In the previous chapter I gave a leaf from my experience of life in a
boarding-school. I propose now to give another leaf from the same book.
The incident about to be narrated, however, is not given as an
illustration of boarding-school life, but merely because it happened at
school. It might have happened elsewhere, though the circumstances on
that occasion were particularly favorable for giving to it a curious
point.
While I was at the head of the Edgehill school, at Princeton, N. J., a
stranger called one day and announced himself as Prof. ----. The name is
one almost as well known in the history of Phrenological science as that
of Prof. Combe. He said he was about to give a lecture in Princeton on
the subject of Phrenology, and as he was an entire stranger to myself
and to all the pupils and teachers in the school, he thought it would be
a good opportunity for making an interesting and critical experiment. He
proposed, therefore, with my consent, to spend an hour, in presence of
the school, in examining the heads of any of the boys that I might call
up for that purpose. From the very intimate relations existing in a
boarding-school, the characters of the boys would be well known to me
and to their companions and teachers, and we would have therefore the
means of knowing how far he succeeded in his experiment.
Thinking that an hour spent in this way would not be misspent, that it
would at least give some variety to the monotonous routine of study and
lessons, and, let me add, being not entirely without curiosity as to the
result, I consented to his proposition, and called the school together
in the large assembly-room. All the boys being in their seats, together
with the teachers and the ladies of the household, I stated briefly the
object of their assembling and the method in which it was proposed to
proceed with the experiment. They were to observe entire silence, and to
give no indication, by word or look, so far as they could help it, to
show whether the Professor was hitting the mark or not, as he read off
to them the characters of their companions. The boys took to the idea at
once, and the excitement very soon was at fever-heat.
Placing a chair upon the platform, in full view of the school, and the
Professor alongside of it, I called up
_Boy No. 1._--This happened to be a lad about fourteen, from the
interior of Alabama. He was the most athletic boy in school. "Full big
he was of brawn and eke of bones," as Chaucer says, in his picture of
the Miller. He could beat any boy in school in wrestling, and no doubt
could flog any of them in a fist-fight, though on this point I speak
only from conjecture, as this part of boys' amusements is not always as
well known to their teachers as it is to the boys themselves. The
Professor, after some little manipulation of the cranium, read off the
boy's character with tolerable accuracy. Any one, however, with a grain
of observation, who had seen the boy stalking up to the platform, with
bold, almost defiant air, or had noticed his bull-neck, hard fist, and
swaggering gait, could not have had much difficulty in guessing what
kind of a boy he was, without resort to his bumps for information. It
was written in unmistakable characters all over his physical
conformation, from his head to his heels.
I noticed, however, that while the Professor's fingers were busy with
the boy's cranium, his eyes were not less busy with the faces of his
youthful auditors. Whenever his interpretation of any bump was a
palpable hit, his success could be all too plainly read in the upturned
faces before him. If the success was very marked and decisive, the
youngsters were entirely unable to restrain their expressions of
surprise and admiration. It was very evident, from his method of
procedure, that he was guided by these expressions, quite as much as by
his fingering of the bumps. He would first mention lightly some trait of
character. If it attracted no particular attention, he would quietly
fall on to something else. But if the announcement seemed to create a
little breeze, showing that he had made a hit, he would then dwell upon
the point, and intensify his expressions, until, in some instances, the
school was in quite an uproar of satisfaction.
Possibly there was a spice of malice in what followed. At all events, it
seemed to me that that was a kind of game at which two could play, and
if, under the circumstances, he chose to palm off for knowledge gained
by the fingers, what he was really getting by means of his eyes and
ears, there would be no great crime in punishing him a little for his
impertinence. So, in calling the following boys, I selected some who
were notorious in school for certain marked traits, but whose general
appearance and manner gave no indication of their mental peculiarities;
and I questioned the Professor, in regard to each boy, after a method
suited to the case.
_Boy No. 2_ was a youth of moderate abilities, and was, in all things,
save one, just like other boys. But, in one matter, he had a peculiarity
about which there could be no mistake. That was in the matter of music.
So, after questioning the Professor about various indifferent points,
moral and intellectual, such as reverence, combativeness, secretiveness,
language, ideality, etc., I asked incidentally something also about tune
and music. The answer was such as might be safely given in regard to
ninety-nine out of every hundred persons--some vague, indefinite epithet
that would apply to almost any one. But, seeing a little sparkle in the
eyes before him, the gentleman manipulated the cranium again, and then
expressed himself somewhat more strongly. As his expressions increased
in strength, the excitement of the audience increased, until he was
quite lost in hyperbole, as they were in uproar. He even went into
particulars. "Now," said he, "though I never saw this boy before, yet I
venture to say that his ear for music is so quick that he can pick up
almost any tune by once hearing it played or whistled in the street. [A
general rustle through the school, boys winking and giving knowing looks
one to another.] I dare say he could now sing or whistle a hundred tunes
from memory. [More knowing looks.] Possibly he may never make a very
accurate performer, on account of the very ease with which he picks up a
tune. He learns a tune so easily by the ear, that he will not submit to
the drudgery of studying it scientifically."
"You think, then, Professor, that the boy has decided indications of
musical talent?"
"Undoubtedly. He has musical talents of a very high order [suppressed
shouts] amounting almost to genius!"
The fact was, poor Charlie was the butt of the whole school, on account
of his utter inability to learn the first elements of either the art or
the science of music. He could neither sing, whistle, nor play. He could
hardly tell "Old Hundred" from "Yankee Doodle." Although he had been
taking music-lessons for two years, he could not rise and fall through
the eight notes, to save his neck. His attempts to do so were a sort of
indiscriminate goo, goo, goo, like that of an infant; and the excitement
among the boys, which the Professor had mistaken for applause and
admiration, grew out of their astonishment. They were simply laughing at
him.
