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Till we by change, graff, and innoculation,
From well-selected stocks produce a renovation.

"Though chance the human breed may often cross,
It ne'er is tried by philosophic skill;

Base ore is often mix'd with sordid dross,

Or spume and scum, which make it baser still:

The epicure, tied to the glutton gross;

The stagnant lake mix'd with the ice-bound rill; The boasting bully weds the shrill-tongu'd shrew;

When matches thus are made-what monsters must ensue !

"I'd have a law, forbidding fools to mingle;
Wherever Nature has her work disgrac'd,
Hump-back'd and bandy-legg'd should all live single;
The dolt and dwarf from Hymen's temple chas'd;
But discords make a most harmonious jingle
When fitly join'd-in proper order plac'd;

Hence might be mix'd the brown and fair complexion,
The meek and fiery mind, until we reach'd perfection.

"Methinks, for man, it were a glorious scheme
To mend the breed, and renovate the race;
From ev'ry taint to purge life's purple stream,
And deck the form with each external grace,
Till love and truth in ev'ry eye should beam,

And beauty bloom on ev'ry human face;
O blest emprize! all folly hence to banish!
And, in the age to come, deformity would vanish.
"The iron age of Ignorance is past;

The morn of Science smiles upon our clime;
Her happy golden age will come at last,

In noontide blaze, surcharg'd with light sublime! Perfection's era is approaching fast;

She speeds her flight swift on the wings of time; Why was I born a century too soon?

O were my life prolong'd, to hail that sun-bright noon!

"Vain wish! and I to marriage feel inclin'd;
"Tis sanction'd both by reason and theology;
Yet I would fondly trace the fair one's mind;
But where's the key? nor Logic nor Astrology
Can teach the skill-ah! why to science blind?
And why forget Gall, Spurzheim, and Phrenology?
Though I've the study foolishly neglected,

"Tis just the thing I wish, and ev'ry where respected.

"Divines and sages have bewilder'd been;

How vain each visionary, mystic notion!
To me 'tis plain that mind's a mere machine;
The brain the main-spring that impels the motion;

And skulls are just like barrel-organs seen,

Some tun'd to love, and others to devotion;

In some such flats and sharps discordant mingling,
We find no music there all unharmonious jingling!"

He nightly on the novel system ponder'd,

Fond, yet afraid, his occiput to handle;

Deep lost in thought, he mus'd, admir'd, and wonder'd ;
The doctrine seem'd a new invented candle

To search the brain;-he finger'd, felt, and blunder'd ;
But on the doctrine that could bring no scandal;

For in a proverb, long confirm'd the fact is,

Though theory be good, perfection springs from practice.
With Spurzheim's nomenclature on the table,

He grop'd for bumps in Tom the shoe-boy's crown;
And next he sent for Francis from the stable;
And then the cook her greasy head laid down,
He deem'd himself a scholar apt and able,

When thumbing past her locks of matted brown;
Young, blushing Susan, too, must feel his fingers,
And, somewhere near her neck, he, paddling, fondly lingers.
On Sunday, in the sacred house of prayer,

Unseen the parson-and unheard his lecture;
The field before him was both rich and rare,
In various forms of Nature's architecture,
On which his eyes would most intensely stare,
His mind indulging many a bold conjecture;
And, station'd still at bottom of his pew,

A passing sea of heads came under his review.

He sigh'd with craving, restless, keen anxiety,
To hail the day when Lords of Session meet;
No spot could offer such a rich variety;

His fancy kindled at the banquet sweet,
When clients, lawyers, men of notoriety,
Would to his eyes afford a glorious treat;
It came he went-his heart with transport big;
But found he had forgot that
wears a wig.

Whene'er he mingled with the young and fair,
In fancy's airy track condemn'd to tread,

His eyes were foil'd to aid conjecture there;

For o'er their craniums fashion's masks were spread, And bonnets, caps, bandeaus, and plaited hair, Forbade inspection of a lady's head;

His boasted science here essay'd in vain,

To trace the mazy wilds of woman's teeming brain.

But still, resolv'd each obstacle to master,
And ev'ry cranny of the head explore;

He purchas'd skulls and casts in Paris plaster,
Of those who figur'd in the days of yore;

But found his progress stopp'd-for, dire disaster!
He had exhausted all Edina's store;

Then off to London quick our hero scampers—

Returns with fresh supply, in boxes, tubs, and hampers.

