dence betwixt increase of cerebral endowment, and higher mental manifestations. Chaussier finds in the brain, shades of colour: "Moreover, on examining it more closely, and cutting into it at different levels, and in different directions, it is observed to affect peculiar forms in many places-it presents a uniform arrangement, an extremely regular disposition of its parts."

One species of animals possesses faculties of which another is destitute-a fact only explicable upon the hypothesis of a plurality of organs. The beaver and the squirrel build; the dog, more intelligent than either, can only hunt. The horse has courage without cruelty-the nightingale sings-sheep live in flocks-the swallow, swan, stork, and fox, cohabit for life with only one mate, while other animals are indiscriminate in their attachments. The sexes have different forms, and mental idiosyncrasies; the male of birds can sing, while the female is unmelodiously silent. Were the brain a single organ, and all mental acts executed by the whole cerebral mass, it would follow, that wherever there was brain, every intellectual process would be performed indiscriminately. But so far is this from being the case, that the brain of the lamb produces uniform gentleness-that of the fox, cunning-and of the tiger, ferocity-manifestations which never change their owners. The human species manifest not merely additional mental power, but faculties, of which, in the lower animals, there are not even the rudiments. If, then, the brain be the organ of the mind, there, of course, must be additional cerebral parts to produce increased intellectual faculties; but if it be a single organ, then all its powers should be equally manifested, at all ages and seasons. It is certain, however, that children are not amorous; and that age is avaricious, while its memory fails long before any other function. The bird sings and builds and migrates only at certain seasons-there are times also of pairing; and the bee, ant, and beaver, only hoard at one period of the year. The premature and partial developement of some talents and faculties, while all others lag behind, is conclusive evidence of this position. Prodigies, as children are called who indicate early the matured state of some peculiar form of genius, are mere infants in all other respects. The infant Lyra, Master Aspull, Master Burke, Zhero Colburn, and George Bidder, excelled, in music, acting, and arithmetic, men of mature years, when they were aged only seven or eight. But while they astonished the world so long as they were at the harpsichord, on the stage, or at the slate, they were as childish, and as fond of play as any of the most stupid; and in any other department of knowledge than their own, they were mediocre or even dull. Were the brain a single organ, and had the mind no variety of faculty, the dictum of Dr. Johnson would, and must hold perfectly true, when he delivered his oracular response: "Sir, there is no such thing as partial genius! A man can walk to the east with the same legs which carry him westward." But he himself admits that Cowley, Milton, and Pope, might be said to have lisped in numbers, and to have given such early proofs, not only of power of language, but comprehension of things, as to more tardy minds seemed scarcely credible. And how monstrous is Dugald Stewart's proposition, that all this is the result of particular habits of study or of business! Mozart found out musical concords at three years of age, and invented harmonious intervals: at six, composed intricate pieces and led orchestras. Pascal, at eight, perceived the propositions of Euclid, without requiring to demonstrate them. Haydn, at twelve, was celebrated; and at fourteen, Handel composed an opera which had a run of thirty nights. Newton, when a child, constructed windmills and watches. Pitt was a statesman before he was twenty; and the poem of the Pleasures of Hope, was published before Campbell was eighteen. Byron was equally precocious.

Even among the lower animals there exists in the individuals of the same species, an idiosyncrasy of talent or disposition, which cannot be accounted for upon the prevailing hypothesis. Out of the same litter of pups, one will be found stupid, another surly, and a third sagacious. The dog of De Coste, which wished to get near the fire, set up a howl, and when the other curs ran to see what was the matter, he quietly settled himself to his satisfaction. One horse, ass, mule, sheep, goat, or stag, is chosen by the herd, or by the proprietor, as leader, from its superior intelligence; and of a whole drove of cows, the property of Dupont de Nemours, only one could lift the bars which separated thein from a field of wheat and maize. It was reserved for metaphysicians to speak of a good cow of business, or an ox of studious habits. Any one who peruses the narrative of the Pursuit of Knowledge

under Difficulties, will soon discover that genius forces its way in spite, not in consequence, of circumstances; and that while some in the most unfavourable predicament, are amiable, excellent, and honourable, others under the highest advantages, become abandoned and profligate. Caligula and Nero may be compared with Marcus Antoninus-and Louis XI. with Henry IV. Nations in the same way, distinguish themselves by peculiar features. Contrast France with England-Hindostan with Turkey-Athens with Sparta. Paul complained of the Athenians of his time spending their lives in going about the city asking for news; and at this hour, the Turks observe in the Greeks the same fickle and volatile character. Cæsar found the Gauls cupidi novarum rerum; and Tacitus describes them as gay, volatile, and precipitate, prone to rush into action, but without the power of sustaining adversity and the tug of strife. After an elapse of 1700 years (1679), Dr. Heylin observes"the present French, then, is nothing but an old Gaul moulded into a new name; as rash he is, as headstrong, as hare-brained. In a word, he is a walking vanity in a new fashion." Tacitus describes the ancient Britons as cool, considerate, and sedate-possessed of intellectual talent, and a native aptitude, preferable to the livelier manners of the Gauls. He also ascribes to the ancient Germans, the very character which at present distinguishes them.

