Let us briefly contrast Julius Cæsar and Alexander. They were both, in the prime of life, placed at the head of a large empire, firmly seated, with a large army and all the world open to their grasp. Their Noses alone differed. Alexander, while pursuing everlasting fame by his arms, and earning what was then deemed the highest glory, steadily devoted himself to the extension of scientific knowledge. Under his revered master Aristotle, he acquired much learning, and, when he ascended his father’s throne, devoted his arms as much to the conquest of the then unknown realms of science as of the kingdoms of the earth. His army was always accompanied by learned men, whose sole duty it was to investigate the history, religion, and arts of the countries he passed through, to collect rare animals and plants, statues, coins, and objects of art or curiosity to be transmitted to Greece for the study of his master Aristotle. It has been well said, “If there had been no Alexander, there would have been no Aristotle.” We do not laud the man who sought glory by the destruction of others, but merely assert that, as these acts prove, his motive to arms was a high intellectual one, and consistent with the compound character of his Nose. [Illustration: JULIUS CÆSAR. ] [Illustration: ALEXANDER THE GREAT. ] (_From gems in the Florentine Museum._) Look at Julius Cæsar on the other hand. Under similar circumstances, what was his ambition? To make himself imperial master of Rome, and to subject his fellow-citizens for his own personal aggrandizement. His thoughts never extended beyond his own immediate existence. Posterity never entered into his calculations. Unlike his successor Augustus—though he had greater facilities if he had been less sensually ambitious—he patronised no art—literary or scientific. His one idea was self, without one refinement or softening alloy. Granted that Alexander’s ambition was also selfish, there was yet this difference between them; the one (Cæsar) sought only his _present personal_ and _sensuous_ profit; the other (Alexander) laboured to earn “a name on History’s page to make him ‘GREAT.’” The one was the common prose, the other the epic poem. The one sacrificed his fame to himself, the other himself to his fame; and the world has recognized and recorded this distinction: for while the one is remembered as “the enslaver of his country,” the other is immortalized as “the Great.” A similar contrast may be drawn between the characters and noses of the two modern heroes, Napoleon and Wellington. Like Alexander and Cæsar, the only point in which their characters assimilate is their warrior, physical energy; and this exhibits itself in whatever is Roman in their Noses. In all other respects they are diametrically opposite; the Nose of Wellington being purely (almost in excess) Roman; while Napoleon’s partakes largely of the refining qualities of the Greek.