the glitter of jewellery and the sheen of silken attire-toiling in the iron mines of Biscay or Arragon-cultivating the corn, the olive, and the vine, upon the sunny slopes of the Iberian mountainspasturing his flocks in the green plains of Castile: be he prince or peasant, lord or lout-he is essentially the same, and consequently liable to be affected in the way described. Suffice it, then, to tell, that Sebastian ever found a willing and attentive audience: the castanets became silent-the song and tinkle of the guitar was hushed-and the merry laugh ceased to ring amid the vineyards,—when he began one of his mournful, mirthful, or marvellous tales. Some day, reader, we will acquaint thee with the particulars of the old man's history; but now, while the last rays of the setting sun are tinging with a rosy hue the waters of the Guadalquivir, and the fire-flies are beginning to flash and sparkle amid the rapidly-deepening shade of the chestnut boughs, we invite thee to join that band of listeners who are eagerly drinking in the words of the SPANISH VETERAN, as he speaks of the lands he has visited, and describes the various scenes in life's great drama, in which he has been an actor, or the incidents of which have come to his knowledge through the medium of traditions, oral or written. Hark, what says he?

"My friends,-You all know that in times gone by, the followers of the false prophet Mahomet held dominion over the richest and fairest provinces of this beautiful country; that the cry of Allah hu resounded through her plains; and from her mountain peaks went up the voice of prayer, in a dialect unknown and hateful to the children of the true faith. You know that the swarthy sons of Africa swept, like the blasting simoom of their native deserts, over the length and breadth of Spain; and that the Crescent shed its baleful gleamings where now, thanks to God! the benign light of the Cross illumines the ways and cheers the hearts of the trusting and faithful. The boom of the tambour and the clash of the cymbals are heard no more re-echoing through the stately halls of the Alhambra; the waving horse-tail, the jewelled turban, and the flashing scimitar have disappeared from the battlements, the halls, and the court-yards of our castles and palaces; the temples of Christianity are enriched with the gathered spoils of the Moslem invaders, whose name has become as a bye-word in our mouths, and the fear of whose might has passed away from our hearts. Yet although thus vanquished, and driven back to the burning waste and the howling wilderness,-although the

power they once possessed, and the domination they once exercised here have become as a gorgeous dream-a visionary pageant,they have left behind such traces of magnificence and intellectual greatness,—such marks of luxuriant refinement and perfection of taste,—that even while we execrate their name, we can but admire the exalted genius, the indomitable courage, and the many traits of nobleness and excellence which characterise this once proud and all-conquering people. The incidents of the story which I am about to relate were gathered during my sojourn amid the fiery sands of Zahara, from the lips of a descendant of a powerful Moorish tribe, called the Abbencerrages. This tribe was foremost among the invaders of our country, and the remnant that survived, after the many conflicts which led to their final expulsion, were scattered through Africa and Asia, to lead a life of hardship and misery, never again to become an united people,-never again to know the comforts of a settled habitation."

LAST LINES OF CHENIER.*

(From the French.)

As the last beams of light and the peace-wooing gales,

In summer's fair evenings, a moment delay
To struggle with darkness ere black night prevails,
So at foot of the scaffold my lyre I essay.

Perhaps the dread moment approaches me now,

While the finger of time round its circle has gone;
Perhaps sixty minutes its dial may show-

Then pause; oh! too like it my course may be run!
Perhaps while these numbers still wait on my tongue,
The slumber of death o'er the poet may hang-
The verse still unfinished remain, and the song
Unsung, and unknown as the poet that sang.

Alas! ere the half of this line is complete,
I hear in the corridor pacing without

The dull measured tread of the murderous feet

Recruiting for death! 'tis my name that they shout!

And the echoes repeating shall sing through the gloom
A long-murmured requiem over my tomb!

LIB.

* André Joseph Chénier, a French poet of revolutionary principles, guillotined 1794.

THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR.

"Immortalia ne speres, monet Annus, et almum

Quæ rapit hora diem."

HOR.

ANOTHER year is past-the deep-toned bell,
O'er hill and vale is tolling out his knell;
Who knows if we, who listen to its tone,
Shall live to say, Another year is gone?

Full many an eye, that saw the last one rise
In golden splendour through the eastern skies-
Full many a heart, that smiled upon its birth
In youth and hope, ere now hath passed from earth.

And thou art left to tread life's paths as yet,
But who can say how soon thy sun may set?
A day- an hour-may end thine earthly span,
And teach thee, mortal, that thou art but man.