A

Partial insanity or monomania, as it is called, is a phenomenon only to be solved by this doctrine. "I am but mad," says Hamlet, “north-north-west; when the wind's southerly, I know a hawk from a heron-shaw." Had the brain been a single organ, he would have been mad at every point of the compass. Malebranche, in the zenith of his intellectual greatness, felt a shoulder of mutton continually hanging at his nose. An officer imagined himself a general, but after assuming a stiff attitude of command, he conversed on all scientific subjects with great good sense. female thought herself possessed, but defended her positions with such successful sophistry, that Gall confesses he was not a match for her. A merchant got insane on the subject of his own affairs, but otherwise astonished all, by the brilliance of his conversation and the acuteness of his observations. A teacher of English continued to have the largest school in all Paris, after he felt so certain that the police were always in search of him, that he often was narrowly prevented from throwing himself out of a window. Similar facts occur in the history of accidental injuries, or congenital idiocy. A young physician, not remarkable for his talents, whenever he became drunk, improvised Latin speeches, singular for elegance of diction and refinement of thought. A dressmaker, mentioned by Van Sweiten, in the access of a fever, began to make verses-a thing totally foreign to her usual habits. A lady not otherwise known to be musical, sang uninterruptedly for several days, in similar circumstances. Tasso composed his finest lines in a paroxysm of mania; and Pinel quotes from Perfect, the case of a female, who, during her insanity, composed with facility, beautiful English verses, which, in health, she had never attempted. Two Parisian idiots, sang correctly all songs that they heard; and the savage of Aveyron was singular for his habits of order. Cretins also often make passable watch and clock-work. A man remarkable for bad memory, fell from a considerable height on his head, and ever after could remember the most trifling circumstance. Another, from concussion, lost his memory for names; as did a surgeon, from a nervous fever. Dr. Beattie knew a learned man, who, from a similar cause, lost all his Greek, of which he was a master; and Dr. Abercrombie had a patient, who, in like manner, forgot his wife and children, but nothing else; while another, who remembered their persons, never again could recollect their names. Dr. Gregory remembered a lady, who, after apoplexy, knew every thing but names; while Dr. Brigham's patient forgot only places. Salmuth notices a man who had forgotten to pronounce words, but could write them; and one of Dietrich's patients, remembered facts and lost words, while another could not read, although he could write. Boerhaave knew a Spanish poet, whom a fever deprived of languages, and even the alphabet, while otherwise perfectly rational. Thucydides records, that several of the Athenians, after the plague, forgot their own names, and those of their parents and friends. Many of the French, at the retreat from Moscow, forgot their native country and their home. Valerius Maximus mentions an Athenian, who, after a blow on the head, forgot his literary acquirements, but remembered every thing else. A man wounded by a sword in the eye, forgot Greek and Latin. Artemidorus lost his memory from terror, occasioned by having put his foot on a crocodile. The soldiers of Anthony, on

their return from the Parthian wars, lost theirs also, after eating some poisonous plant; as did Bamba, king of the Goths, from a similar cause. The case of Dr. Broussonnet, is still more striking. After recovering from an apoplectic attack, he could neither write nor utter substantives or proper names, in French or Latin, while adjectives and epithets crowded on him. When speaking of a person, he would describe his appearance, his qualities, and, without pronouncing the word coat, would name its colour. In his botanical pursuits, he could point out the form and colour of plants, but never could name them. Apoplexy, as every physician is aware, is altogether a cerebral affection; and there can be nothing more plain, than that were the brain a single organ, it must, if diseased at all, be so altogether. But we have seen, that so far is this from being the case, cerebral congestion may be so partial, that the recollection of only a part of the general memory for language may be the result.