And now was fitted up a light saloon,

Where busts, contrasted, rang'd in order stood;

The sage was plac'd beside the droll buffoon,
The harden'd wicked near the gentle good:

'Twas here Phrenology, in dazzling noon,
Spread her repast of rare and luscious food;
The richest picture-gallery in the nation,

Could not such contrast shew-such field for contemplation.

"Twould tire the reader, and exhaust his time,
Were we to try the wond'rous nomenclature;
For here were heroes of each age and clime,
To shew the sportive freaks of madam Nature,
"The moping ideot" and the sage sublime,
Laponia's dwarf and Patagonian stature,

At Homer's elbow carping Zoilus stood,
And chaste Penelope in Helen's neighbourhood.

Here he who "gave his little senate law,"

Still look'd with scorn on haughty Cæsar's pride;
Next Cleopatra stood an Indian
squaw;

And Howard smil'd serene by Nero's side.
Next Shakespeare was a broad-fac'd Esquimaux;
Grim Betty Laing on broom-stick seem'd to ride,
King James beheld her with affrighted glance,
While Newton's piercing eye explor'd the vast expanse.

John Knox still frown'd on Scotia's beauteous Queen-
But we must hasten from a former age,
To note a few that grac'd this classic scene,
Whose later names are found in hist'ry's page:
Wilkes, with his squinting, laughter-loving mien,

:

And Johnson, fir'd with virtue's noble rage;
Voltaire and Whitefield; Pitt and Fox were there;
Thus rabbits, fat and lean, are coupled for a pair.
With Washington was coupled Ferdinand;
And Louis stood on Bonaparte's right;
The Autocrate with Franklin took his stand;
There Cobbet frown'd, a sad, dejected wight;
While Southey, station'd on his dexter hand,

Still seem'd to sing, "Whatever is, is right."
A wond'rous pair stood next, Byron and Maturin—

And, what was stranger still, mild Wordsworth stood between!

But o'er the motely group we'll draw a veil;

For brevity is still the muse's aim;

Your patience, reader, and my rhymes would fail,

Ere I could register each sounding name

That there had place: suffice to say, the scale

Extended o'er the ample roll of fame;

Embracing hero, poet, sage, and braggart,

"From Macedonia's madman" down to David Haggart!

In this Lyceum, patient as a clerk,

Who tries some ancient record to explore,

Our hero, studious, daily made remark,
Till perfect grown in Phrenologic lore;

He'd tell their names and natures in the dark,

So oft each head-piece had been handled o'er;

"And now," said he, "I've had a pleasant trouble; But when I chuse my bride, I'll be rewarded double!

"I'm glad I was not that romantic fool,

To fix myself in matrimonial trap,

Till I had been at Spurzheim's magic school,
Which lays the mind expanded like a map;
In courtship this shall be my golden rule,

To know the lady-feel below her cap!'
Her skull submitted to my keen inspection,

I'll chuse, of Nature's works, the nearest to perfection. "But ladies are a coy, capricious sex,

And some, fastidious, haply may refuse

So low to bend their snow-white, beauteous necks,
While I the casket of their minds peruse;
Now, this would all my prudent plans perplex,
My projects mar-eclipse my brightest views

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But why despond before I make the trial?

"Tis time enough to pause when I have met denial."

To put the science in immediate action,
Phrenologos no longer would delay;
Amanda was the object of attraction,

On wings of love to her he bent his way;
In terms respectful then propos'd his paction,
Impatient to begin his grand survey;
Amanda, though she deem'd her lover frantic,
Would follow out his whim, so solemnly romantic.
There was a witching twinkle in her eye;
Her dewy lip was ruddy, soft, and plump;
Her cheek was dimpled, forehead fair and high-
These made our hero's heart with rapture jump;
And now his tingling fingers fondly ply,

In restless search, to find a fav'rite bump;

But she had something in her skull bewitching,

Which made his fingers dance as with Galvanic twitching.

The first he felt was right behind her crown,
It was the largest he had e'er beheld,

And rose his buoyant hopes in doubt to drown;
But anxious still to have his fears dispell'd;
Behind her ear his hand slid gently down,
And there another vile intruder swell'd,
Above the centre of her slender neck;

And long he search'd in vain to find a counter check.

He, speechless, gaz'd upon the beauteous fair;
The fire of love was sparkling in her eye,

His fingers stray'd amidst her auburn hair,

Her cheek was glowing like the morning sky;
Love whisper'd, "Stay-'tis bless to banquet there!"
Phrenology cried, "Run-temptation fly!"

