation might possess the delightful option of taking up the burden which themselves let slip from their free shoulders, or of emigration from the scene of their progenitors' merry-makings. In the midst of this social glee, the young men were naturally attracted to Hollywood, and to the residence of Helen's father-by name Oakley, and, as within these two mansions were indwellers the two handsomest girls within many miles-Miss Wharton and Charlotte Neville-there was scarcely a time when you might not find at either half a dozen idle youngsters in attendance. A pleasant "situation" for a naval officer, who, like Neville, had been, for many months past, tied to ship-mates, ship-duties, and, more recently, to ship-fare. He made the most of his present advantages. obvious enough to every body else-or her own interest in it, which at last my jealousy could only suspect. But whilst my observations had the effect of increasing my passionate desire to obtain her hand, it had also that of heightening my abhorrence for Neville, whenever a dread of his growing influence invaded the dreams with which I now filled my whole existence. Things were, however, drawing to a crisis. I received a sudden summons home. My mother was extremely ill-it was feared in immediate danger—and it was necessary that I should leave Oakley within an hour, in order to meet a stage-coach, which would forward me upon my journey with greater expedition than could be commanded from my own horses. At this time Helen was out riding with Lieutenant Neville. He had called to propose this excursion in the morning, whilst I chanced to be out of the way, and they were mounted and off before my return. It was exactly How we did "keep it up" in the six succeeding when I was fretting at this circumstance, that the letter |