During the first year in Liverpool after my marriage, I had a peculiar and interesting experience with the science of phrenology. At that time every one was talking about its "revelations," and I became somewhat interested in it. My interest came chiefly, however, through James McHenry, whose line of ships to Philadelphia I had charge of. He suggested one day that I go to a phrenologist, saying that I had a most curious head. Up to this time, I had not taken any stock in the science, which I set down as charlatanry and mountebankism. But he insisted, and finally I consented to go with him to Bridges, then the most famous phrenologist in Liverpool or in the west of England.
Bridges astonished me so greatly by telling me things about myself that I had supposed no one knew but I, that my interest was awakened. Still I thought there must be something queer about the thing, and I accused McHenry of having told Bridges something about me beforehand so that I might be taken by surprise. McHenry so vehemently denied this that I knew he was telling me the truth. There was nothing to do but to accept the "chart" of Bridges as being at least sincere.
As I like to investigate everything for myself, I determined to see what there was in phrenology, and to have my head examined in circumstances where there could be no question that the phrenologist had had any information about me. So I went to London, and there consulted a still more famous phrenologist, the octogenarian Donovan. I said to him: "Mr. Donovan, I want you to tell me the plain truth about my head." "Phrenology does not lie," he said. "Put down your guinea."
I put down the guinea, and submitted to an examination. He told me almost the same things that Bridges had said, and thus confirmed the first chart of my head. After finishing his examination, Donovan looked at me and said: "You will be either a great reformer, or a great pirate. It merely depends upon the direction you take in Ethics!"
Even this examination did not entirely satisfy me. There were still higher authorities in phrenology, and I felt that I should not be satisfied until I had the verdict of the highest court of appeals. I consulted every phrenologist I could reach—a great professor in Paris, another from Germany, and finally, I reached the highest authority then living, the highest that has ever lived, possibly, the great Dr. Fowler, who was then lecturing in England.
He came to Liverpool to lecture, and I went to hear him. Fowler asked for some one from the audience to allow him to examine his head. As he had never seen me, I felt that I could in this way get an absolutely impartial and unprejudiced reading. I went on the stage, and my appearance caused a ripple of surprise, for I was known in Liverpool. The phrenologist placed his hands on my head and exclaimed: "Jehu, what a head!" The audience applauded, as if they thought I had a head, and had used it to good purpose in their city.
Beverley Tucker was American consul in Liverpool at that time, having been appointed by President Pierce. When the famous actor and dramatist, John Brougham, visited Liverpool, I suggested that we Americans, in whose country Brougham had lived and done his best work, should entertain him at a dinner at the Waterloo House. We had a large and lively company present, and Brougham was in his best vein. I asked Brougham for his autograph, and, at the same time, something about the poet Willis, who was then our favorite American poet. He gave me instantly, without apparent thought, the following verse:
"Hyperion curls his forehead on, Behold the poet Willis! For love of such a Corydon, Who would not be a Phyllis?"
Thus have I narrated, in this and the previous chapters, the most interesting events and experiences of my life in Liverpool. The life there was particularly varied and altogether delightful. It was, of course, a very busy time, but I managed to get a great deal of pleasure out of it. There was a constant round of entertainments, and the social life of the city was generally gay and interesting. At this period I had two portraits of my wife and myself made. They are now in the possession of my daughter, who keeps them in the room which she always has ready for me in the country.
As for my standing in the city, I may give here the opinion of Charles Mackay, the poet, author of Cheer, Boys, Cheer, and other well-known poems, who wrote, in reviewing my book, Young America in Wall Street, that I "walked up the Liverpool Exchange like a Baring or a Rothschild." I remained in Liverpool one year with my wife, and then returned to the United States. This was in '52. The best men of Liverpool had made me welcome everywhere, in all circles of business or of society.