seen for several months, and what became vidual, whose appearance bespoke great of them, or whither they went, he could never learn. The crow, like the raven, may be easily tamed, and converted into a very entertaining member of a family; though, like the rest of the tribe, he is sure to carry off, to some secret store, whatever he can conveniently dispose of. He soon becomes quite familiar, and distinguishes at a glance a stranger from one of his friends; and, even after a long absence, will recollect those from whom he has received kindness. A gentleman had reared one, and kept it for a long time, but at length it disappeared, and was supposed to have been killed; when to his great surprise, about a year afterwards, as he was walking out, a crow, flying over his head, in company with others, left them, and, flying towards him, perched on his shoulder. He soon recognised the bird to be his lost favorite; but, though the crow appeared very glad to see its old master, it seemed to have learned the value of liberty, and would not allow itself to be caught; and at last, looking up after its companions, again took wing, and was never seen or heard of more. It has been observed, that they are usually of solitary habits, seldom associating in greater numbers than pairs; but this rule has also its exceptions, and the following instances of the mysterious assemblages of birds may be justly classed amongst their most extraordinary instinctive habits. : alarm. One of the party then seemed to address the conclave, by clapping its wings for about five minutes. It was followed by a second, a third, and a fourth, in regular succession; each, like the first, clapping its wings in the same odd and significant manner. At last they all joined in chorus, and then with one accord fell upon the poor culprit in the middle, and despatched him in a few seconds; after which they rose up in a body, and one, according to their custom, taking the lead, flew off to the southward. This curious story is in some degree corroborated by the opinion of old writers, one of whom (Bellonius) in describing the migrations of these birds in the Eastern countries, says, that when they go away, the stork that comes last to the place of rendezvous is killed on the spot by the others. At Dunham, near Altrincham, in Cheshire, the seat of the Earl of Stamford, there is a heronry, which has existed for many years. It happened, about the latter end of March, or beginning of April, a few years ago, that a gentleman, riding along the turnpikeroad, saw, in a small field, abou a mile from the trees where the birds breed, about thirtyfive or forty standing on the ground, and occasionally moving slowly in various directions. At first he was uncertain what birds they were, as their heads were thrown back, and they appeared little raised from the ground; but, on approaching the spot, he was soon satisfied that they were herons. His presence, however, had no other effect (though in general they are remarkably shy and cautious) than inducing those nearest the hedge, where he had stationed himself In the northern parts of Scotland, and in the Feroe Islands, extraordinary meetings of crows are occasionally known to occur. They collect in great numbers, as if they had been all summoned for the occasion; a few to watch their motions, to walk leisurely of the flock sit with drooping heads, and to a more distant part of the field. He reothers seem as grave as judges, while others again are exceedingly active and noisy in the course of about an hour they disperse, and it is not uncommon, after they have flown away, to find one or two left dead on the spot. These meetings will sometimes continue for a day or two, before the object, whatever it may be, is completed. Crows continue to arrive from all quarters during the session. As soon as they have all arrived, a very general noise ensues; and, shortly after, the whole fall upon one or two individuals and put them to death: when this execution has been performed, they quietly disperse. mained for some time a spectator of their with the opinion that it was a deliberate singular assemblage, which impressed him council; and we agree with him that in this which occurred in the autumn, their object case, at least, though not in the preceding, takes place about that time. We are the was connected with the usual pairing, which having witnessed meetings in some degree more strengthened in the opinion, from similar amongst magpies, and some other birds. In the month of February, we recollect once seeing a prodigious number of magpies in a field; some hopping about near the Another and nearly similar meeting was hedge, others secreted in the hedge, and no once witnessed near Oggersheim, a village less than twenty-seven perched on a small on the banks of the Rhine; where, in a large ash-tree. At first, the presence of a fox was meadow, every autumn, the storks assemble, suspected, knowing it to be a constant practo hold (as the country people call it) a tice with these birds to collect, if Reynard council, just before their annual migration. shows himself; but, as they did not appear On one of these occasions about fifty were to be hovering over any particular spot, as observed, formed in a ring round one indi-if a concealed enemy were lurking near, we