h estimate of my
brain.... Having very evidently never themselves perceived any
sufficient grounds for such an exalted esteem. Moreover, Mr. Combe wrote
a letter to Lucretia Mott (the celebrated Quakeress, who is a good
friend of mine), when he heard that she had made my acquaintance,
cautioning her against falling into the mistake which _all my American
friends_ committed, of "exaggerating my reasoning powers." This was all
well and good, and only amused me as rather funny; some of _my American
friends_ being tolerably shrewd folk, and upon the whole, no bad judges
of brains. But then the next thing that happens is, that I see the
Combes myself for a short, hurried, and most confused five minutes,
during which, even if Mr. Combe's judgment were _entirely_ in his eyes,
he had no leisure for exercising it on me; and yet he now states (for
Cecy is only his echo in this matter) that my disposition is much
improved, and my reasoning powers much increased; and it is but two
years since I was in his house, and this moral and mental progress,
visible to the naked eye, on my thickly hair-roofed cranium, has taken
place since then;--if so, so much the better for me, and I have made
better use of my time than I imagined!

To tell you the truth, dear Harriet, I have not thought about
phrenology, one way or the other, but I have thought this phrenological
verdict about myself nonsense.

Mr. Combe has certainly not been influenced by any signs of conversion
on my part; but I suppose he may have been influenced by the opinion
held of me by my friends here, some of whom are sensible enough on all
other subjects not to be suspected of idiocy, even though they do think
me a rational, and, what is more, a reasoning creature.

It has been a real distress to me not to see more of Mr. Combe and
Cecilia. I have always had the highest regard for him, for his kind,
humane heart, and benevolent, liberal, enlightened mind. Cecy, too,
during my short visit to her in Scotland, appeared to me a far more
lovable person than during my previous intercourse with her: and as
kinsfolk and countryfolk, without any consideration for personal liking,
I feel annoyed at not being able to offer them any kindness or
hospitality. But we literally seem to be running round each other; they
are now at Hartford, in Connecticut, not fifty miles away from here,
where they intend staying some weeks, and will probably not be in
Philadelphia until we have departed for