How can the singular process of dreaming be accounted for, except upon the assumption of a plurality of organs? If the mind and its cerebral apparatus, were strictly individual, it is clear, that it must be altogether asleep, or altogether awake. Were it by the same faculty and organ that we reasoned, as by which we feared, or loved, or hated, we would reflect, when premises were presented to us whereon to build conclusions, as naturally as an awful occurrence would excite our terror, a friend our affection, or an enemy our hatred. Accordingly, all these emotions occur with unfailing and natural regularity, as the panorama of suggestion passes before the sight of our consciousness in broad day; because the whole brain, and the whole mind, are in a state of activity. Assume them to be essentially simple, and the same result must, as a necessary consequence, occur in the state of sleep, in the entire contrary direction. But so little is this the case, that in slumber the faculties which, at other times, form a regular disciplined and combined army of operations, now disperse, and each acts for his own behoof, like sharp-shooters; or they are like the guests at a bachelor's liberty hall, or the travellers' room at an inn-where each is differently occupied-one reading, another writing, a third eating, while a fourth, having just arrived after a long journey, is snoring, with his legs across a chair, unconscious of the presence of the rest, who are hurrying in and out, each upon his own peculiar business. In this state, we find ourselves in a passion, not only without, but against, reason, loathe what we love, and dread what, when awake, we despise. We find ourselves transported to the head of the army at the battle of Pharsalia, in which we contentedly receive, as a matter of course, a thousand anachronisms, and make, what we conceive, a magnificent speech, which, when we afterwards recall it to our recollection, turns out to be incorrigible nonsense. The most praiseworthy or indifferent action, we discover in sleep to be a horrid crime. We talk with the dead without surprise, and at our ease. The merchant finds himself picking his neighbour's pocket; and the cautious and prudent tradesman rushes, with inconsiderate rashness, into the very heart of a dangerous engagement. Were the organ of the mind single, does it not follow, that in all these cases, the reflecting intellect would be as active as the imagination and perception-each passion being regulated by its usual counter checks? Would not the cautious character of the sober handicraftsman, operate in his slumbers as in his waking hours, to expel the idea of war? And would not the merchant's Conscientiousness be as active in his bed as in his counting-house, and draw back his furtive hand from the gaping pockets which tempt his roving and sleepless Acquisitiveness, in 'Change Alley, or in presence of the shade of Sir Thomas Gresham? Hobbes, in his Treatise on Human Nature, solves the problem by this very hypothesis:-"In dreams, there is commonly no coherence, which must needs proceed from this, that the brain, in dreams, is not restored to its motion in every part alike; whereby it cometh to pass, that our thoughts appear like the stars between the flying clouds, not in the order in which a man observes them, but as the uncertain flight of broken clouds permits."

There is no better mode of reasoning upon any subject of physics or metaphysics, than that which assumes no ground for the soundness of one doctrine more than another, but which adopts that which best reconciles itself with existing phenomena. Newton had no better reason, in the inherent nature of the principle itself, for propounding the existence of a law of gravitation, than his predecessors had for their exploded theories. There was no higher warrant, from the nature of the thing, in maintaining that principle of motion, than any which had been previously sug

gested. Nay, it was incapable of proof in any direct form, being equally impalpable with that attractive electrical influence, which is present or absent, without changing the qualities of matter in any shape whatever. But when, by assuming the existence of that law, all the phenomena of nature were found to reconcile with it; and when, without examining the principles from which the discoverer drew his conclusions, astronomers found, that by assuming their truth, they could accurately foretell the coming of comets-account for the corruscations of meteors-quadrate with them the movements of the universe, and those of the smallest atom,-they properly received this as ample evidence in support of the proposition. In like manner, if by assuming the hypothesis we have been endeavouring to illustrate, we can satisfactorily account for all mental phenomena, then by this rule of logic, we conclude the mind to be divisible, and the brain to consist of a congeries of organs. Assume for a moment, that there is a sentiment in the mind which makes a man fear, and a passion which spurs him on to fight, and we can perfectly understand how he whose life is passed in days of prudence, should spend his nights in dreams of rash adventure. His organ of Cautiousness may then be asleep, and that of Combativeness, hitherto an incarcerated slave, may celebrate its jubilee of emancipation in awakened activity. And so, if there be an organ of Acquisitiveness, which prompts to the exercise of the appropriation claws, and another of Conscientiousness, which, in its upper-house, negatives every bill presented by such a party, it is plain how, when a man's entire faculties are awake, and both branches of his intellectual legislature sitting, he may be honest; while, when the Lords alone have adjourned their session, sleep may make him a thief or a rogue, when his organ of integrity slumbers, and his faculty of acquiring ranges uncontrolled through every scene of villany.

Change of character is only explicable upon the same hypothesis. We can imagine different faculties and passions in the same being, producing, as each predominated, opposite features of action; but we cannot account for a mind and a brain, single and indivisible, converting the prodigal spendthrift into the lean and hungry miser,* or turning Colonel Gardiner the debauchee, in a single night into Colonel Gardiner the devotee. Sir Mathew Hale possessed a large endo artist of the propensities, and also a powerful moral region, supported by large Cautiousness. Youth directed his actions in the channel of the society in which he was thrown, and giving loose to the solicitations of active passions-his superior sentiments not being yet excited-he became extremely sensual and dissolute. In an excessive debauch at a tavern, he finds that one of his companions, at his very side, has killed himself, by dreadful intemperance. His large Cautiousness is instantly powerfully excited, and stimulates by sympathy of circulation the moral sentiments in its vicinity. They commence their action, and abstract the circulation from the propensities, which formerly monopolised it. This, and this alone, will account for such a sudden, striking, and permanent change in his character and conduct.

