Obrázky na stránke
PDF
ePub

great favour for a term which tends naturally to familiarize us with such an assumption. What are called faculties of the mind, we would consider as different acts, or rather states of it. But if this be the just view of the matter, it is plain that it renders it in the highest degree improbable, if not truly inconceivable, that those supposed faculties should each have a separate material organ."

"It really is not very easy to understand how there should be an external organ for every particular act, or state, of the mind, or rather for an arbitrary number of these states. And when the question is about the existence of some thirty or forty organs in distinct regions of the brain, it is absolutely necessary to inquire what proof there is of the existence of the thirty or forty separate faculties to which they are said to minister, or rather, we think, which they are held to create; or upon what grounds they have been limited to that precise number."

He then proceeds to mark some important distinctions between the external senses, and what he calls the inaginary faculties of the phrenologists. "We believe," he says, "the functions of seeing and hearing, &c. to be carried on by material organs, only because we know, and feel, that they are so." Feeling and knowledge are, undoubtedly, very good grounds of belief, but Mr. Jeffrey has not attempted to show that they extend, in the cases alluded to, beyond the mere locality of the organs of sense. Now, so much may be said of these internal faculties to which the senses are contradistinguished. It is not more true that the generality of men refer vision to the eye, than that they refer thought and sentiment to the head; and, therefore, the doctrine, that the brain is the organ of the mind, does not appear to contain any thing contradictory to what may be called the primary suggestions of nature. Mr. Jeffrey proceeds:

"All the organs which we actually know to be used by the mind, are used to connect it with material and external objects; and indeed it is difficult for us to conceive how we could ever have become acquainted with such objects, except by means of a material apparatus in our living bodies. But the other functions of mind do not so connect us

with matter; and therefore, there is not only no such reason for supposing their existence, but there is a corresponding difficulty in the conception."

That is, a corresponding difficulty in the conception of immaterial results from material causes! We confess we do not feel it. What will Mr. Jeffrey say of music? Is not that an immaterial product of a material instrument? And the melody, assuredly, is not more essentially different from the instrument, than the various trains of thought and feeling are from the organs in the brain. We confess, therefore, that we do not see the force of this objection. He goes on:

"All those functions which operate through the organs of sense, are of a definite and peculiar nature, and so totally unlike those which phrenologists would furnish with like instruments, as to make the inference of their being actually so furnished, in the highest degree improbable and extravagant."

Mr. Jeffrey had before made the analogy between the external senses and the mental powers, a reason for asserting that the former ought, as well as the latter, to have organs in the brain. He now makes their dissimilarity the ground of an opposite conclusion, and argues that a material instrumentality, for the developement or manifestation of immaterial processes of thought, is, in the highest degree, absurd and inconsistent. We think phrenologists may safely leave these two statements to combat each other, and content themselves with adopting the distinction which Mr. Jeffrey recognizes as affording a full justification for the diversity observable between our sensual, and our moral and intellectual organization. From the very nature of the theory, the one must, obviously, be more palpable than the other. But we cannot agree with Mr. Jeffrey in thinking, that, in the case of the bodily senses, "our knowledge of the organ is antecedent to our knowledge of the faculty, and that it is truly by reference to the former that the latter is recognized and determined." We did not before think that it could be seriously maintained, that our knowledge of the eye, for instance, as an instrument of vision, was antecedent to our knowledge of the faculty of vision, and that we could not know

that we really saw, until we had learned that we saw by means of the eye. A blind man knows that he cannot see, before he knows why it is that he cannot see. In this case, a knowledge of the cause is obviously posterior to a knowledge of the effect;-and we cannot understand why, in the opposite case, it is necessary for a man to

know that he has an eye, before he is qualified to enjoy the use of it. How does a man know that he has an eye? Can any answer be given to that question, which does not imply a previous knowledge of the exercise of vision? And if that be so, is not the assertion of Mr. Jeffrey as preposterous as it is startling and dogmatical?

THE HEART'S CHANGE.

There is a change, an utter change
That comes upon the heart,
Ere time one feature can derange
Or bid one smile depart :
The outward form is all the same,
Nor are by words exprest,
The dark and boding thoughts that tame
The fires within the breast.

