"This gentleman has a most magnificent cranium. His perceptive faculties are large, and so are the organs of firmness, benevolence, and conscientiousness; comparison is very large, and causality is immense. I have never met with a finer development of the reasoning faculties except on the skull of the distinguished lawyer of Timbuctoo, which now lies before me on the table. This gentleman would excel in intellectual pursuits, and might make a great and distinguished judge, the equal of Mansfield or Marshall." Pate retired from the platform a proud and happy man, and from that day became an enthusiastic student of the science of phrenology. Perch seated himself in the chair which he had vacated. "This gentleman," said Boneskull, "is better fitted for domestic life. He would be a devoted lover, and a disappointment in love might drive him to despair, and even suicide." Perch hastily retired, for he recollected the bottle of brandy which he had swallowed in a fit of desperation after his unfortunate interview with the beautiful Imogen in Colonel Hazlewood's garden. Love and Dove now seated themselves in two chairs, and were examined by Boneskull, who said,-- "The organs of these gentlemen correspond in every particular. Each can sing sweetly, and either could easily win a woman's heart." "What's that?" exclaimed the widow. "Listen," said Rosabel. "They could conquer in affairs of love, and either could drive a woman to despair; but neither would do so, for in both the organ of benevolence is immensely developed." "Did you ever hear such talk?" said the widow. "Dove drive a woman to despair! Well, I wonder what he is going to say about Ned Botts?" said she, as that uncomely individual ascended the platform and seated himself in the chair. "Perhaps," said Boneskull, with a look of embarrassment, "you might be offended if I were to say what is revealed by the bumps?" "Not at all," said Botts. "Speak out." "The organ of destructiveness is very large. This man might commit----" "What?" said Botts. "Murder," said Boneskull. Botts jumped up and knocked Boneskull down, and kicked him off the platform. "Murder! murder! murder!" roared the phrenologist as he rolled on the floor among the audience. The ladies shrieked, and two constables rushed forward, and, seizing Botts, who was swearing vociferously, led him from the room. "Where is Boneskull?" exclaimed a man in the crowd. "Here he is under my feet," said another. The little man was lifted up and placed on the platform. "Oh, dear," said Rosabel, "he is almost murdered! Look how he is bleeding." Boneskull put his handkerchief to his nose, from which a crimson stream was copiously flowing, and hastily retreated from the room by a back door.