Saxon ingenuity has, however, at last endeavoured to circumvent the sea. If it cannot receive _into_ its bosom the last wreck of the Celts, it can carry them _upon_ it to lands still further west, there to pine, and dwindle away and die; out of sight, and therefore out of the mind, of the haughty invader, who turns with well-feigned horror and disgust from the ruin and degradation which he has wrought. To make room for himself, he expatriates the ancient owners of the soil, not only without remorse or compunction, but with much self-laudation and pharisaical pride that he has not extirpated them, and has not—only because he could not—adopted the ingenious idea of temporarily sinking an island to purify it for his own undisputed use and enjoyment.[44] Naturally, however, the Celtic is not a low-class race. It may not have been originally so highly organized, or so mentally gifted as the Gothic; but in its infancy it had virtues which long thraldom has exterminated. It is no fiction that Cæsar found the Gaulish and British youth more apt than the Goths at acquiring the arts and language of Rome, and that, in a few years, Roman civilization, more efficient than Saxon, had converted Britain into one of the most fertile and well-ordered provinces of the empire. It is no fiction that Rome found in Britain one of the most determined opposers of its claim to universal dominion, and that if it were to be “Asked, why from Britain Cæsar did retreat? Cæsar himself might whisper—he was beat.”[45] It is no fiction that after British Christianity had been driven by Saxon Paganism from Britain into Ireland, the Irish Celts furnished the best schools for literature, and the ablest scholars in Europe—and it is no fiction that ever since the Saxon has set foot in Ireland it has continued to droop and decay, until it is now a foul bog of iniquity; a wretched irreclaimable sink of inhuman vice and monstrous infamy. Its Cogitativeness has been repressed till it cannot reflect nor appreciate any but physical modes of escape from thraldom. This is but the caged wild beast gnawing at its chain, and snapping at its keeper, whether his hand approaches to feed or to beat it. It may be said, escape lies open to it in self-elevation, in moral rectitude, and industrious exertion; but it is too late for it to see and understand that. We might as well say to the broken leg, walk now, you walked once; or to the encaged madman, calm yourself and be free, you were calm and free once. We need no better proof of the non-cogitativeness of Ireland than the facile manner in which it throws itself beneath the Juggernautic car of every demagogue, and sacrifices itself to his avaricious cruelty. We need no better proof of the truth of our theory, than that the Nose of the same nation is deficient in Cogitativeness, and is for the most part thin and sharp. It has not, however, lost the Romano-Greek profile, usual among the Caucasian races.