cated of touching the end of the nose should be the very sign of suspicion conveyed by what DICKENS terms the visionary coffee-mill;' the 'No-ye-don't' expression, which is italicized by joining the little finger of the other hand to the little finger of the hand represented in the cut, and then 'gyrating,' with a 'sinistere looke out fro' the eyn? Does n't this nose say, as plain as a nose can speak, (and many a keen 'Yankee,' as the English call us, speaks through this organ entirely,) 'Don't you wish you may get it?'

THE faculty of Suspicion is indicated in the length of the nose from the root downward, at a right angle with the sign of inquisitiveness, as we see in the accompany. ing engraving. When a person touches the end of his nose in this manner, he points out the sign of suspicion, without being aware that he is a physiognomist. Such a nose indicates a person of quick apprehension, one too inclined to suspect the motives and intentions of others, and too apprehensive of dangers and difficulties. It is easily seen that this faculty enables a person to judge well of character, except when morbidly active. Even in some of the lower animals it gives a wonderful insight into character, as in the crow, the raven, the fox, the dog, the elephant, and many others, which have the sign of suspicion or consciousness very large.'

...

Step in, reader, at the publisher's, Clinton-Hall, and purchase a copy of these physiological' Outlines.' They will instruct, amuse, and perhaps convict' you.. PUNCH has been trying his hand at English hexameters, after the manner of Longfellow's 'Evangeline.' The imitation is entitled Dollarine, a Tale of California,' by Professor W. H. LONGSHORTFELLOW, of Cambridge, Connecticut.' It opens rich :'

'IN St. Francisco located was NATHAN JERICHO BOWIE ;

Down by the wharf on the harbor he traded in liquors and dry-goods;
Darned hard knot at a deal, at Meetin' a powerful elder.

There at his store, in the shade, they met, embraced and enlightened
Traders and trappers and capt'ins, and lawyers and editors also.

Freely they liquored and chewed, indulgin' in expectoration,

Rockin' with heels over heads, and whittlin', laborious, the counter.

Like dough-nut at a frolic, or yellow pine stump in a clearin',
Sharp as a backwoodsman's axe, and 'cute as a bachelor beaver,
Glimmered, through clouds of Virginny, the cypherin' mug of NATHANIEL.'

'Came from the diggin's a sträanger, with two carpet-bags full of goold-dust;
NATHAN diskivered the fact, as he traded a pinch for a gin-sling;

And as that sträanger loafed, through the bar, from parlor to bed-room,
Streams of the glorious sand oozed out through a hole in his trowsers.
Gathered the rumor and grew, and soon rose a sudden demand for
Calabash, can, keg and kettle; and NATHAN's prime lot of tin fixin's,
Crockery also, went off at figgers that beat to etarnal

Smash all prices he'd thought, in dreams even, of e'er realisin'.'

Do you re

Good flowing hexameters these, and otherwise noteworthy.... member Mocha Dick of the Pacific?-the great whale, whose 'memoirs' were published a long time ago in these pages? He cruised for years about the Pacific, and was not unfrequently mistaken for a small island. He had been made the depository' of some two or three hundred harpoons; and their broken lines, green with sea-moss, and knotted with barnacles, streamed like horrid hair' from his sides. The old fellow has undoubtedly made his way through BHERING's Straits into the Arctic Ocean; for the captain of the 'Superior,' arrived at Honolulu, reports having seen, while cruising there, a whale so large that they did not dare to attack him. Although he

THE

would have yielded some three or four hundred barrels of oil, yet the King of the Arctic Ocean' was permitted to go quietly on his way. Vive MOCHA DICK!' Messrs. HARPERS have published an illustrated Elementary Treatise on Mechanics, embracing the Theory of Statics and Dynamics, by AUG. W. SMITH, LL.D., of the Wesleyan University. As an authentic work on analytical mechanics, it is doubtless a very valuable and reliable treatise; but it is to the unitiated that it will present the most lively attractions. We were much struck with the beauty and force of the ensuing passage. It cannot fail to carry conviction to every candid mind:

'LET the centre of force be at S, the origin of coördinates, SP=r the radius vector of the particle at P, P'P=ds an element of its path, coinciding with the tangent PT, w=PST the angle made by the radius vector with the axis of x, P'SP du the angle described by the radius vector in the indefinitely small time dt, and mP'dr the increment or decrement of the radius vector in the same time. Let the Pm be described with S as a centre, and radius SP, and the arc nn' with the radius Sn=1.'

