⁠And you are come so far from home, Master, to look at a picture-book—the book of ships, eh? ⁠And is that very surprising? ⁠To be sure one need not be much surprised; for boys will wander for the very love of wandering; it is all one as though it made a part of their day's work. ⁠Ay, so they will; and now give me the book, and turning over the leaves of it will make another part of my day's work. ⁠But are you sure, young Sir, that Sir Cameron gave you leave to look over them books? ​ ⁠Why should I tell a lie about it? ⁠To be sure it would be letting the devil have too good a bargain. ⁠Yes; lying for a small matter is great unthrift; yet I have heard of a woman, who called herself ten years younger than she was, to make her age a proper match to her rose-coloured top-knot. (Looking archly at her head-dress.) ⁠Say what you please, young master; but if Sir Cameron gave you leave to look at his books when he is absent, it is what he never allowed to any one before. ⁠I did not say he gave me leave to look at them in his absence. ⁠And what if he should return suddenly, and find you turning over his books? that would make a fine rumpus, I trow. ⁠Would he punish me? ​ ⁠No, Sir, it is me that would be punished; I should lose my place and be ruinated. ⁠Nay, nay! don't be distressed, good Madam: I will take all the blame on myself, and say that I entered in spite of you. ⁠That excuse would not pass with him; he would discharge me all the same. Heaven knows what trouble I have to keep my situation here. ⁠Then I'll go directly, and see the pictures another time: don't be so distressed, my good ma'am. ⁠Well, thou art a sweet creature after all, and I will run some risk to please thee. (Taking a book from the shelves and laying it on the table.) ⁠O thank you, thank you; how good you are. (Begins to turn over the leaves.) What a gallant ship, with her sails set and her colours flying! I wish I were aboard of her. ⁠Stop, stop; as I'm a Christian woman, your fingers are all smeared with lollypops. ​ ⁠Then you are no Christian woman, for that is the stain of black cherries, and my hands have been washed since I ate them. ⁠Let us make sure of it, however. (Takes a handkerchief from her pocket and rubs one of his hands, while with the other he attempts to pull the smart bow from her cap.) Mischief to the very core of thee! Yet thou art a sweet creature too; and much pleasure may you have with your book.
⁠ [Exit by an opposite door. ⁠Where can I hide myself?—Ay, that will do. (Climbs upon the back of a library chair which stands close to a bookcase, and pulls down a map from its roller to conceal himself.)

⁠The air of this day is oppressive; I feel drowsy and tired. (Sits down in the chair.) This seat is uneasy, the upholsterer has stuffed it very badly. Let me see. (Pulls it out from the bookcase, and Lawry drops down on the floor.)— ​What have we here!——Hiding in my library!—It is Lawry, by my faith.——Get up, child: I hope thou art not hurt. He does not move! torpid as a dormouse!——Ho, there! is nobody at hand? Ho there! (Rings a bell violently.) No limbs are broken, I hope.

⁠A boy in this room, preserve me! how got he here?—Ay, them urchins will scramble and climb, and make their way any where like very polecats. He got no entrance here, I'm sure, by the door in a natural way. Dear me, dear me! ⁠Don't make such a clamour about it: who cares how he entered. Examine whether he be hurt, and I'll despatch a man directly for a surgeon. He must be blooded.⁠[Exit hastily. ⁠He will be a clever surgeon that finds me here.⁠[Exit running. ⁠Let him go, he's a clever imp,—don't hinder him. ​ ⁠Where is he? have you carried him to bed. ⁠His own legs have carried him off very nimbly. ⁠Pursue him, and fetch him back. ⁠It will be to no purpose, Sir Cameron; and the sooner he gets to his own home the better, for the ladies will be alarmed at his absence. ⁠He has cleared the lawn already; catch him who can. ⁠Leave me.

⁠[Exeunt Servants, all but the Housekeeper.

⁠I fear you will be thinking, Sir, that I let him in. ⁠Leave me, Mrs. Marmalade. ⁠I just want for to say, Sir Cameron—— ​ ⁠I just want for to be alone.