"A war in the members warring against the law in the mind," is evidence of the action of two laws at least. The good which I would I do not, and what I would not that I do," proves the prevalence of distinct principles of thought, as does repentance, of a faculty opposite to the tendencies of that which produced the act repented of. "I have changed my mind," is also an expression which demonstrates the consciousness of mankind of the truth of this proposition.

Bonnet has well observed, that "if fatigue ceases when the object of the mind's employment changes, the reason is, that other fibres (organs) are called into action." Why is it that the mind suffers lassitude from labour, but that its action depends on the brain? and why is it, that when exhausted with attention to one subject, it becomes immediately refreshed upon being occupied with another of a dissimilar character? The reason is plain, that it proceeds from multiplicity of organs, affording relief by variety of function and action, as the change of the exercise of one set of muscles for others which have been exhausted, at once restores vigour. Mendelsohn, whose intense study of one subject very nearly drove him mad, recovered by resting the exhausted organs, and confining his attention to the counting the

* A young man, mentioned by Foster, by lavish and reckless extravagance, squandered a large and very valuable estate, and became a beggar. He began to work as a common porter -toiled night and day-saved carefully what he earned-recovered by avarice the estate he had lost by prodigality, and died an inveterate miser worth £60,000.

tiles on the roof of the opposite house. A man of rank became insane, by intense and lengthened attention to one subject. He was cured by changing the nature of his pursuits; and declared himself, that he only prevented a relapse by preserving a diversity of occupation. A rich merchant met with a loss, over which he brooded so constantly as to become insane. The Reformation in Germany having broken out, he engaged in writing and preaching up the celebration of the mass; and, by this change of the current of his ideas, he became perfectly rational.

Such is a digested summary of what may be termed the preliminary evidence of this doctrine. The direct proof which the more peculiar facts of Phrenology furnish of this proposition, will be detailed in its proper place.

CHAPTER IV.

SIZE, THE MEASURE Of power.

SECTION I.—General Size of Brain the Mease of General Power

of Mind.

THE next step in the progress of our introduction to Phrenology, is the demonstration of the proposition, that the size of the brain, in whatever direction developed, is the measure of general mental power. If it be in the direction of the propensities, the individual will manifest power of animal passion; if in that of the sentiments, the momentum will be of a moral kind; if in the anterior lobe, it will produce superiority of reflection; and if in all regions, it will result in a universal greatness. In mechanical philosophy this is an axiom, and, in truth, amounts simply to the erently at a whole is ger than its parts. To deny that increase of size proces an accession of power, is to maintain that nothing is equal to something. If a ball of a foot diameter were of no greater force than one of an inch, then, by taking eleven inches from a ball a foot in diameter, nothing is taken from it; while, if the inch be taken from the other eleven, nothing is abstracted likewise; or, in other words, of two somethings there results nothing.

Where the other qualities of bones are the same, the largest are always the strongest; if each fibre in a muscle give a certain amount of strength, of course the greater the number the more the capacity; and thus the left ventricle of the heart, twice the thickness of the right, propels the blood twice as far and as forcibly. So of capacious, in contradistinction to circumscribed, lungs, and of a small or large liver and kidneys. The relative size of the nerves of motion and sensation in all animals, bears a uniform proportion to their tactile or motive capacities; and wherever, as in birds, weight is inconvenient, the nerves of motion are enlarged; but when bulk is of no consequence, as in fishes, the muscles are increased. The senses are under the operation of this same law, their keenness being always in proportion to the extent of nervous surface exposed, or the number and depth of the convolutions. Nay, so uniform is this correspondence, that a cessation of the exercise of any sense produces a diminution of the corresponding nerves. Desmoulins, who observed that the optic ganglions of the eagle occupied a third of its whole brain, found that confinement in the Menagerie at Paris had obliterated in it all the numerous nervous folds, leaving the retina single, as in the eye of animals of ordinary power of perception. Opthalmia, in another case, had left the retina quite smooth, without the vestige of a fold, and the optic nerve reduced by two-thirds. Magendie, by excluding light from a pigeon for twelve days, produced the very same effect.

Wherever power is exerted, either in the muscles or the brain, there also will be found an increase of size, as if the former could not operate without pushing the latter before it. Brigham finds "that the weak mind manifested by the infant, and the feeble mind by the aged, are produced by a small and undeveloped, or an enfeebled or diseased brain." The encephalon of an adult, he remarks, weighs about three pounds five ounces, apothecary's weight; but if his mind "have been long devoted to thought, or if he have been engaged in constant study, his brain is usually