Certainly; that's the way to do it, where the area of the sector' is left out; which ought always to be done, if possible, where either the increment or decrement of the radius-vector equals the x-crement of a plane rectilinear-triangle at AB! This case is well stated by a Welch writer in the following passage:

'Y MAE boddlonrwydd yn troi pobpeth fyddo yn agos ato i'r perffeithrwydd uwchaf y mae yn ddichonadwy iddo gyrhaedd. Pelydra bob metel, a chyfoethoga y plwm a holl gynneddfau yr aur: gwna y mwg yn fflam; y flam yn oleuni, a'r goleuni yn ogoniant: un pelydr o hono a wasgara boen, gofal, a phruddglwyfni, oddiwrth y person y dysgyna arno. Yn fyr, y mae ei bresennoldeb yn newid yn naturiol bob lle i fath o nefoedd.'

...

We hope here be truths,' and that all doubters will now 'possess themselves in much contentment.' But burlesque apart: as we stood the other day up to our knees in the snow which filled the deep valley crossed by the New-York and Erie RailRoad, over which springs the largest single arch in the world, at a height of nearly two hundred feet above the spectator, we could not help wondering where the architect first began to work, when as yet all was one vast rocky gorge. How many figures and diagrams, mysteries to the unitiated, were employed in getting ready even to begin to work! WHEN we read, as we do on the arrival of every British steamer, of the hundreds of deaths by cold and starvation in Ireland; of mothers rejoicing over the death of their youngest children, that the burial-fee awarded the parents may assist to save from the grave the elder; when we hear of these things, we are reminded of DEAN SWIFT's Modest Appeal to the Public' in favor of the 'home-consumption' by the landlords of the children of their poor tenants. Having been assured, on the best authority, that a young healthy child, at a year old, made ' a delicious, nourishing and wholesome dish, whether stewed, roasted, baked or boiled,' he proposed that they should be offered for sale to persons of quality, as articles of food: A child that is plump and fit for the table will make two dishes at an entertainment for friends, and when the family dines alone, the fore or hind quarter will make a reasonable dish; and seasoned with a little pepper and salt, will be very good boiled on the fourth day! The mother, he ascertains by calculation, will make eight shillings, neat profit out of every 'two head' of children. The landlord need have no scruples to adopt this course; since having already devoured most of the parents, they seem to have the best title to the children.' 'Let this system be but once thoroughly established,' he adds, as a clinching argument, and 'we should soon see an honest emulation among the married women which of them could bring the fattest child to market!' 'I HAVE just been reading,' writes a congenial friend and welcome correspondent,' that queer mosaic of SOUTHEY'S, The Doctor,' (the un

་

1

disclosed authorship of which I remember you so clearly established by induction' in the KNICKERBOCKER,) which was lent me by a lady, lovely and literary; and it reminds me of an old common-place book, wherein I had some combinations of disjointed things,' which may find a place in your admirable Gossip.' Here is a little Spanish love-song, somewhat in the style of the madrigal in your last:

IN Sevilla! in Sevilla !

Where the fairest maidens dwell,
Of all who wear the dear mantilla
None can vie with dark-eyed ZILLA;
(O, I knew her lattice well!)
Never did so bright a maid
List to moonlight serenade.

'Summer roses! summer roses!

Fresher far than thine the bloom
Her laughing lip and cheek discloses,*
Than those eyes, where light reposes,
'Neath the fringes' tender gloom;
Stealing upward like the gleam
From a dark o'ershadowed stream.

'Summer breezes! summer breezes !
Sweet ye sigh at evening's close;
But sweeter far when ZILLA pleases,
Is her voice of song, that seizes

On the soul, and o'er it throws
Chains like those the syrens wove-
Magic bonds of bliss and love.

'Lovely ZILLA! dearest ZILLA!
Often do I think of thee,
And the bowers of sweet Sevilla;
Now I'm far away, dear ZILLA,

Now wilt ever think of me?
Soon thou 'It cease each vain regret,
Soon-alas, how soon!- forget.'