Undimm'd-unaltered-still, the eye

Beams forth on all around-
And if the bosom heaves a sigh,
That sigh has scarce a sound.
Yet though the world may never deem
Our spirits touch'd by care,
So buoyant and so free they seem-
We are not what we were!

O'er us-we scarce know whence or when

That change begins to steal,

Which teaches that we ne'er again
As once we felt, shall feel.
A curtain, slowly drawn aside,
Reveals a shadow'd scene,
Wherein the future differs wide
From what the past has been.

'Tis not that earth withholds its joys
As manhood crowns the brow-
The same pursuits we loved, as boys,
Life offers to us now:

And still we seek the giddy round,
And join the laughers there,
But feel that in the festive sound

Our hearts have now no share.

Yet mourn we not this early change,
'Tis sent our souls to show
How narrow is the utmost range
Allowed them here below-

'Tis sent to bid our youth aspire
From scenes so soon o'ercast,

To those whose pleasures ne'er can tire,
And shall for ever last!

R. C.

LINES ON THE LATE NORTHERN EXPEDITION.

"And now there came both mist and snow,

And it grew wondrous cold

And ice most high, came floating by,

As green as emerald:

And through the drifts, the snowy clifts

Did send a distnal sheen

Nor shape of men, nor beasts we ken,

The ice was all between.

The ice was here-the ice was there,
The ice was all around-

It crackled and growled, and roar'd and howl'd,
Like noises in a swound."

COLERIDGE-Rime of the Ancient Mariner.

Once more we roam together—on the sea
'Twas ever joy, my gallant bark, with thee;
'Twas ever joy-though heartless foes could dare
Impugn the courage they might never share-
Was it for this, through realms as yet unknown,
We track'd stern Winter to his Arctic throne?
And brake the Tyrant's mightiest bonds, and gave
Freedom and safety through the riven wave?
Alas! it matters not-the fair, the young
Scarce 'scape the reach of Envy's barbed tongue;
The brightest thoughts Fame's kindling hopes create
Are turn'd to gloom beneath the frown of Hate,
And darker still, as holier virtues glow,

Hangs the foul shade of Infamy and Woe.

* Such were the thoughts that wrung the Seaman's mind,

As once again he woo'd the Northern wind,

And sought the surge, to win from Danger's smile
The peace he knew not in his own fair isle.

Strange mystery of Nature-when the sense
Of guilt thus creeps despite our innocence—

When groundless shame thus rends th' untainted breast,
And mars, we know not why, its hope of rest:
The home that nursed, delights not-dearer far
The sunless life of Exile or of War,

And Love's fond voice, and Friendship's calm relief
Alike but mock the bitterness of grief.

Now joy to England! o'er the raging spray
How well yon vessel walks her destin'd way-
And fearless still, tho' groans the reeling mast,
How well she bares her bosom to the blast!
On-on, brave mariners-though now more near
Their giant heads the threatning icebergs rear,
Tho't hoary whales in fiercer strain chaunt forth
The stern defiance of the gloomy North-

'Tis well known that the result of Captain Ross's first expedition was not received so satisfactorily as it deserved.

On entering the Arctic circle, the musical noise of the white whales is heard.

Yet shrink not in mid ocean-once again
To you 'tis given to blast th' Enchanter's reign;
Το
you 'tis given, with pride-exulting voice,
To bid the farthest realms of Earth rejoice.
Lo! even now, on *India's Eastern coast

Glad Commerce hears, and leads her canvass'd host;
And Science, starting from her lengthened trance,
Sees worlds on worlds expand beneath her glance.

"Tis past-that hour of peril-calmly now
In Waygatt harbour rests the wearied prow,

Tho' her bent masts and shatter'd sides declare
How fierce the fight that won her passage there.