⁠[Exit Housekeeper, tossing her head.
That boy has come to the house in my absence for some purpose or other.——Their purpose cannot be good who employ such means to effect it. (Looking up to the bookcase.) Concealed behind that map, which he must have unrolled to cover him. Ha! to scramble up to that very shelf where the key of my iron box is concealed behind the pamphlets.—By my faith, and they have been disturbed too. Let me see. (Standing on the seat of the chair, to examine the upper shelf) The key is gone; devil take the cunning little varlet! he has stolen the key. (Pacing about in a disturbed manner.) I was surprised to hear that he had transactions with Harding.—I see the whole business now. He knows of the cursed mistake in that testamentary deed.—A base device to get it into his hands for inspection. (Advances to the front, and stands thoughtfully with his arms across.) Suspicious! had I not been less suspicious than most people, I should have been aware of it before.—O that there were less cause for suspicion in this vile world! Must we pass through it like infants or simpletons to be happy? what is reason given us for but to be a defence and a guard?—It may, indeed, occasionally deceive us. It may,—it may! that, alas, I know too well.——Oh! ​my remembrance of that cruel hour is intolerable. Had I then been as a simple infant instead of a reasoning man, how happy I might have been! (Beating his forehead.) Well, well, well! there is no use in thinking of it now. She is happy with another, and prosperous and happy may she be!

What dost thou want? Did I ring the bell? ⁠No, your honour; but a servant from Miss Vane is here, and his lady requests you will remember your promise to be present at the examination of Master Lawry's head, and the cranium doctor is to be at her house at four o'clock precisely. ⁠My best respects to the lady, and I shall have the honour of obeying her summons.

⁠[Exit Humphries.
If the organs of mischief and knavery be not discovered under the curly locks of that little imp, the science, as they deem it, of phrenology is a spider's web to catch flies withal.⁠ [Exit. ​

⁠You may set down your things here a bit, Mr. Cramp, till Sir Cameron rings his bell.—Plague upon it! to make all this ado about nothing. Plague take the whole tribe of suspectors and inspectors, with all their cautions, and securities, and contrivances! ⁠No, no, Mr. Grumbler! you must not say so to a locksmith. My benison upon the whole tribe. ⁠Yes, truly, thou hast made a pretty penny of it here. ⁠Not much neither: I have not changed a lock in this house these three months. ​ ⁠Hast thou forgot the two inner presses in his study, and the escrutoire in his dressing-room? ⁠No, but I hope I shall soon; for one job beats another from my mind. ⁠Ay, thou thinkest but of one thing at a time. I wish my master would do the same; for he is not one jot wiser for mixing up so many notions together, like cloaks hung upon a hall-pin, black, blue, and dirty, every one huddled over another: that he is not, I'm sure. ⁠I wonder such a plain, surly fellow as thou art should keep thy place in his service so long. ⁠He takes my surliness for honesty. ⁠And he is not one jot wiser for that, I should reckon. ⁠No, Cramp; he is not deceived. But as I am honest, I must be treated like an honest man. ⁠Certainly; that is but reasonable. And how ​does Mrs. Marmalade contrive to stay here so long? She is neither plain nor surly, I'm sure. ⁠Oh! but she has one great advantage over me. ⁠What is that? ⁠He sees she is a fool; and certes, she is the greatest fool that ever had wit enough to keep account of household linen, and overlook the making of pickles and preserves. ⁠Yes, for certain, she has a great power of words on every occasion, and few of them to the purpose. How has he patience to hear her? ⁠I'll tell you how: whenever he questions her about any mischance in the family, he knows very well that all she tells him, in the first place, is false, but that it will soon be contradicted as she goes on; and that what she tells him last will be within a trifle of the truth. Besides, he is amused with her, and she is related to his old nurse. For he is really a kind-hearted man, for all his odd notions and vagaries. ​ ⁠He is too wise, belike, to think there be any honest folk in the world. ⁠No, no! he thinks there may be a tithe of honest folk in it, but how to find them out,—that is his perplexity. (Bell rings.) Now, he is ready for you: follow me with your tools, and do what you can for this cursed chest, else there will be no peace in the house for a week.⁠[Exeunt.

