The

and the smatterers in science. Whether or not the experiments in Neurology are curious and wonderful, is a trivial matter. great question to be determined, is the IMPRESSIBILITY OF THE BRAIN, and should not the discussion of the great question receive such a hearing as its vast importance demands? If it be determined that the brain is impressible, then my great object is attained; for if this point be conceded with all its consequences, then it is the great duty of the strong minds of the present age, to investigate that impressibility, and to establish therefrom a true Anthropology. When it has been determined that Anthropology must rest upon this foundation, then am I willing to present my own claims as an architect; and to demand whether the system of Neurology which I have developed, has any claims to be regarded as the true Anthropology. It comes with all the signs and attendants of truth. It rests upon experiments which court scrutiny, and have often been repeated by different persons, and in different places. It exhibits views of the human constitution, more beautiful and elevating than we have had before,--elevating science so high in the scale of moral truth as to place it in beautiful unison with religion, and exerting a similar ennobling influence upon its votaries. It reveals a system of mental philosophy as satisfactory as it is inspiring, giving rise to the hope that there are no problems in reference to mind, which will not be hereafter solved. It presents principles of Physiognomy and Gesticulation, which we observe exemplified before us every hour; and it presents new views of Physiology and Pathology which the physician finds at every step, a light upon his path. In short, it satisfies the restless curiosity which impels us to seek the causes of the thousand varied phenomena, which the constitution of man is constantly presenting, and which are the subjects of our most abstruse and laborious studies.

Finally, when the one great scientific question of this age has received the earnest attention of its advancing minds, when it has been acknowledged that Anthropology must be built up by Neurological research, I may safely affirm that the amount of scientific knowledge which will be revealed, and the illuminating and liberalizing effects of that knowledge on the human mind, even aside from its practical utility, will accomplish more for the general elevation of thought, and exert a more humanizing and beneficent influence upon society, than all that science has heretofore achieved.

But the sight of that schoolhouse brings back the days of Lang Syne.' Well do I remember the old parish school, where I received my preparation for college under the free and easy, but most efficient administration of Dominie Menross. Dear old man! he has long ago "gone to the yird," but his memory is as green as the grass which waves upon his grave.-TURNBULL'S GENIUS OF SCTOLAND. The sight of that old school has brought

My boyhood back to me,

Its transient grief o'er toilsome tasks,
Its thoughtlessness and glee :

I see a venerated face,

Mid the familiar throng,

And through the open casement hear
The thrush's matin song.

I see the yellow waving broom,
The fragrant heathery lea,

Where oft I've conned my task apart,
Beneath some spreading tree;
Or watched the sun the hill-tops gild
With his departing rays,

And heard from many a lowly cot
The voice of heartfelt praise.

The hawthorn with its blossoms white,
That grew within the dell,

Where daisies dotted the green grass

And many a heather bell;

The little stream that murmured near
With rushes on its brink;

Where oft I've bathed my heated brow,
Or bent my head to drink.

Where in the pleasant summer time,
I used to haste each morn,

To play before the school began,
Upon the dewy lawn;

The lark sprang from its grassy couch,

Its thrilling notes to pour;

I've never heard it sing so sweet
As in the days of yore!

I see again the kind old man,

Whose mild and pleasant look,

More than reproof, would make me fix
My eyes upon my book,

When to the open window-pane,

I'd turn my eyes to view

The humming-bird that came to sip

The woodbine waving through.

The place is strangely altered now,
The kind old man is gone,

And in the little churchyard near,

A grey and mossy stone

Marks where he sleeps-his soul has found

Eternal rest above;

And living hearts will keep in mind

His gentleness and love.

ART. IX. CHANGE.-A SCIENTIFIC PAPER.

"Mutation and change are everywhere found-all is in motion." PROF. O. M. MITCHELL.

"Mutability asserts its reign over all that seems most firm and undisturbed amongst the finite shapes that surround us."

PROF. J. P. NICHOL.

THE universe is full of change; there is no such thing as rest in the whole cycle of nature, but motion, eternal motion, is the property of every created molecule. The solid adamant, the compact, impenetrable agate, are never in their particles at rest! Their aggregates, or compound atoms, appear certainly so to the glance, but still a close investigation only convinces us that motion or action is the universal law. Place a diaphanous piece of agate under a high power of the microscope, and this change will be observed. Each space between the particles of the agate will be seen to be charged with a fluid whose atoms are in continual motion. We see that this little space is a laboratory, wherein nature is continually engaged at synthesis and decomposition. The little atoms of agate, solid and immovable as they appear to the naked eye, are here being decomposed; new elements are being added or old ones withdrawn, and this hardest of all substances, except the diamond, is continually yielding to the laws of affinity-is continually undergoing change. But of all created things, none suffer such rapid change as ourselves. It appears as if the Deity had stamped in nature his will, that he who of all creatures contained alone the spark of his Divinity, should suffer correspondingly the most rapid change in his organization; for we believe that man alone, of all living creatures, is subject to the quickest and greatest changes. The dumb animals suffer changes in their systems in many respects similar to man, but not so rapid, as the artificial stimulus which he continually resorts to, contributing greatly to the rapidity of the metamorphosis of his tissues. Even those who do not stimulate their systems, (and they are very few,) are still subject to this rapid change, as this tendency is a hereditary transmission from their ancestors. You are well aware that the slightest habit almost, will be transmitted more or less to your children. The man who is in the habit, although not to excess,

