Of all his senses, however, that which proved the most extraordinary, and which gave him so many disagreeable and painful sensations as frequently to make him miserable, was the sense of smelling. What to ordinary olfactories, is entirely scentless, was by no means so to his. The most delicate and delightful odours of flowers, such, for instance," as those imparted by the rose, were perceived by him as insupportable stenches, which painfully affected his nerves. What announces itself to others by its smell only when near, was scented by him at a great distance. Excepting the smell of bread, of fennel, of anise, and of caraway, to which he had been already accustomed in his prison, (for there, it appears, his bread was seasoned with these condiments,) all kinds of smells were more or less disagreeable to him: so much so, that, when asked, which of all smells he liked best, he piquantly replied, "none at all."

His walks and rides were often rendered very unpleasant by their conducting him near flower gardens, tobacco fields, nut trees, and other ordinary shrubs and plants, which affected his olfactory nerves, and caused him to pay dearly for his recreations in the open air, by their inflicting upon him head-aches, cold-sweats, and attacks of fever. Tobacco in blossom he could smell at the distance of fifty paces; and that hung up to dry, one hundred paces off. He could distinguish apple, pear, and plum trees from each other, at a considerable distance, by the smell of their leaves. The different colouring materials used in painting and dying, and even the ink and pencil with which he wrote-in short, all things around him wafted odours to his nostrils which were either unpleasant or painful to him. The smell of old cheese sickened him. The smell of vinegar, though it stood some distance from him, would bring tears into his eyes. The smell of champaign and other wines, would produce a heat in his head, and make him ill; but of all smells, the most horrible to him, was that of fresh meat.

d

In the autumn of 1828, when Caspar was walking with professor Daumer near St. John's churchyard, the smell of the dead bodies in their graves, of which the professor had not the slightest perception, affected him so powerfully that he was immediately seized with an ague. This was soon succeeded by an intense, feverish heat, which at length broke out into a most profuse perspiration. After the profuse sweats had subsided, he felt better, but complained that his sight had been obscured by this severe attack. Similar effects were experienced by him after walking for some time near a tobacco field.

•In'stânse-not, inʼstunse.

once

Dis'tanse-not, dis'tunse. Wêr. dA'gå

d

Caspar's sense of feeling, and susceptibility of metallick and magnetick excitement, were also very extraordinary. When professor Daumer, by way of experiment, held the north pole of a magnet towards him, he put his hand to the pit of his stomach, and, drawing his waistcoat in an outward direction, remarked that the magnet drew him thus, and that a current of air seemed to proceed from him. The south pole affected him less powerfully; and he said that it appeared like a current of air blowing upon him.

In regard to his sensibility to the presence of metals, and his power to distinguish them from each other merely by his feelings, one or two instances may suffice. On entering a store filled with hardware, he immediately hurried out again, being affected with violent shuddering, and complaining that he felt a drawing sensation in every part of his body, and in all directions at once. Upon a person's slipping a gold coin into Caspar's hand without his seeing it, he immediately remarked, that he felt gold in his hand. At a time when Caspar was absent, professor Daumer once placed a gold ring, a brass and steel compass, and a silver drawing pen under some paper, and in such a manner that it was impossible for him to see what was concealed under it. Mr. Daumer then directed him to move his finger over the paper without touching it. He did so; and by the difference of the sensation and the power of attraction which the various metals caused him to feel at the points of his fingers, he accurately distinguished and described them all, each from the other, according to its respective matter and form.

With a view to deceive him, Caspar was once required, in the presence of several distinguished gentlemen, to run his hand over the paper, when, as they supposed, nothing was concealed under it. After moving his finger over it, he exclaimed, “there it draws." "But this time,” replied professor Daumer, as he withdrew the paper, "you are mistaken, for nothing lies under it." Caspar seemed, at first, to be somewhat embarrassed; but putting his finger again to the place where he thought he had felt the drawing, he assured them more positively than before, that he there felt a drawing. The oil cloth was then removed; and upon making a stricter search, a needle was actually found under it.

But notwithstanding the interest and instruction to be derived from an examination of Caspar's physical and physiological aspect, the contemplation of his intellectual powers and of their development and operation, after having lain so long dormant,

a Eks-site'ment. Wêr. Eks-pèr'è 'ment. "To årdz him-not, todzim. Dor'mânt—not, munt.

opens up a field still more richly stored with novelty and just subjects of philosophical investigation and whilst we here discover the acuteness of his natural understanding, we are, at the same time, enabled to draw exact conclusions concerning the fate of his life, and the state of utter neglect in which his mind had so long been left by the profligacy and baseness of human beings. Though his heart was filled with a child-like gentleness and kindness, which rendered him incapable of hurting a worm or a fly, much less, a man-though, in all the various relations of life, his conduct evinced that his soul was as pure and spotless as the reflex of the eternal in the soul of an angel, yet, as has already been observed, he brought with him from his dungeon to the light of the world, not an idea, not the least presentiment of the existence of a God, not the shadow of a belief in a more elevated, invisible intelligence than himself. Raised like an animal, slumbering even while awake, in the desert of his narrow dungeon, sensible only of the crudest wants of animal nature, occupied with nothing but the taking of his food and the eternal sameness of his wooden horses, his life may be compared to that of an oyster, which, adhering to its rock, is sensible of nothing but the absorption of its food, and perceives nothing but the everlasting, uniform dashing of the waves, finding in its narrow shell no room for the most limited idea of a world without. But Caspar was soon enabled to form a just conception of spiritual existences, and of a God; and he has now become as sincerely pious as he is innocent and amiable.