To my ear there is a sweet melody in these love-verses, like the chime of a glassharmonic.' . . . We have just risen from the perusal of a new edition of Plato on the Immortality of the Soul,' from the press of Mr. WILLIAM GOWANS, of this city. It is Madame DACIER's translation from the original Greek, with copious notes and emendations, a Life of PLATO, by FENELON, together with the opinions of ancient, intermediate and modern philosophers and divines, on the immortality of the soul. It is impossible to read the work without the highest admiration of the author, thrown back as he is into what we are too prone to call the 'dark ages.' Dark ages! — read the following:

'As for the soul, which is an invisible being, that goes to a place like itself, marvellous, pure and invisible, in the eternal world; and returns to a GOD full of goodness and wisdom, which I hope will be the fate of my soul in a short time, if it please GOD. Shall a soul of this nature, and created with all these advantages, be dissipated and annihilated as soon as it parts from the body, as most men believe? No such thing, my dear SIMMIAS and CEBES. I will tell you what will rather come to pass, and what we ought steadfastly to believe. If the soul retains its purity, without any mixture of filth from the body, as having entertained no voluntary correspondence with it; but, on the contrary, having always avoided it, and recollected itself within itself, in continual meditations; that is, in studying the true philosophy and effectually learning to die; for philosophy is a preparation for death; I say, if the soul depart in this condition, it repairs to a being like itself; a being that is divine, immortal, and full of wisdom; in which it enjoys an inexpressible felicity, in being freed from its errors, its ignorance, its fears, its amours, that tyrannized over it, and all the other evils pertaining to human nature.' 'But if the soul depart full of uncleanness and impurity, as having been all along mingled with the body, always employed in its service, always possessed by the love of it, decoyed and charmed by its pleasures and lusts; insomuch, that it believed there was nothing real or true beyond what is corporeal; what may be seen, touched, drank, eaten, or what is the object of carnal pleasure; that it hated, dreaded and avoided what the eyes of the body could not descry, and all that is intelligible, and can only be enjoyed by philosophy. Do you think, I say, that a soul in this condition can depart pure and simple from the body? No, SOCRATES, that is impossible. On the contrary, it departs stained with corporeal pollution, which was rendered natural to it by its continual commerce and too intimate union with the body at a time when it was its constant companion, and was still employed in serving and gratifying it.'

'Don't disparage the heathen philosophers,' said an eminent divine of the Church of England more than a hundred years ago, in a letter to one of his young fellowlaborers in the cause of CHRIST,' without first inquiring what those philosophers have to say for themselves. The system of morality to be gathered out of the writings or sayings of those ancient sages falls undoubtedly very far short of that delivered in the gospel, and wants beside the divine sanction which our SAVIOUR gave to His; yet a better comment could no where be collected upon the moral part of the gospel than from the writings of those excellent men. Even that divine precept of loving our enemies is

at large insisted on by PLATO, who puts it into the mouth of SOCRATES.' ... THE reader will be struck with the beautiful picture drawn by our Oriental correspondent of the pleasing accompaniments' by which the Turks surround their children, on their first going to school. A friend of ours, to whom we read the opening of the article in manuscript, vividly illustrated the different light in which first going to school is regarded in this country. I remember,' he said, 'that in my boyhood I had a great deal of trouble, in a variety of ways. Every body was served at the table to the best parts of the turkey and chicken, while I was 'fobbed off' with the gristles of the drumstick. The most dreadful event of my childhood, however, was when I was introduced to the horrors of school. Repeated efforts had been made to induce me to leave the house, and proceed into the presence of 'the dominie,' but I placed my heels against the door-sill, and 'lo! I did resist!' as Dominie SAMPSON, our school-master's prototype, observes. One morning, however, the coachman appeared with a huge grain-sack; I was thrust into it, amidst the merriment of the household, and was literally taken to school in a bag! Didn't that school-room resound with laughter when I was shaken out of that canvass receptacle!' . . . HERE we have the evidence of true appreciation, if not of fair emulation, of Oliver WendELL HOLMES; one among the most terse, epigrammatic, and picturesque of our American poets. He has power, wit, fancy, and feeling; and all, it would sometimes seem, in a double measure:

I was sitting in my easy chair, a comfortable rocker,
Feasting from the Table' of November's KNICKERBOCKER,

When I saw a spicy poem there, that quivered through my bones,
And put a mental query, Who the deuce is Dr. HOLMES?"

'Who is it has a fancy-tree so watered at the roots,

Prolifically bearing such incomparable nuts ?*

And will he raise another crop, and round about us stack 'em,

For all the hammer-headed ones to pick 'em out and crack 'em?'