⁠Is it your summons, Madam, I have the honour of obeying? ⁠It is my aunt, Sir, who requested this favour of you, and she will be here immediately. Have the goodness to be seated. ⁠I prefer the position which allows me most ​perfectly to contemplate the riches of that beautiful forehead. (Advancing towards her, while she retreats.) Music—the music of the soul. Colours—design—comprehensiveness! O! what a rich mine of charming capacity! Pray, permit—(putting out his hand to raise the hair from her forehead, as she has got to the wall, and can retreat no farther.) ⁠Have the goodness, Sir, to stand farther off: it is not my head that my aunt wishes you to examine. ⁠I am infinitely obliged to you, Doctor; but pray take no trouble with the head of this young lady, for her education is finished. ⁠Is education ever finished, my good Madam, while one capacity remains unexplored and uncultivated? Our science is still in its infancy, and therefore the world is still in its infancy; talents wasted—time wasted—tuition wasted—reason wasted. ​ ⁠Ay, there will be a great saving of reason when it comes into use. ⁠It is a supposed science, Sir, in which yourself and some other distinguished philosophers place much confidence. ⁠A supposed science, Sir! it is a proved one. Proved by a successive inspection of the skulls of distinguished men, from remote antiquity down to the present day. ⁠And how have you procured them? ⁠We have procured them, Sir, with much labour and very great expense. ⁠You are very liberal, I dare say, to any person who puts you in possession of a skull that confirms the rules of your science. ⁠Certainly, Sir; his reward is great, and deservedly so. ⁠Yes, Doctor, permission to open the coffins of ​the celebrated dead could not be easily obtained; the reward must be in proportion. ⁠And to him who should put you in possession of a skull apparently adverse to your science, what would be his remuneration? ⁠The same, Sir; when we are assured of the skull being genuine, we make no difference. But—which proves the truth of the science—we have very, very seldom indeed, such a skull offered to us. ⁠An indubitable proof, indeed, Dr. Crany; I beg your pardon for having insinuated the slightest doubt. And, as you say, what a saving of time and of reason there will be, when, instead of inquiring the past actions and propensities of a man, you have only to run over his head with your fingers, and become acquainted with his character at once. ⁠Exactly so; and with the ladies' permission I will tell an anecdote to illustrate the fact. ⁠Pray do, Doctor; we are all fond of anecdotes. ​ ⁠A man was tried for murder at the Bury assizes; the evidence was deficient, and the jury retired to deliberate. But a clever phrenologist, having crept to the bar and peeped at the prisoner's head, whose hair happened to be cut very close, descried the organs of destruction of such an appalling size as left no hesitation on the subject, and he could scarcely repress an exclamation, when the door of the jury-box opened, and the foreman pronounced the prisoner not guilty. ⁠They decided according to the evidence.

⁠Yes, Sir; and till the laws of evidence are reformed, they cannot do otherwise. (Latitia whispers to Emma, who retires.) But my story is not yet finished. Six months afterwards the prisoner committed another murder, for which he was convicted and hanged. Now, had he been hanged for the first offence, he could not have committed the second.

⁠He must be very contentious, indeed, Doctor, who does not admit that. ​ ⁠Come, come, Lawry, make no more wry faces, but kneel down here, and let that gentleman examine your head. ⁠My head! he will not flog that end of me. ⁠The organs of excursiveness: this young gentleman plays truant pretty often. ⁠O, what a true discovery! he's always running about. Proceed, proceed, if you please. ⁠There is great paucity here in the organs of attention, and those of application seem to be wanting entirely. ⁠O dear! how true it is! Your art discovers his nature at once. Pray proceed; something else may be discovered that will teach us how to manage him. ⁠Keep him at home without his dinner till he has learnt his lesson, and he will do well enough. ​ ⁠Nay, you are rather too harsh, Sir Cameron. ⁠But see, the Doctor has discovered something better now, for his whole countenance is enlightened. ⁠Rejoice, rejoice with me, ladies! the greatest philosopher in England is at my feet. ⁠What is it! What is it? ⁠The organs of mathematics, superb, surprising, superlative. (Starting from his seat and skipping about in ecstasy). Such an organ never yet rose proudly under the pressure of this thumb. Have you not frequently seen him tracing figures on a slate—circles, triangles, and such like? ⁠Often enough, Doctor; but the figure he commonly traces is more like a rickety boat with a flag to it than a triangle. ⁠Kneel again, Lawry; the Doctor may discover something more. ⁠No, I have done; I know him perfectly now. ​Keep him at home, and get a mathematical tutor for him immediately. ⁠Yes, Doctor, excellent advice: keep the runagate at home, and keep him close to his figures and his books. ⁠Keep me to my books! I'll run off with the first band of gypsies that lights a fire on the common. What is all that examining for? You might have known very well that if I would stick to my books I should read, without all this pother. ⁠But you shall have books so suited to your nature, my boy, that you will delight to stay at home and read them. ⁠Wait till you find such books then; and I'll stay at home when I like it.⁠[Exit, whimpering and muttering.