_Boy No. 3_ was a youth over fourteen years old, regularly and
symmetrically formed in face, features, and person. There was nothing in
his make or bearing to indicate any marked peculiarity. Yet he had a
peculiarity as marked as that of the preceding. He was singularly
deficient in the capacity for mathematical studies. He was studying
English grammar, geography, and Latin, and got along in these branches
about as well as the majority of his class. But when it came to the
science of numbers, he seemed to stick fast. Neither I nor any of my
teachers had been able to get him beyond Long Division. It was as clear
a case as I have ever known of natural deficiency in that department of
the mental constitution. Yet this boy was declared by the manipulator to
have a decided talent for mathematics.
_Boy No. 4_ was my crack mathematician. He was really in mathematics
what our manipulator had made out No. 2 to be in music. His quickness in
the perception of mathematical truth was wonderful. Besides this natural
readiness in everything pertaining to the science of quantity and the
relations of numbers, he had received a good mathematical training, and
he was in this department far in advance of his years. Whenever we had a
public exhibition, George was our show-card. The rapidity with which he
would fill the blackboard, in solving difficult problems in quadratics,
was almost bewildering. It was not every teacher even that could follow
him in his quick but exact evolutions of complex algebraical formulae. In
Greek and Latin he hardly attained to mediocrity, being always behind
his class, while in mathematics he was superior, not only to every boy
in school, but to any boy of the same age that I have ever had in any
school. But this boy received from the Professor only a second or
third-rate rank for mathematical indications, while highly praised for
linguistics, in which he was decidedly inferior.
The fact was, I saw that the gentleman was trying to read _me_, as well
as the more youthful part of his audience; and so, in questioning him
about this boy, I was malicious enough to be very minute and specific in
my inquiries about any indications of a talent for language, while the
questions about mathematics were propounded just like those about half a
dozen other points; that is, with no special stress or emphasis, but
just enough to draw from the Professor a clear and distinct expression
of opinion.
_Boy No. 5_ was perhaps the most critical case of all, yet the one most
difficult to describe. He was good, and about equally good, in all his
studies. He stood head in almost every class. He was so uniformly good
that his character became monotonous, and would have been insipid, but
for the manly vigor that marked all his performances. His moral were
like his mental traits. He was indeed our model boy. In two years he had
not had one demerit mark. He was on all sides rounded and
complete--_totus teres atque rotundus_. The uniformity of his goodness
was sometimes a source of anxiety to me. There was danger of his growing
up with a self-satisfied, pharisaical spirit.
Thus far, however, I have not named the feature which I regarded as the
critical one, and which had led me to select him as one of the subjects
for examination. Model boys are to be found in all schools. But this boy
had a power of reticence which was to me a continual study, and it was
this feature in his character that I wanted to bring out in the
examination. He was not a sneak. There was nothing sly about him. His
conduct was open and aboveboard. What he did was patent to all. But what
he thought, or how he felt, no one knew. Not Grant himself could more
perfectly keep his own counsel. If a new rule was promulgated, Joseph
obeyed it to the letter. But whether it was agreeable or disagreeable
to him, no teacher could ever find out. Nor was his obedience of that
tame, passive sort which comes from indifference and lack of spirit. We
all knew him to be resolute, and to be possessed of strong passions. But
his power of self-restraint was equal to his power of reticence. He had,
indeed, in a very marked degree, qualities which you look for only in
those who have had a long schooling in the stern realities of life, and
which you find rarely even then. He was as self-poised as a man of
fifty, with not a particle of that easy impulsiveness so nearly
universal at his age.
None of the gentleman's performances surprised me so much as the
character which he assigned to this boy, and all the more because
something of the boy's self-continence and reserve was written upon his
face and manner. He was represented by the Professor, in general terms,
as having a free and easy, rollicking sort of disposition--not being
really worse than his companions, though probably having the reputation
of being so. 'If he got into more scrapes than the others [Joseph was
never in a scrape in his life], it was more owing to his natural
impulsiveness than to anything inherently bad in him. And then, when he
did get into a scrape, he had no faculty for concealing it. His organ of
secretiveness was unusually small. The boys would hardly admit him to a
partnership in their plans of mischief, so sure was he inadvertently to
let the cat out of the bag,' etc., etc.
_Boy No. 6_ was the weakest boy, mentally, that we had in school. He was
barely able to take care of himself. Some of his mistakes and blunders
were so ridiculous, that they were handed down among the traditionary
jokes of the school, and I am afraid even at this day to repeat them,
lest they may be recognized. If the manipulator had had the cranium of
Daniel Webster under his fingers, he could not have drawn a mental
character more marked by every trait that belongs to intellectual
greatness of the highest order. Finding that he was making a decided
impression upon his young hearers, the Professor continued to pile up
qualities and powers, until the scene became almost too much for the
most practised gravity.
The examinations occupied an hour, and I made copious notes of the
whole, writing down, as nearly as I could, the exact expressions used by
the operator. The report which I have now given of it is as nearly
literal as it is safe to make it.
When the Professor was through, and was about to leave, he asked me
privately to tell him how far he had succeeded in his experiments. Not
wishing to say anything disagreeable, I evaded the question to the best
of my ability, answering with some vague generalities, but indicating
sufficiently that it was not agreeable to be more explicit. He pressed
me, however, to tell him candidly and explicitly whether he had
succeeded, and how far. I then told him frankly that he had failed
point-blank in every case. "Ah," said he, "you are skeptical." "No,
sir," said I, "skepticism implies doubt, and I have no longer any doubts
on the subject. _My skepticism is entirely removed!_"