inclined to the opinion, that some private concerns of their own had brought them together. The chattering was incessant, and when disturbed, and under the necessity of beating a retreat, they flew nearly in the same direction, as if disposed to adjourn their meeting to a more retired spot, than with a view to break it up. A singular habit, somewhat similar, little known or noticed, though uncommon, pre vails also among starlings. If carefully watched, they may be seen occasionally to alight in a regular circular form. A numerous flock was once seen to divide itself into two companies, each forming a distinct circle. If undisturbed, they will remain a considerable time in the same place, uttering the same twittering note upon the ground, as when perched on trees or reeds. This habit is usually observable in pastures; sometimes, though rarely, in stubble-fields; but never upon fallow or new-ploughed land. We have pointed out some of the broad marks of distinction between the crow and the rook, as far as relates to their food and habits: a slight reference to the personal difference between them will be sufficient. The beak of the crow is more bent and rather stronger, and is never without the bristly feathers that cover the base and the nostrils, as is the case with the rook, whose beak, when of full growth, is easily distinguished by the naked and scurfy white skin at its base and on the chin, produced, as some naturalists assert, by the bristles being rubbed off, owing to its constantly thrusting its bill deep into the soil, in search of worms and insects. We feel, however, much inclined to doubt this, and would rather attribute this nakedness to the base of the bill, to an original and natural peculiarity. It has been well argued, in favor of the former opinion, that a specimen was killed whose beak was much longer than usual, and the extremities of which were not only much curved, but actually crossed, like a crossbill's, and that the base of the beak of this bird, from an impossibility of its being thrust into the ground, was clothed with a full plumage of bristles, and not bare like those of other rooks. On the other hand, it has been urged, that if these bristles were worn down by being thrust into the ground, they would be renewed, like other feathers, at the regular moulting-time; and, further, as all new feathers are full of blood at the roots, any application tending to grind them down, would be so painful to the rook, that it would be very unwilling, if indeed able, to thrust its beak into the ground; and again, -which we consider as a still stronger argument-it may be asked, if the rook's bristles are destroyed by this process, how comes it that the jackdaw, jay, and magpie, and some other birds, retain them, though as constantly thrusting their beaks into the ground, in search of worms, as the rooks? When viewed together, a further distinction will be seen between the rook and the common crow, in the glossy colors of their plumage; that of the rook being more inclined to a rich purple, whereas that of the other supposed distinctive mark, which we crow is of a greenish blue. There is one shall mention, merely because we believe it does not exist-namely, that the rook has a pouch under its chin, in which it can carry a full supply of food for its young. "It is perfectly true," says Dr. Stanley, "that rooks appear to have such an appendage; in the spring-time, it is particularly conspicuous, when they may be seen flying with a swelling under the throat, of the size of a pigeon's egg; but closer observers have discovered that in the crow, jackdaw, &c., there is the same elasticity and pliability of the skin; and that they not only can, but do often take in a provision of throat out to a considerable size; though, food, which swells the upper part of the owing to the grey color of the rook's chin, this swelling is more apparent.' POPULAR DISCUSSIONS. THE BOOKSELLERS.-No. III. WE have found little difficulty in disposing of the " Cheap Booksellers ;" of Retail Booksellers; and of Authors. We have chronicled their doings, their misdoings, their hopes, their fears, and their final doom, to many, disappointment; perhaps something worse. We have now only to perform the promise we gave with respect to the wholesale Booksellers" "liberality." It has been said, that if all profit be withholden from the retail dealer, and all new books be sold by their publishers or their servants over the counter, the Public will be thereby benefited. The benefit, it is said, will be the exact difference formerly made by the publisher to the retail dealer. For instance,-if one of the "large houses" published a book at 6s., and charged a dealer 4s. 6d. for it (making him thereby an allowance of 25 per cent.), it is imagined that the said establishments would, under the proposed new arrangements, now issue the same book to the PUBLIC at 4s. 6d., and let them have the benefit! This is a huge fallacy. We can hardly write seriously about it. The wholesale booksellers have talked very largely of late; and have endeavored to make the Public believe that they are deeply anxious to protect the fair-dealing tradesman. "Interested" in so doing, they are, doubtless; but not in the way they wish the world to believe. They well know,cunning Isaacs! that