“The phrenologist, knowing that the gentleman was a particular friend of Mr. Miller, spared no pains in going out of the way to make remarks upon him. Putting his hand on the organ of marvelousness, he said: ‘There! I’ll bet you anything that old Miller has got a bump on his head there as big as my fist;’ at the same time doubling up his fist as an illustration.
“The others present laughed at the perfection of the joke, and he heartily joined them, supposing they were laughing at his witticisms on Mr. Miller.
“He pronounced the head of the gentleman under examination the reverse, in every particular, of what he declared Mr. Miller’s must be. When through, he made out his chart, and politely asked Mr. Miller his name.
“Mr. Miller said it was of no consequence about putting his name upon the chart; but the phrenologist insisted.
“‘Very well,’ said Mr. M.; ‘you may call it Miller, if you choose.’
“‘Miller, Miller,’ said he; ‘what is your first name?’
“‘They call me William Miller.’
“‘What! the gentleman who is lecturing on the prophecies?’
“‘Yes, sir, the same.’
“At this the phrenologist settled back in his chair, the personation of astonishment and dismay, and spoke not a word while the company remained. His feelings may be more easily imagined than described.”