1881.] STUDIES IN COMPARATIVE PHRENOLOGY. the whole brain and lines the interior of the skull, and is so elevated by the cerebral convolutions in life that they form impressions in the interior plate of the cranium, and in the orbitary plates and temporal fossæ. So close indeed is the correspondence, that if a plaster cast of the cranial cavity be made, it will be found to have the form of the encephalon as covered by the dura-mater, with its arteries and veins exhibited in a 17 plate, as do also those adjacent belonging to the frontal lobe. 2. At the posterior end of this fissure are two curved cylindrical bodies, n: these are the optic nerves-which in their prolongation are distributed each in a globe of the eyes, where it forms by its expansion the membrane known as the retina. 3. Between these nerves an expanded body, m, is seen: the sub-sphenoidal root or stem, at the base of which are two striking manner. On its lower surface the human brain shows several features which it is important to note (Figs. 194, 196). Proceeding from front to rear, we find: 1. A fissure or division between the hemispheres. Lying on each side, near the line of separation, is an elongated rounded mass, o, terminating by an oval extremity a little expanded; this is the olfactory nerve which distributes itself in the nasal cavities. The convolution in which it is placed lies upon the orbitary rounded bodies, j, known in most of the anatomical works as the mammary tubercles on account of their form. These are white or pale-colored on the surface and gray inside. 4. Projecting on each side of the mammary tubercles are the common oculomotor nerves, or those of the third pair 1, which penetrate into the orbitary cavities by the sphenoidal cleft. Outside these nerves are two large, striated bundles, h, proceeding from within outwardly; these are the "grand fasces" of Gall, or the cerebral peduncles of other anat- | temporal lobe of the brain. These are omists. 5. Between these fasces, more outwardly, is a long nervous thread, q: the nerve of the fourth pair, or pathetic nerve. 6. Directly behind it a bundle of considerable size and laminated, p: the nerve of the fifth pair, or the Trifacial. 7. Laterally and adjoining the coarse cerebral bundles, h, are numerous convolutions occupying the middle and lateral fosse of the base of the skull, and indicated by the Nos. 10, 11, 12, 13, k, k, and forming in great part the middle lobe or more voluminous and rounded than those which lie upon the orbitary plates. The space between the convolution, 12, and that marked 15 (Fig. 196), is called Fissure of Silvius, separating the anterior or frontal lobe from the middle (or temporal). The lower surface of the posterior or occipital lobes is concealed by the cerebellum, except the convolutions indicated by the number 20. When the brain is not deprived of the dura-mater that shows a transverse fold slightly inclined, separating the cerebellum from the hemispheres. A VISION OF WAR. WHILE silently reflecting how sweet | the fierce fire-kisses they fell with crash it was that peace prevailed through- and roar. Soldiers swarmed everywhere, out our land, a voice said: "What know you of war that you fancy peace so great a boon? Look forth!" Through vast regions of boundless air my vision seemed to pierce and behold a broad plain covered with ripened grain spread before me. The far-away chimes of a church were ringing, when suddenly with fife-shriek and drum-beat an army burst into the fields, forming in battle array. Soon cannon-ball, shot and shell hissed, thundered, and flashed through the scene. Mangled men, groaning, blackened, with dishevelled hair, torn limbs, and streaming blood, lay everywhere; still the fife uttered its shriek, still men, distorted to demons, fought, raved, died, throughout a long summer day. "Do you know this field?" whispered the voice. My horror-white lips motioned "Waterloo!" The vision passed; then a great snowwaste appeared. The air seemed hissing cold. It was night, yet a light shone abroad; when I sought its source, for it was too spectral for God's daylight, too vivid for the fair radiance of moonbeams, I perceived it came from the burning of a large city. Up the tall, shining spires the flames mounted, leaped; melted with fighting the unresisting. At length all faded. Through the dim, succeeding silence a long, dark procession passed in the biting air, and one by one, two by two, a group, a line, they dropped beside the way, and snow-wreaths winded round them as they turned dead, blank faces to the sky. "You know this!" murmured the voice. "Ay! Moscow, Russia, Napoleon's army," I whispered, as the spectre-scene faded into blankness. "Look again!" the invisible presence said. "No!" I cried; "I will not. Why should my soul be harrowed by horrors enacted before I had being? Need I burden myself with the agonies, sins, atrocities that have darkened earth since the first man struck down his brother, inaugurating bloodshed, murder?" The voice came again: "Well, it matters nothing that you should see those long-past events. War has been known in your day. You were too young, too ignorant to appreciate its terrible aspects; yet you must learn this lesson. I command you look again." Despite myself I looked out; the sun was slowly rising. A forest appeared, bright with a halo of green leaves and mingled sunbeams; beside the forest a corn-field rustled its ripening leaves. Everything was in motion. Men in gray apparel were forming in line for miles under cover of the forest; in front of them three bridges spanned a slight stream; sixty great guns, more terrible than dragons, commanded the chief one. As the sun stood fully out, its mighty eye turned upon the scene; the tumult of war broke forth. Smoke, shot, shell, filled the air. One side wavered, then the other. Fresh troops sprang up, as 'twere from the earth. One regiment I followed with my eyes—a thousand men; they rushed into this maelstrom; thirty-two, baptized in blood, came forth; every cannon was a fiery furnace, every square yard of ground an epitome of hell. Noon came, one o'clock, two, three, four. "Great God!" I cried, "will it never end?" Four times the contested corn-field changed hands; new troops in gray came; the officer of the blues looked dark, was forced back; his attack became defense; he called for help; only five thousand men came, with the order, "Hold the bridge to the last man, or all is lost." But the firing grows less fierce; the sun swoops to the west, seems to hasten from the horrible sight, sinks below the horizon, silence falls, as I sigh, "Our country and our God can