the more retail booksellers there are, the more outlets present themselves for the circulation of their books. So far, and no further, does their "kind interest" extend. Among all existing monopolies, Paternoster Row ranks first and foremost. The words liberality of feeling, as applied to this locality, are quite out of place. As a market for books, it is indeed unrivalled; but nothing beyond. There is no living author that will not readily attest this. Were a Publisher to forego any part of his full profit to benefit the PUBLIC, and were he to issue a book one farthing cheaper in consequence of there being no allowance made to the retail dealer, then should we believe the moon was made of green cheese, and that the end of the world was near at hand. A better joke has not been launched for a century. We shall keep an eye on these noble, kind-hearted gentlemen, and narrowly watch over the best interests of-the Public. BIRDS OF SONG. Give me but Something whereunto I may bind my heart, No. XVIII. THE NIGHTINGALE. WHILST OUR FAVORITE, THE NIGHTINGALE, is yet with us, and ere his sweet voice altogether ceases to be heard in our latitudes parental cares, alas! have almost silenced him for the season-we are most particularly anxious to clear him, once and for ever, of the ridiculously-false charge of his being a "melancholy bird," and his song indicative of grief. Surely not; surely not, ye lovers of melody. Whence this strange and unfair reading of our "pet's" musical voice, we know not. When HE sings, all nature is happy." When silence prevails throughout the night, and HIS love-chant is not heard upon the breeze, are we not melancholy from the loss? Assuredly, yes. "Hail, lovely nightingale! Most musical,-most melancholy bird!” Indeed, nearly all the heaven-born poets follow, as if by mutual compact, in the same morbid strain; which to us is marvellous. Let us charitably hope, out of deference to the taste of the older poets, that our modern nightingale is quite a different bird from that immortalised in days of yore. It must be so. Let us confirm the thought, by quoting from one of our later poets, Coleridge. His ideas of love and music-sweet association!—are very closely akin to our own: "List to the 'merry nightingale,' Should be too short for him to utter forth This view of our hero is graphically mope "when we are affectionately joyous, being subject to necessary and highly proper conventional observances, Philomel, recog * In a little book, translated from the German by Sarah Austin, and entitled "A Story without an End"-a book, by the way, which everybody should get by heart-we find an account of a young and noble child wandering about, in ecstatic innocence and delight, among birds and flowers; and some of his pleasures are very delightfully recorded. As these pleasures refer particularly to the nightingale's joyous habits, and prove him to be anything but a melancholy bird, they could not be introduced at a more apposite season." There was no end to the child's delight. The little birds warbled and sang, and fluttered and hopped about; and the delicate wood-flowers gave out their beauty and their odors. Every sweet sound took a sweet odor by the hand, and thus walked through the open door of the child's heart, and But the held a joyous nuptial dance therein. nightingale and the lily of the valley led the dance; for the nightingale sang of nought but love, and the lily breathed of nought but innocence; and he was the bridegroom and she was the bride. And the nightingale was weary of repeating the same sentiments a hundred times over, for the spring of love which gushed from his heart was ever new; and the lily bowed her head bashfully, that no one might see her glowing heart. And yet the one lived so solely and one could see entirely in the other, that no whether the notes of the nightingale were floating "Sad bird! pour through the gloom thy weeping lilies, or the lilies visible notes; falling like dew 66 It is a strange fact, that many of our best poets have ranged themselves together on the dark side of this lovely bird. Pollok, for instance, whose inspired powers none can dispute, apostrophises the nightingale thus: song; Pour all thy dying melody of grief; never drops from the nightingale's throat. The child's heart was full of joy, even to the brim."-No doubt it was. That boy was one of Nature's own children. We should not grieve had we a dozen such boys.-ED. K. J. nising no such trammels, gives way to unrestrained gaiety of spirit; telling us in all the expressive language which music alone can so happily convey, and liberty alone inspire, the thoughts of his heart, the rapture of his soul. This is courtship, if you please. But let us travel onward. In order to keep your nightingales in good health, and cheerful withal, be careful to provide them with fresh, clean water every morning, so that they may take their bath regularly. When your birds are tame, and used to be waited on, you may open the door at the back of their cage, and hang thereon a square mahogany bath, similar to, but of course a size larger, than the one we recommended for canaries. Into this they will jump; and so thoroughly will they disguise themselves by their ablutions, that recog; nition would be impossible. They will spend some little