e and the fine arts. Poetry, criticism,
philology, painting, and sculpture, seemed to be equally within his
range. He descanted upon them, illuminating his positions from such a
vast source of illustration, that I gazed upon him with a feeling akin
to amazement.

Let it not be supposed that all this was done with the formal pomp of a
philosopher: on the contrary, he preserved throughout his frivolousness
of manner, apologised for everything he advanced, hoped I was not
offended if he differed in opinion from me, and concluded every position
with a sneeze.

"By the by," said I, "talking of Gall and Spurzheim, what do you think
of their doctrine? I am inclined to believe there must be some truth in
it; at least, I have seen it verified in a number of heads, and among
others in that of Cicero, which I saw a few years ago in the
sculpture-gallery of the Louvre. It was a beautiful head."

"You are right there, my dear friend," replied he. "The head,
phrenologically considered, is extremely beautiful. I believe I have got
it in my pocket." (_A sneeze._)

"You got the head of Cicero in your pocket!" cried I, with surprise.

"O no! not absolutely the head of Cicero," said he, smiling. "Mark
Antony disposed of that--but only his bust--the bust that you saw."

"You mean a miniature of that bust?"

"No--not a miniature, but the real bust. Here it comes--how heavy it
is!" And, to my amazement, I saw him take out of his pocket the
identical bust, as large as life, of the Roman orator, and place it on
the table before me.

"Have you any more heads of this description about you?" said I, not a
little marvelling how he was able to stuff such a block of marble into
his pocket.

"I have a few others at your service, my dear friend. Name any one you
would wish to see, and I shall be most happy to produce it."

"Let me see, then, the head of Copernicus." I had scarcely spoken the
word when he brought out the philosopher, and put him beside Cicero.
I named successively Socrates, Thales, Galileo, Confucius, Zoroaster,
Tycho Brache, Roger Bacon, and Paracelsus, and straightway they stood
upon the table as fresh as if they had just received the last touch
of the sculptor's chisel. I must confess that such a number of large
heads emanating from the pockets of the little meagre man in the
snuff-coloured surtout and scarlet waistcoat, would have occasioned me
incredible wonder, had my stock of astonishment not been exhausted by
the p