of drinking alcohol in any of its various enticing forms, will transmit to his children maladies, the effects of his own disturbed organization. These effects will be manifested in quite a number of forms; the worst of which is consumption, although it may be modified to scrofula, or general weakness of the system, or extend to the cerebral mass, and result in idiocy or madness. The delicate organization of the system is quite easily disturbed, or an abnormal action created in some of its functions. A momentary paroxysm of anger often changes the chemical properties of some of the fluids, and these communicate to the delicate fibres-which are at that time providing them with substance and life- an organization which being deformed, must result in disease.* The slightest affection of the mind exerts a corresponding effect upon the vital functions; for you should recollect that the strongest trees grow from minute seeds, which are scarcely worthy of notice from their insignificance. The great fault with those who study natural phenomena is, that they do not deem minute things worthy of their notice. Who would for a moment suppose that the slight mental affections which pass over the mind many times a day, could in the least derange or modify the actions of the physical functions? Yet still it is so, for not a shade of passion-not an affection of grief or of joy-not a slight regret, or the mere intrusion of a sentiment-but which exerts a corresponding changé upon the organism; for this change is an almost simultaneous result of the affection, and must ensue as certainly as that the string of a guitar vibrates in giving sound. We are all cognizant of instances where the hair has suddenly become grey from the effects of fright-where syncope has ensued, and often such severe phy

*Sudden anger, or any mental paroxysm of a violent nature, I have observed, imparts acidity to the saliva, although in its normal condition it contains soda, an alkali. The bite of an angry animal is proverbially dangerous, and we cften hear of animals when angry, or laboring under any paroxysm of passion, frothing at the mouth-the sudden acidity generated effervescing, or neutralizing the soda of the saliva. The bite of an angry serpent is beyond cure: but if the most venomous reptile be stepped upon, and it strikes its fangs before its virus can be altered by rage, its bite is never attended with death. We are acquainted with a person who never suffers any sudden or strange emotion without feeling immediately afterward a severe smarting of the eyes; and if the passion be persevered in for any length of time, they inflame, and he be comes nearsighted. Doubtless many analogous phenomena might be recollected, if people would devote a little attention and thought to the subject.

sical disturbance as to result in speedy death. Still with these great changes presented to us, we do not take cognizance of the same in a milder form, as if they did not affect the functions correspondingly.

With each moment of time there is a change in the system, each effort bringing us a step toward the final one which results in death. It is true that the organs possess the power of continually regaining their vitality and their substance, but with each effort they lose a portion of this sustaining power, perceptible to us only in the lapse of years, and sadly observed in the advancement of old age. It is then that we recognize the vast changes which have been silently going on through life, and which have been bearing us on rapidly toward death--toward that change when this vast ocean of oxygen with its powerful affinities will come in full play, and the whole mass of organs, which for so long a time imparted to us our sensations of grief and joy, sorrow and happiness-will become rapidly oxydized, will form gaseous combinations, and in their invisible state pass off into the air. It is an interesting thing, this change! to trace its many strange ways of accomplishing the great end which God willed it, is among the most interesting and instructive tasks which can occupy the mind of man; for in tracing change in all organizations, we only trace the path which leads from birth-from first synthesis-to the grave-to final decomposition.

In tracing the great changes of the stellar worlds and systems, we only follow a cycle whose term is millions of centuries, but which leads the mind into the unfathomable depths of eternity, till its finite faculties give out in the awfulness of the vast profundity. But it is on this little planet that we must take cognizance of change, for here we have it directly around us and within us—we ourselves being the objects of its most rapid operations. 'Tis true that change is observed amid all the stellar groups, perceptible even to the great penetrating power of Ross' great mirror; and that even amid these cognate spheres, we observe the same eternal motion, tending as upon earth, to a definite end and period of time; but vast and extending in their operations, as is their vastness extended beyond earth. With us the cycle of change is but a few years, while with those mighty congeries the human intellect is lost in taking cognizance of a single change, such is its eternity.

Even with us, rapid as is the change on this sphere, we do not recognize it in many instances until the expiration of a cer