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F’rinstance, now whar some folks gits
To relyin’ on their wits.
Ten to one they git too smart,
And spile it all right at the start!–
Feller wants to jest go slow
And do his thinkin’ first, you know:—-
Ef I can’t think up somepin’ good,
I set still and chaw my cood!

And it was at this inviting rendezvous, two or three evenings following my arrival, that the general crowd, acting upon the random proposition of one of the boys, rose as a man and wended its hilarious way to the town hall.

“Phrenology,” said the little, old, bald-headed lecturer and mesmerist, thumbing the egg-shaped head of a young man I remembered to have met that afternoon in some law office; “Phrenology,” repeated the professor–“or rather the term phrenology–is derived from two Greek words signifying mind and discourse; hence we find embodied in phrenology-proper, the science of intellectual measurement, together with the capacity of intelligent communication of the varying mental forces and their flexibilities, etc., etc. The study, then, of phrenology is, to wholly simplify it–is, I say, the general contemplation of the workings of the mind as made manifest through the certain corresponding depressions and protuberances of the human skull, when, of course, in a healthy state of action and development, as we here find the conditions exemplified in the subject before us.”

Here the “subject” vaguely smiled.

“You recognize that mug, don’t you?” whispered my friend. “It’s that coruscating young ass, you know, Hedrick–in Cummings’ office–trying to study law and literature at the same time, and tampering with ‘The Monster that Annually,’ don’t you know?–where we found the two young students scuffling round the office, and smelling of peppermint?–Hedrick, you know, and Sweeney. Sweeney, the slim chap, with the pallid face, and frog-eyes, and clammy hands! You remember I told you ‘there was a pair of ’em?’ Well, they’re up to something here to-night. Hedrick, there on the stage in front; and Sweeney–don’t you see?–with the gang on the rear seats.”

“Phrenology–again,” continued the lecturer, “is, we may say, a species of mental geography, as it were; which–by a study of the skull–leads also to a study of the brain within, even as geology naturally follows the initial contemplation of the earth’s surface. The brain, thurfur, or intellectual retort, as we may say, natively exerts a molding influence on the skull contour; thurfur is the expert in phrenology most readily enabled to accurately locate the multitudinous intellectual forces, and most exactingly estimate, as well, the sequent character of each subject submitted to his scrutiny. As, in the example before us–a young man, doubtless well known in your midst, though, I may say, an entire stranger to myself–I venture to disclose some characteristic trends and tendencies, as indicated by this phrenological depression and development of the skull-proper, as later we will show, through the mesmeric condition, the accuracy of our mental diagnosis.”

Throughout the latter part of this speech my friend nudged me spasmodically, whispering something which was jostled out of intelligent utterance by some inward spasm of laughter.

“In this head,” said the Professor, straddling his malleable fingers across the young man’s bumpy brow–“In this head we find Ideality large–abnormally large, in fact; thurby indicating–taken in conjunction with a like development of the perceptive qualities–language following, as well, in the prominent eye–thurby indicating, I say, our subject as especially endowed with a love for the beautiful–the sublime–the elevating–the refined and delicate–the lofty and superb–in nature, and in all the sublimated attributes of the human heart and beatific soul. In fact, we find this young man possessed of such natural gifts as would befit him for the exalted career of the sculptor, the actor, the artist, or the poet–any ideal calling; in fact, any calling but a practical, matter-of-fact vocation; though in poetry he would seem to best succeed.”

“Well,” said my friend, seriously, “he’s feeling for the boy!” Then laughingly: “Hedrick has written some rhymes for the county papers, and Sweeney once introduced him, at an Old Settlers’ Meeting, as ‘The Best Poet in Center Township,’ and never cracked a smile! Always after each other that way, but the best friends in the world. Sweeney’s strong suit is elocution. He has a native ability that way by no means ordinary, but even that gift he abuses and distorts simply to produce grotesque, and oftentimes ridiculous effects. For instance, nothing more delights him than to ‘lothfully’ consent to answer a request, at The Mite Society, some evening, for ‘an appropriate selection,’ and then, with an elaborate introduction of the same, and an exalted tribute to the refined genius of the author, proceed with a most gruesome rendition of ‘Alonzo The Brave and The Fair Imogene,’ in a way to coagulate the blood and curl the hair of his fair listeners with abject terror. Pale as a corpse, you know, and with that cadaverous face, lit with those malignant-looking eyes, his slender figure, and his long, thin legs and arms and hands, and his whole diabolical talent and adroitness brought into play–why, I want to say to you, it’s enough to scare ’em to death! Never a smile from him, though, till he and Hedrick are safe out into the night again–then, of course, they hug each other and howl over it like Modocs! But pardon; I’m interrupting the lecture. Listen.”