We had not been long at Cincinnati when Dr. Caldwell, the Spurzheim of America, arrived there for the purpose of delivering lectures on phrenology.  I attended his lectures, and was introduced to him.  He has studied Spurzheim and Combe diligently, and seems to understand the science to which he has devoted himself; but neither his lectures nor his conversation had that delightful truth of genuine enthusiasm, which makes listening to Dr. Spurzheim so great a treat.  His lectures, however, produced considerable effect.  Between twenty and thirty of the most erudite citizens decided upon forming a phrenological society.  A meeting was called, and fully attended; a respectable number of subscribers’ names was registered, the payment of subscriptions being arranged for a future day.  President, vice-president, treasurer, and secretary, were chosen; and the first meeting dissolved with every appearance of energetic perseverance in scientific research.

The second meeting brought together one-half of this learned body, and they enacted rules and laws, and passed resolutions, sufficient, it was said, to have filled three folios.

A third day of meeting arrived, which was an important one, as on this occasion the subscriptions were to be paid.  The treasurer came punctually, but found himself alone.  With patient hope, he waited two hours for the wise men of the west, but he waited in vain:  and so expired the Phrenological Society of Cincinnati.

I had often occasion to remark that the spirit of enterprise or improvement seldom glowed with sufficient ardour to resist the smothering effect of a demand for dollars.  The Americans love talking.  All great works, however, that promise a profitable result, are sure to meet support from men who have enterprise and capital sufficient to await the return; but where there is nothing but glory, or the gratification of taste to be expected, it is, I believe, very rarely that they give any thing beyond “their most sweet voices.”

Perhaps they are right.  In Europe we see fortunes crippled by a passion for statues, or for pictures, or for books, or for gems; for all and every of the artificial wants that give grace to life, and tend to make man forget that he is a thing of clay.  They are wiser in their generation on the other side the Atlantic; I rarely saw any thing that led to such oblivion there.

Soon after Dr. Caldwell’s departure, another lecturer appeared upon the scene, whose purpose of publicly addressing the people was no sooner made known, than the most violent sensation was excited.