time in this aquatic diversion; and when tired, they will withdraw. Some considerable period will then be occupied in arranging their feathers, and completing their toilet. This done, they will commence singing merrily. All these little minutia require to be dwelt upon; for unless such delicate attentions as we have hinted at be paid to your birds, and unless they see your delight consists in studying their happiness, that cruel demon-"jealousy," will destroy all their serenity of mind. We have had so many opportunities for verifying this, that we speak oracularly. Nor is it to be wondered at, that birds of such extraordinary vocal powers should be so "touchy,"alive to every slight. Accustomed as they are to rule the majesty of night, and hold the feathered race spell-bound by their nocturnal melody, it is no more than natural that they should like to have their supremacy duly acknowledged in the day-time also. SO them eagerly from between your thumb and finger, and swallow them, one after the other, by the dozen. And here let us give our readers a caution. We In the summer season, when flies haunt us, and render our lives burdensome-this is the case very frequently in our locality-it is a common practice to kill them with a former made into a decoction with boiling mixture of quassia-root and sugar; the water, the latter being added by way of a lure. The effect of the quassia is, first to stupify them and then to kill them. They sip it cautiously, and afterwards decamp, to die more at their leisure. Now for the evil of this. Your nightingales, ever on the lookout to capture as many flies as they can inebriated victims that blindly falls within outwit, pounce on every one of these their reach; and when swallowed, the poison is imbibed at one and the same time. once lost two splendid birds in this way, and have never forgiven ourself for our culpable if by this warning we prevent any further folly. It will, however, be some reparation, mischief. Now that the "Fly-papers" are invented-and fatal engines of destruction they are-quassia may be altogether dispensed with; though, let us add, the poor flies undergo, when chained to these resinous papers, agonies indescribable. The tortures of the Inquisition" could not by any possibility be greater. Cicero says--" Čavendum est, ne major pæna quam culpa sit." (We must take due care never to let the punishWe hardly think the barbarous inventor of ment be too great for the offence committed.) Fly-papers' ever studied this rhetoric. and he would think it "folly to be wise," With him, doubtless, "Ignorance is bliss; 66 under the circumstances. PHRENOLOGY FOR THE MILLION. BY F. J. GALL, M.D. (Continued from page 6.) If you hang them out of doors, let it be in some snug corner, overarched by a widely- No. XVI.-PHYSIOLOGY OF THE BRAIN. spreading tree. Sheltered from observation -these birds love retirement, and shun the vulgar gaze-they will, towards evening, treat you to some lovely music. It is, however, advisable to take them in-doors before dusk, lest, hearing their strains taken up, and repeated by their brethren in a state of freedom, they should pine for liberty, grow sulky, refuse their food-and die. The nightingale revels in a treat of ants' eggs; and is remarkably fond of elderberries. We should, therefore, recommend one or two of these trees being planted in your garden. They grow rapidly, and bear freely. As, however, they are decided enemies to all other trees, and carry pestilence in their wake, plant them in an out-of-the-way corner, where nothing else will grow. A nightingale is also very fond of flies. He will take AS THE BRAIN WILL BE the subject of my meditations in all the volumes of this work, I leave it now, to answer a question of high importance-viz., Does the fetus and infant while unborn, enjoy animal life, or a life purely automatic? How ought its destruction to be judged of before the tribunal of sound physiology? Those who maintain that animal life is nothing but a life of relation, an external life, that all our result of impressions on the senses, must necesmoral qualities and intellectual faculties are the sarily maintain that the fetus and the newlyborn infant are still only automata, whose destruction has no relation to an animated being. Prochaska says, "In the fetus and the newborn infant, the muscles have the automatic movement, and not the voluntary, because the brain is not yet in a state to think." Bichat likewise says, "We may conclude with confidence, that in the fetus the animal life is nothing; that all the acts attached to this age, are dependent on the organisation. The fetus has, so to speak, nothing in its phenomena of what especially characterises an animal; its existence is the same as that of vegetables. In the cruel alternative of sacrificing the child, or of exposing the mother to almost certain death, the choice cannot be doubtful. The destruction is that of a living, not of an animated being." Yes, doubtless, it is cruel to sacrifice an unfortunate mother to a feeble fetus, still menaced with dangers without number, and on whose life it is still so difficult to calculate. Nothing but certain religious notions, or the reasons of an ambitious policy, could ever recommend the dire counsel of immolating the mother in the most touching