In October, 1828, an attempt was made, at mid-day, to murder Caspar in the house of his patron and tutor, professor Daumer, with whom he then resided. The foul assassin who rushed in upon him, gave him a severe wound in his forehead with a sharp instrument, which was supposed to have been aimed at his throat The blood-thirsty wretch (who is believed to be known at Nuremberg, and is supposed to be either the former keeper of Caspar, or one instrumental in his incarceration) made his escape, and, at the time of the writing of this narrative, had continued relude the arm of justice.

In 1831 Caspar was adopted, by the Earl of Stanhope, as his fozter on; and long ered this, he has probably taken him home with him to England.* Thus, this tender plant has hap

þú--zôf'fè-kål. båne'jêl. Eg-zist'ênse—not, unse. dåre.

*The earthly career of the ill-fated Caspar Hauser, was short; his life, enigmatically wonderful; his end, tragical. On the 14th of December, 1833, he was met in the Palace Garden, at Anspach, by the same villain (according to Caspar's account) that attempted to assassinate him in 1828. In this last attempt, the assassin was

pily been transferred to a more genial soil, where it will be nourished and protected from the rude blasts of a bustling world.*

SECTION XI.

Traits of Indian Character.-IRVING.

THERE is something in the character and habits of the North American savage', taken in connexion with the scenery over which he is accustomed to range', its vast lakes', boundless forests', majestick rivers', and trackless plains', that is', to my mind', wonderfully striking and sublime'. He is formed for the wilderness', as the Arab is for the desert'. His nature is stern', simple', and enduring'; fitted to grapple with difficulties', and to support privations'. There seems but little soil in his heart for the growth of the kindly virtues'; and yet', if we would but take the trouble to penetrate through that proud stoicism and habitual taciturnity which lock up his character from casual observation', we should find him linked to his fellow man of civilized life by more of those sympathies and affections than are usually ascribed to him'.

It was the lot of the unfortunate aborigines of America', in the early periods of colonization', to be doubly wronged by the white men'. They have been dispossessed of their hereditary domains by mercenary and frequently wanton warfare'; and their characters have been traduced by bigoted and interested writers'. The colonist'. . has often treated them like beasts of the forest'; and the author'.. has endeavoured to justify him in his outrages'. The former found it easier to exterminate than to civilize the latter', to vilify than to discriminate'. The appellations of savage and pagan', were deemed sufficient to

aFor-not, fer, nor, f'r. bin hiz heart—not, in iz art. to him—not, to im. Dis-pôz-zêst'. In'têr'ẻst-ed.

but too successful in the accomplishment of his diabolical purpose. Drawing sud. denly a concealed dagger, he plunged it twice into the breast of Caspar, who, after lingering three days, expired of his wounds. The villain fled; and, at the date of the latest accounts, he had not been apprehended. Suspicion had fallen upon a merchant of Bavaria.-It appears that Lord Stanhope had not taken Caspar to Eng. land; but, up to the time of his death, had contributed to his support at Anspach.

*These extracts are not designed to supersede the labours of the worthy translator of "Caspar Hauser," but are presented with the view of bringing these labours into notice of recommending to the reading portion of the community, one of the most interesting and valuable publications of the present day--a cheap little volume which opens a new and rich vein of instruction, not unworthy the attention of the physiologist, the naturalist, and the philosopher

sanction the hostilities of both'; and thus'.. the poor wanderers of the forest were persecuted and defamed', not because they were'.. guilty', but because they were... ignorant'.

The rights of the savage have seldom been properly appre ciated or respected by the white man'. In peace', he has too often been the dupe of artful traffick'; in war', he has been regarded as a ferocious animal', whose life or death was a question of mere precaution and convenience'. Man is cruelly wasteful of life when his own safety is endangered', and he is sheltered by impunity'; and little mercy is to be expected from him when he feels the sting of the reptile', and is conscious of the power to destroy'.

The same prejudices which were indulged thus early', exist', in common circulation', at the present day'. Certain learned societies', it is true', have endeavourde', with laudable diligence', to investigate and record the real characters and manners of the Indian tribes'. The American government', too', has wisely and humanely exerted itself to inculcate a friendly and forbearing spirit towards them', and to protect them from fraud and injustice'. The current opinion of the Indian character', however', is too apt to be formed from the miserable hordes which infest the frontiers', and hang on the skirts of the settlements'. These'.. are too commonly composed of degenerate beings', corrupted and enfeebled by the vices of society', without being benefited by its civilization'. That proud independence which formed the main pillar of savage virtue', has been shaken down', and the whole moral fabrick lies in ruins'. Their spirits'. . are humiliated and debased by a sense of inferiority', and their native courage'.. cowed and daunted' by the superiour knowledge and power of their enlightened neighbours'. Society has advanced upon them like one of those withering airs that will sometimes breathe desolation over a whole region of fertility'. It has ener vated their strength', multiplied their diseases', and superindu ced upon their original barbarity the low vices of artificial life. It has given them a thousand superfluous wants', whilst it has diminished their means of mere existence'.h It has driven before it the animals of the chase', which fly from the sound of the axe and the smoke of the settlement', and seek refuge in the depths of remoter forests and yet untrodden wilds'. Thus do we too often find the Indians on our frontiers to be the mere wrecks and remnants of once powerful tribes', that have lingered in the vicinity of the settlements', and sunk into precarious Wêr. Rep'til. Gåv'årn'ment—not, guv'ur'munt. dând-not, un. eSet'-tl'ments-not, munts. fDant'èd. E-ner'vå'ted. Eg-zist'ense. In'de-ânz.