I had lounged within a library, a place of holy dust,

Where they store the wheat of knowledge to preserve it from the rust;
But I knew that in the catalogue, the 'P' or 'H' partition,

There was n't any entry of your primary edition.

And I had dipped in many books, and read some one or two,

And often quoted poetry that appertained to you:

Not knowing who the author was, or where I'd seen or read it,

I wanted much to know to whom to give the proper credit.

And having brought the matter to a fixed determination,
I re-perused the poem with an inward cachination;
That pleasant sort of feeling that fills your heart about,
And you sit and smile in silence- if you move you let it out.

That hazy sort of happiness, and gentle sort of calm,
That steals upon the feelings exorcised by HOOD or LAMB:
And so I sought a stationer's, although the town was sloppy,
'If you have HOLMES' poems - No!' Well, order me a copy.'

A week or two rolled round, and then the precious copy came,
Rather weak about the vertebræ, but TiCKNOR is to blame;
A quiet, back-shelf sort of book, that I delight to see,
And bound in paper colored like the strongest sort of tea.

The leaves unseparated, as if saying, 'We are stout,
And if you get what's good in us, you've got to cut it out :'
A very modest title-page, that does n't raise your qualms,
With a fancy illustration of-of CUPID catching clams.

*Nux Postconatica.'

And then and there I found again those jewels with whose sheen
My fancy had been dazzled since I entered my first ''teen;'
Those jewels that the 'Daily' sets in lead upon his 'form,'
When his patriotism's cooling, and the devil's getting warm.

Those 'fleshless arms' for many years had beat about my brain,
And greatly had I longed to feel that fire-pulse leap again :
Your boat was lost; no wreck of it about my memory stirred,
Save a word or two, (as see above,) and all of stanza third.

And I had seen the 'Poet's Lot,' and read some one's reply,

But then the thought had less of grace, and more acerbity;

For the pretty village maidens had no 'urns' to reëncore them,

But were told to sleep in church-yards, with 'maudlin cherubs' o'er them.

A scrap or two of lyric this, and line of poem that,

Had lain for years within the place on which I wear a hat;

And when they were non-apropos, I'd bore' my friends, and quote 'em,
Yet never knew, (or cared, in truth,) who moved the pen that wrote 'em.

'As one may show a toy he has,' some jewel or bijou,
From Guinea, or resulting from the 'Conquest of Peru;'

Or twist the wire that's wrapped about a cork until it cracks,
And never care who vintaged it, or who put on the wax.

But here I have them all again, a goodlie companie,'
Truth and wit and humor joined to graceful poetry:

I knew in course of time they'd have their paper resurrections,
For such conjunctions never die, like common interjections.

'Tis odd what little taste there is in most of the 'cuisine'
Of mental dishes meant to keep our hearts from growing lean;
They're always serving cheeses in a crusty sort of coat,
On BYRONIC bonny-clabber, when we want a spicy float:

So many pen-like pencils have been nibbed upon the fields,
The birds and woods and flowers, that outward nature yields,
That pastoral and autumn leaves must both remain uncurled,
Unless invention's strong enough to make another world.

Modern didactitians too may vainly try to cope,

Appropriate or modify from VIRGIL or from POPE,

But I'd rather read a page of yours, in calm and quiet pleasure,

Than drink whole draughts of Helicon from MILTON'S gallon-measure.

So I thank you for a thousand quiet natty little lines,

As full of gold as if they came from California's mines;

But when we seek your gold we do not dig your pages through,

And wash a cubic foot of words to get a grain or two.

When the colonists at Lexington had first got up their bile,
They poured their shot upon the rank, and rather cut the file;
Like our very great forefathers I am moved in my 'internals,'
And pray to meet more nuts like these, to pick out all their 'Kernels.'
Kentucky, February 12, 1849.

C. A. PAOS.

JOHN CONRAD FRANCIS DE HATZFELD, who lived in the time of Sir ISAAC NEWTON, must have been a stupendous philosopher. We have just been reading a volume of his, 'imprinted for himself by Tнo. Churchill, over against Exeter Exchange, in the Strand, London,' more than an hundred and twenty years ago. His work, which is called 'The Case of the Learned Represented,' was written to put down NEWTON, whose notions in relation to attraction and gravitation are pronounced as 'erroneous as they are marvellous,' and calculated to overturn both natural and revealed religion.