The strife was long-a well-contested field;
But Science overcame and Love was forc'd to yield.
He press'd her hand, and took a tender leave—
His wishes cross'd, his airy hopes o'erthrown;
And cried, "O Spurzheim, what a blest reprieve
From one who lives but for herself alone!

I ne'er shall wilfully myself deceive

With one so fair-so much to pleasure prone;
Amanda will, if there be truth in science,
Set Matron modesty, and Malthus at defiance!"
Thus have we seen our hero's hope defeated;
But he is rich and young-the world is wide;
And, like a war-horse, for the battle heated,
He's on the field, with Spurzheim for his guide;
With time and patience, trials oft repeated,

We still may hope he'll find a gentle bride;
Such skill and prudence cannot search in vain :-
Should Love propitious smile, the muse may sing again.

ON CASTLE-BUILDING.

I BELONG to a class of architects, whose productions, I am sorry to say, are looked upon by the public in general with rather an unfavourable eye. It is true, they have nothing to say against us, either on the score of beauty, or rapidity of execution; but there is one weak side, on which they have discovered that we are penetrable stuff, and against which, sundry biting sarcasms, and potent conclusions, have been directed by the ultra-reasonable part of mankind. In short, they have discovered that we do not build for posterity; and the want of stability in our edifices forms a standing joke against us. A punning acquaintance of mine annoys me regularly with certain venerable jokes on my extensive property in the Isle of Sky, the county of Ayr, and Terra Incognita, which, if age and long acquaintance ought to command respect, have the best claim in the world to that privilege. Another kindly insinuates something about the foolish man who built his house upon the sand. And I have more than once been cut short in

pursuing the thread of some splendid speculation, by the polite enquiry which Leo addressed to Ariosto, when he presented him with a copy of the Orlando Furioso: "Where, in the name of wonder, I had collected such a parcel of nonsense, and what possible purpose it could serve?" This, I confess, is one of those questions which are a great deal more easily asked than answered. In such cases, the argumentum ex crumenâ is the only one which is considered of any weight; and unless you can reduce your theory to its value in specie, you may as well give up the point at once. Unfortunately, however, I feel myself barred, personali objectione, as the lawyers say, from the use of this argument; for though I consider myself as quite an intellectual Palladio, and have built, in my time, palaces as splendid as the fabled edifices of Aladdin or Kublakhan, or Alcina and Armida, I am sorry to say that they have vanished with as much celerity as they arose, and the place where they were known, now knows them no more. They have disappeared be

fore the strong light of reality, like the Czar's famous palace of ice, at the first splendour of a Russian sum

mer.

about as productive, in a pecuniary Of course, they have been point of view, as a Frenchman's Château in Gascony. My income, which was never very large, grows "small by degrees, and beautifully less," and I begin to think I shall soon find myself in the situation of presence, but no land beside." honest Faulconbridge, "lord of my still, however, cling to my favourite pursuits, with the fondness and the obstinacy of an alchymist. HappiI seek; and if, from the objects ness is the philosopher's stone which that are scattered around me, I can elaborate, in the crucible of the mind, visions, I shall not think that the a fairer world, and more delightful process by which these effects have been produced has been in vain, or When, by indulging in the contemthat my toils have evaporated in fumo. plation of an imaginary world, I find I can lighten the crosses, or soothe the disappointments, of this, and even reap a present pleasure from and contingent, I cannot regret the the prospect of one that is future hours which I have thus spent, or say with Titus, " I have lost a day." Happiness is still the same, whether it is gained in the actual or ideal possession of the object of our wishes: whether we are ourselves carried down by the tempestuous current of the world, or only image forth, in the silence and calmness of the study, the windings of our course, and the pleasures of the voyage.

"

66 Happy the man, and happy he alone,
He who can call to-day his own-
To-morrow do thy worst, for I have liv'd

He who, secure within himself, can say,

to-day.

Be fair or foul, or rain or shine,
The joys I have possess'd, in spite of fate,

are mine:

Not Jove himself upon the past hath
For what hath been, hath been, and I
pow'r,
have had my hour."

Such is the happiness of the castle-
builder; he snatches a pleasure from
the passing hour, and "scores it up,
as clearly won," from the dominion
of care, anxiety, or listlessness.

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