It indicates, says the same authority, small animality and selfishness, extreme benevolence, natural nobleness, and loftiness of aim. His controlling organs are, Adhesiveness, Benevolence, Firmness, and Conscientiousness.
Benevolence is small; Destructiveness and Acquisitiveness less.
Amativeness and Philoprogenitiveness are fully developed.
The Love of Approbation is prominent; Self-Esteem not so. Resistance and Moral Courage are very full; Secretiveness full; Cautiousness large; Continuity small; Ideality fair; Taste very
small; Imitation small; Mirthfulness very large; Eventuality and Comparison large; Language good; Reasoning better; Agreeableness deficient; Intuition great; Temperament active.
His body, adds the Phrenologist, is not enough for his head.
Time, as I have just remarked, is remedying that.
In manner, Horace Greeley
is still a rustic.
The Metropolis has not been able to make much impression upon him He lives amidst the million of his fellow-citizens, in their various uniforms, an unassimilated man.
Great, very great, as we all perceive, is the assimilating power of great cities.
A youth comes here to New York, awkward, ill-dressed, bashful, and capable of being surprised.
He visits his country home, after only a few years' residence in the city, a changed being; his clothes, his manners, his accent, and his affectations, are “town-made.”
His hair is shorter and more elaborately brushed; his words are fewer and he utters them in a lower tone; his collar is higher; he wears strange things fastened in a curious way; he gets up late in the morning, and takes his sustenance with a fork.
The country people, the younger ones at least, are rather overawed by him, and secretly resolve to have their next coat made like his. What he calls his opinions, too, are not what they were.
His talk is a languid echo of the undertone of conservative indifference which prevails in the counting-rooms where he has plied the assiduous pen, or wagged the wheedling tongue.
He is, in a word, another man. He is a stranger in his father's house.
He comes back to town, and, as years roll on, he hardens and sharpens into the finished citizen.
It is so with most, but not with all. Some men there are—very few, yet some—who resist effectually, and to the last, the assimilating influence of cities.
These are the oddities, the stared—at, the