Aye! ere this year be past, thy beauty's pride

The church-yard stone or grassy turf may hide;

And that bright cheek that wears health's roseate bloom,

Be cold and withered in the silent tomb.

The vacant place-that sad remembrancer;

The solemn epitaph-stern monitor;

The little mound beneath the church-yard tree

This, mortal, may be all shall tell of thee.

And thus we all must pass from earth, howe'er
Our glory, splendour, or our wealth appear;
And not ambition's pride, or beauty's bloom,
Can save our bodies from the dusky tomb.

"Mortals, be wise," the passing year doth say,
And seize with eagerness the present day;
So shall thy spirit climb the skies at last,
When the sad pilgrimage of earth is past.

C. H. H.

PHRENOLOGY.

WELL can the writer of the following observations picture to himself the various feelings with which the readers of the KING'S COLLEGE MAGAZINE, in turning over its pages, will glance at the title which stands at the head of this paper. "Who can be so senseless," some will mentally exclaim, "as to devote four pages to the consideration of an exploded system, founded in absurdity, maintained by deceit, and fated, like other pieces of quackery, to droop and perish with its first advocates?" And then, charitably concluding that either nature, or the praises of a flattering phrenologist, have crazed the author's brain, they will pass on to subjects more congenial to their taste. Others, whose dreams of future glory are founded solely on the supposed conformation of their craniums, will be not a little shocked at the idea that any defence can be required for a system in whose truth they must believe, or must sink back into obscurity, and lose sight for ever of the brilliant visions which have been dancing before their eyes. Some, however, there may be, who, while disinclined to view any science so important in its objects, and so strong in its evidence, with contempt, yet are anxious to examine its claims to our credence with strict investigation, and to decide impartially on its merits. For such the following remarks are intended.

Notwithstanding the obstacles it has encountered in the prejudices which invariably assail a new theory, the science of phrenology has undoubtedly been, of late years, gaining ground in England; it is becoming every day better understood, and its principles more generally appreciated; while the absurd notion, which considered the phrenologist as assuming the office and powers of a prophet, has gradually receded before a better knowledge of the subject. Still, however, objections are urged both against its truth, and the advantages of its study. These are of two classes; the one derived from phenomena, which exist, or are supposed to exist, in the physical and mental constitution of man; the other, from a belief that the dogmas of phrenology must lead to the rejection of the truths which the christian religion inculcates respecting the moral state and responsibility of the human race. Under the former class will be placed all questions relating to the internal conformation of the brain, its effect on the external

appearance of the head, its connexion with the senses, in short, every part which involves the physical nature of man; of the latter a sufficient example may be found in the very common assertion that phrenology, pushed to its legitimate consequences, must lead to materialism. To explain and examine each several objection, which falls under either of these heads, would be a work of no inconsiderable labour, requiring somewhat deep inquiries into the moral and physical nature of our species, and touching on subjects which have occupied the attention of philosophers in every age, and yet remain undecided. A few words will suffice to prove that, as far as the evidence of phrenology is concerned, they are totally unnecessary. But what gives to this science its peculiar character, and distinguishes it from other systems of mental philosophy, is the assertion that the conformation of the head of each individual is the index of the powers of his mind; that according as we see a certain portion of the external and visible surface of the head more or less developed, we may conclude that certain powers of the human mind are possessed by him in a greater or less degree. It is true that with this assertion are connected facts relating to the nature and operations of the brain, which the phrenologist believes to be the seat of the mental powers, but, as far as practical phrenology is concerned, they need not be in the least taken into account.

There is no kind of probable evidence which naturally brings stronger conviction to the mind than that which is drawn from experience, and the observation of a series of facts, coinciding with one another, and exhibiting the same connexion between cause and effect, between a symptom, and that of which it is the sign. The physician, for instance, who has in any disease observed some change in the appearance of his patients to be, in every case which falls under his notice, shortly succeeded by death, will conclude that there exists between the two such a connexion as renders the one a symptom of the other; nor will his conclusion be invalidated by the fact that he cannot discover or understand the nature of this connexion, nay, that apparently good reasons can be given why it cannot exist; prove what you will, he cannot but still, arguing from observed facts, regard the one as a symptom of the other. To use a still more familiar illustration: the man who, for the first time in his life, takes a rose into his hand, and perceives a scent apparently proceeding from it, could not (setting aside what he must have observed of other flowers), if assured to the