moment of her life, to the precarious existence of the infant. Still, as the expressions of Bichat, "the act involves the destruction of a living being, and not of an animate being," might lead to unlawful abuses, I consider it my duty as a physiologist, to rectify the arguments of Bichat and Prochaska. I have said that neither the organic, nor the animal life developed itself fully at once, or enjoyed simultaneously all its activity. If the possession of organic life by the fetus were contested, because several of the functions of the viscera have not yet manifested themselves, the conclusion would doubtless be severely criticised. Is it, then, more reasonable to refuse to the fetus or to the new-born infant, the possession of animal life, because his brain is not yet formed for all its propensities, all its talents, and for the faculty of thinking? If physiologists had sooner known the plurality of the cerebral organs, and of their functions; if they had distinguished the different degrees of consciousness and sensation, the desires and necessities, from thought or reflection, they would have been cautious about affirming that there exists no animal life in the fetus or new-born child. The brain of these beings is not, indeed, sufficiently developed to possess ideas, to combine and compare them; but, if this degree of perfection were necessary in order to allow them sensation and desires, it would be very difficult to determine at what period animal life does commence, and when the destruction of an infant becomes an act committed on an animate being, and, consequently, criminal. The infant has not yet the faculties of reflection and imagination; he feels as yet no affection for those of a different sex; he is not yet ambitious, &c.; but can we refuse to him the faculty of perceiving, that of memory, of inclinations, of aversions, of joy and sorrow? If the noblest functions of the brain require a certain development and a certain consistence, who shall determine the degree of development, and of consistence, necessary for functions of an inferior order? The new-born child manifests by the outline of his figure, by his movements, and his cries, the states of happiness and of suffering; he equally manifests, too, the desire of nursing, and so of other sensations. At all events, this work will become an incontrovertible proof, that there exists within us a far more fruitful source of sensations than impressions made on the senses; and consequently that it is altogether false, to assert that animal life commences only with the action of the external senses. These considerations are sufficient to prove, that the laws of animal organisation by no means support the dangerous principle avowed by certain physiologists. Of the Special Functions of the Brain, or those which belong to Animal Life in Man and Animals. In the natural order of the gradation of animals, the nervous system, which presides over the voluntary movements, comes after the great sympathetic nerve. It consists of the spinal marrow enclosed in the vertebral column. And from it, to the right and left, before and behind, issue as many pairs of nerves as there are vertebræ of which the column is composed. In caterpillars, &c., the ganglions and the pairs of nerves proceeding from them, correspond in number to the segments of which the animal consists. All these pairs of nerves go to the muscles, and give them the faculty of exercising motion. But all these nerves, at least in the more perfect animals, must be considered rather as conductors of the cerebral influence, than as independent agents: their function ceases, as soon as their free communication with the brain is interrupted. As, in a healthy state, these functions are exercised with consciousness, they are held to make part of animal life. Of a higher order, but always dependent on the brain, are the functions of the external senses. I shall have occasion, presently, to determine better than has yet been done, the functions proper to each sense. I come, then, to the noblest nervous system, the brain, and its peculiar functions. As to the structure of the brain, suffice it now to say, that the whole cavity of the cranium or head, beginning with the eyes and ending with the neck, is filled with the cerebral mass. Like the rest of the nervous system, it is composed of gelatinous substance, and of an infinity of nervous filaments, which thence derive their origin. It is this same brain which governs both the voluntary movements and the functions of the senses. It is this same brain, of which, hitherto, neither the structure nor the functions have been understood, and which yet includes all the organs of the forces, moral and intellectual, both in men and in animals. In order to conduct my readers by a luminous path, I shall first consider these moral and intellectual forces as all philosophers and physiologists consider them. I shall then show how they are defined and distinguished by the vulgar, and by common sense, which certainly, in this case, is good sense. The great proportion of philosophers agree in recognising in the soul only two faculties, the understanding and the will; the understanding, or capacity of receiving ideas; the will, or capacity of receiving different inclinations: even when they speak of |