great creature I love to
think myself. Instead of Potts the generous, the high-spirited,
the confiding, the self-denying, I am Potts the timorous, the
terror-stricken, and the slave."

Out of my long and painful musings on the subject, I bethought me of a
course to take. I would go to her and say:--

"Listen to this parable. I remember once, when a member of the
phrenological club, a stupid jest was played off upon the society by
some one presenting us with the cast of a well-known murderer's skull,
and asking for our interpretations of its development. We gave them with
every care and deliberation: we pointed out the fatal protuberances of
crime, and indicated the depressions, which showed the absence of all
prudential restraints; we demonstrated all the evidences of badness that
were there, and proved that, with such a head, a man must have thought
killing no murder. The rejoinder to our politeness was a small box that
arrived by the mail, labelled, 'the original of the cast forwarded on
the 14th.' We opened it, and found a pumpkin! The foolish jester fancied
that he had cast an indelible stain upon phrenology, quite forgetting
the fact that his pumpkin had personated a skull which, had it ever
existed, would have presented the characteristics we gave it." I would
say, "Now, madam, make the application, and say, do you not rather
commend than condemn? are you not more ready to applaud than upbraid
me?"

Second thoughts rather deterred me from this plan; the figurative line
is often dangerous with elderly people. It is just as likely she would
mistake the whole force of my illustration, and bluntly say, "I 'd beg
to remark, sir, I am not a pumpkin!"

"No; I will not adventure on this path. There is no need that I should
ever meet her again, or, if I should, we may meet as utter strangers."
This resolve made, I arose boldly, and walked on towards the house.

His Excellency, I learned, was at home, and had been for some time
expecting me. I found him in his morning room, in the same costume and
same occupation as on the day before.

"There's the 'Times,'" said he, as I entered; "I shall be ready for you
presently;" and worked away without lifting his head.

Affecting to read, I set myself to regard him with attention. Vast piles
of papers lay around him on every side; the whole table, and even the
floor at his feet, was littered with them. "Would," thought
I,--"would that these writers for the Radical press, the