Oh! who may know,-save he whose grief-worn heart
Hath felt the joy Death's nearer hopes impart―

The Seaman's anguish on that lonely way,

His sleepless nights, his fruitless toil by day?
Morn after morn he heard the idle sail
Flap dull and dreary in the unheeded gale,
And mark'd the waves their writhing victim clasp
With fiercer struggle, and with deadlier grasp.
In vain the cloven ice confess'd his steel,-
New blocks succeeding held the baffled keel:
In vain he rais'd the rampart's snowy wall-
The evening tempest mock'd its scattered fall;
And nought remain'd, but Famine ;-where were then
The sun-bright pastures of his native glen?
Where was his home beneath the greenwood tree,
His Mother's smile, his Sister's song of glee?
And she, the maid who would not bid him stay,
Yet lone and cheerless wept her nights away?
Nay, think not thus ;-brush off the rising tear-
Is Israel's God a God less mighty here?
And He will still the Avenger; He will bring
Joy in his flight and healing on his wing,
And lead thee forth to thank in hours of bliss
The Guide who watch'd the weary woes of this.

Desolate Land! amid the drear expanse,
How sinks the soul and droops the sickening glance.
Say, hath Destruction here usurp'd her throne?
So sad thy mansions, and thy courts so lone !-
No signs of life are thine, no sounds intrude

To break the stillness of thy solitude;

Thy stagnate mountains own no fostering toil,
No vernal foliage clothes thy naked soil;
No feathered stranger flies to thee for rest,
Thy frozen caverns hold no living guest:
But, aye, around thee, in the weird midnight,

Pale sheeted phantoms speed their ceaseless flight,
And kingly Death, still robed in Grief's dark pall,
Holds, 'mid thy gloom, his silent festival!

In allusion to the supposed passage between the Northern Sea and the Pacific, which washes the East Indies.

No very musical name to be sure; but historians must be correct. It was the island where the mariners first landed.

They used to raise walls of snow round their ship to defend themselves from the inclemency of the weather.

And yet we mourn not-o'er the earth and sea,
Where is that land which speaks of God like thee?
Is not His shadow on the glacier dim?

The rocks, His altars, rear their shrines for Him ;
And many a temple lifts its columned height
Frequent with pearl, and radiant chrysolite.
And see-for e'en in Nature's sternest mood,
Her softer feelings will not be subdued—
See even here, beneath the freezing sky,
Bright sunny flowers salute the traveller's eye-
And golden glades, and meads of glittering green,
With smiling aspect cheer the mournful scene.
Oh! doth not now the musing sinner find
A gloomy semblance to his own sad mind?
Doth he not find amid the waste around,
One spot which virtue claims as holier ground,
And weep to think that all might thus be fair,-
Had struggling reason lent its voice to pray'r?

Still roams the seaman forth, nor long his stay
In that dark land of sorrow and dismay;
And still where'er he bends his wondering gaze,
Unearthly shapes, and solemn sights amaze :
The wave-worn crags beneath whose cavern'd shade
That huge Leviathan his chambers made-
Thet snow-cliffs tinged with streaks of purple dye-
The meteor-belt that girds th' unsullied sky.
But lo! those huts bespeak awakening life,
And hark-the hills with echoing shouts are rife;
And now, light-leaping o'er the level waste,
Their ardent steps the fur-clad hunters haste.
Their's the wild joy in danger still to roam,
Their path the wilderness-the rocks their home,
For them no steed obeys the willing rein.

Their dog-drawn sledges scour the unyielding plain :
Beneath their shaft high bounds the stricken roe,
With murderous aim they twang the unerring bow;
Or, gliding swiftly in their frail canoe,
Unwieldy bears, and timorous seals pursue.

But say-hath hither o'er this trackless way
The star of Bethlehem shed its hallowed ray?
Oh! say-hath here, by woes yet more endear'd,
Mid these dark wilds, the Saviour's cross been rear'd?
Is there no branch to carry? no dry space

Where dove-like Peace may find a resting place?
No raptur'd voice to sing of realms untrod?
No hand to lead the sinner to his God?
Alas! 'tis darkness on the voiceless plains
The long, dull night of Superstition reigns:
There awe-struck myriads throng the wizard's cell;
In Runic rhyme he chaunts the mutter'd spell-
Raves the wild gust-the lightning's angry gleam
Glares on the snows, and gilds the livid stream,

• These beautiful" Oases of the Desert," are described by Captain Parry. Mention is made of some strange "port-wine-coloured" rocks, in the Narrative of Captain Ross's expedition.

I need hardly say I allu le to the Aurora Borealis.

« PredošláPokračovať »