not forget Antietam." The picture faded; another rose like a mist; the brightness of June filled the air; it was night-a night of turmoil. Groans of wounded men came borne on the night breeze; anxiety brooded in the air. There had been battles; men were snatching fitful slumbers, resting on their arms. A small village appeared, through which armed men rode. A short distance away, where white marble tablets of the dead stood like spirits surveying the scene, men in blue are stationed. One could see that pits were being dug, earthworks thrown up, the struggle would go on by daylight. Morning came and passed, three o'clock struck; then batteries belched forth death. With a fierce cry the infantry in 19 gray charged, the blue were forced back; the gray tried to gain the rocky height; they struggled, wrestled, writhed, fell back, again advanced, twisted in and in, like two great serpents the two armies contended; then night curtained the scene. Again the sun rose, the July sun, sending its hot beams upon men torn, disfigured, dead; upon men wounded, yet untended by mother's hand, by sister's love; upon long lines of men in hostile array with weapons bright in the sunlight. They dashed with deadly fierceness upon each other and fought for hours. Then came the silence which precedes tempest; three hours it lasted, one o'clock struck, a signal gun spoke; then one hundred and twenty-five guns concentrated fire on the men in blue, stationed upon Cemetery Hill; a hundred guns replied, the earth shook, the roar was like the crash of worlds, the range was short, the aim accurate, death feasted. The blues were resting when the fire opened; lying upon the grass, they fell again as they sprang up-dead, with cigars in their lips; dead, with bread in their hands; dead, grasping the miniatures of loved women. Horses, plunging headlong, shrieked aloud with fright and agony; branches of trees, earth-clods, bits of splintered grave-stones flew crashing around. In five minutes the hill, in all unsheltered spots, was clear of every moving being; the dead below, the dead above, were equally silent. Directed to other points, for an hour the guns roared incessantly. The blues were hushed, the grays thought the hour their own. Forward, with near three-mile lines of strong infantry, with measured tread, across the plain, up the hill, they advance. Four o'clock strikes! Silent as the dead the blues remain; the grays still advance three lines deep. Suddenly, from thrice six thousand guns an avalanche of leaden death is hurled upon them. Like snow in summer the first line melts; the second, like a tempest, sweeps onward; the blue gunners are bayoneted, the red, white, and red standard waves above their guns; but an enfilading fire strikes the line, it goes down to dust. As the smoke rises all who live throw down their arms. It is the last struggle, it is defeat to the gray. The blood of forty thousand men, with a dreadful baptism, had re-christened-no, not that—deluged Gettysburg. "No more," I shrieked, "no more." "None of this blood can be attributed to me, a woman, far from the conflict, utterly without political influence. This blood can not, shall not stain me!" The voice whispered, "What! have ye not heard he who is not for us is against us, and he who gathereth not with us scattereth abroad? Thou hast a voice, thou dost wield a certain influence with a pen; hast thou ever used them in endeavoring to promulgate peace principles, in discouraging the war sentiment? Thy brother's blood crieth to thee from every rood of earth beneath the sun. Cease frivolous pursuits, go forth preaching the gospel of peace to all people, to every nation. If thou canst estimate it, tell the world what the human butcher bill of England, Russia, Egypt, Persia, France, America, has been. The moneyvalue of a man-slave in our land varied from four hundred to one thousand dollars. Count, then, if thou canst, how many millions of money war has swept from earth, if men are simply beasts of burden. The worth of tears, widowhood, orphanage, is not counted here on earth. 'Tis not so above. There they are estimated, valued, set down in the great book of record. "Try to comprehend the far-reaching consequences of the Crimean war, when 750,000 men were slaughtered at a cost of $1,700,000,000; of the Franco-German war, when 215,000 men were slain, at a cost of $2,000,000,000; of the Russo-Turkish war, when 600,000 men murdered each other at a cost of $1,250,000,000; of the late American conflict, when 800,000 men were butchered at the cost of $7,400,000,000. "Consider the acts of violence prompted by fostering the war-spirit in mankind. Consider the cost of standing armies, in money and in moral deterioration. Consider the immense amount of labor and treasure that have been expended, and afterward destroyed or locked up in fortifications, forts, arsenals, ammunition, and weapons of war. Behold the earth, with grain-fields trampled hard as stone, with forests mangled or burnt. Behold dwellings, storehouses, villages, cities plundered, destroyed, leaving their helpless inhabitants, innocent women and children homeless, foodless, to perish. "Ponder all these things in thy heart of hearts, realize fully what war has taken away, and what it has prevented by im. proper expenditure of labor and money. Then thou mayst be fitted to speak with force and authority upon the most vital question of the day-the end of warfare, the promotion of peace, by settling difficulties between nations through arbitration. "True, thou art weak and slight of body and mind, but the crying of a feeble infant may waken the strong man, sending him forth to the labors of the world. Thy little wail may be caught up by the giant mind of some soul, awaiting a great intellectual and moral waking. Thy voice may yet reverberate throughout the centuries, though unheard by mortal ears, drowned by the trumpet-tones of one thou hast called forth into the work. Go write, speak; thou art commissioned UNFORGETTING. OH, could we but forget! Thank God we come From the eternal past, no memory kept Of those celestial bowers in which we slept 'Mid amaranths and roses :-floated home O'er scas of amber, 'neath the crystal dome Of unremembered suns and stars. We wept, And with our tears oblivion fell: then stept We through the ivory gates of life, like foam Cast on the shore, forgetful of the coast From whence it came; thence we float on, and on, Accumulating thought on thought, wild tossed, Full-freighted barques; the sad winds making moan Athrough our heavy sales; no memory lost Of all our griefs, or our mishaps-not one ELIZABETH OAKES SMITH. |