⁠Shall I have the honour to examine the other heads in this good company. (To Latitia, in a very ingratiating tone). Madam, I know that all I shall discover here (pointing to her head) must be amiable. ​

⁠Excuse me, Doctor, I have not courage. ⁠There is no lack of courage here, I presume. Allow me, Sir, to have the honour. What a promising forehead! those brows, and that fine spreading of the bone! ⁠Do, Sir Cameron; pray be examined; you will oblige me so much. ⁠O! it is Sir Cameron Kunliffe, I find. ⁠Do, Kunliffe; you cannot refuse a lady's request. ⁠Sit down here, and the Doctor will bend over you. ⁠If it must be so, I must ev'n submit. ⁠Contemplative—very contemplative; likes books better than hunting. ⁠How true! ​ ⁠Bravo, Doctor! ⁠No wizard could have guessed better. ⁠And here are organs that have been well developed; the—the— ⁠Don't hesitate, Doctor; name it, I beg. ⁠The organ of inspection. ⁠Bravo again, Doctor! you have a very good name for it; and if there be such a thing as the organ of suspicion, whereabout does it lie? for I should think the two are pretty near neighbours. ⁠They are; but except when much developed, we do not call the last by that name; we call it suspectiveness. ⁠Ha, ha, ha! what nice distinctions! And, I suppose, the organ of deceptiveness does not lie far off from either. ​ ⁠Excuse me, Sir, as an active quality it stands far apart; if you mean by it a passive one, we have nothing to do with it. ⁠Doctor, you have answered him well. ⁠But, my good friends, I must have the organ of patience, also, if I am to sit here till you have asked all your fanciful questions. Don't mind them, Dr. Crany, but go on your own way. ⁠What is the matter, Doctor? Good heavens! what is the matter? ⁠Don't inquire, Madam; in the prosecution of our science, we are subject to painful revulsions. May I beg a glass of water? ⁠I hope you are better now, and will proceed with what is so very interesting. ​ ⁠Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I examine no more to-day.

⁠We had better take our leave, and your heads (to Brightly and Thornhill) may wait for some future occasion. (Bows to the Ladies, and speaks aside to Brightly and Thornhill, as he goes off.) It is only a feint to get rid of your questions.

⁠Good heavens! Dr. Crany, do not keep me in this agony: what have you discovered on the head of Sir Cameron? ⁠Do not inquire, Madam, unless you have some very particular reason for it.—He is not a man to be exasperated.—He is not a man to be trifled with.—He is not a man to be conciliated. ⁠Is he so dangerous? ⁠Is there no one near us to listen? ​ ⁠No one; tell us, for heaven's sake: is he mad? is he dangerous? ⁠It is fearful to think what he is. He has the organ of destruction on his head so strong.——Oh! half a dozen bloody murders would not exhaust that fearful capacity of mischief. I fear I distress you, ladies, but my duty compels me to it. Be secret, be secret. I dare not remain here; I will go to my lodgings and try to recover from this very sudden shock.⁠[Exit. ⁠Dear Emma, what do you think of this? it is terrible. ⁠If it be true. ⁠Do you doubt it? You saw how unwilling he was to speak, and the distress he was in. ⁠If the distress was real, he will fly from the vicinity of a man so dangerous. ⁠Yes, we may judge by that; let us be secret, and see the result. I must retire to my chamber; give me your arm.
⁠ [Exeunt. ​

Enter Sir Cameron Kunliffe, and walks backward and forward for some time, muttering, before he speaks audibly.

⁠It will not do; they must try some other device before they get this into their custody. To make me their confidant with such seeming simple honesty, and attempt such a trick after all! I shall be less easily deceived another time. ⁠Walking quarter-deck in this gloomy nook! I have been seeking you every where, all over the grounds. ⁠And having found me, Sir, what is your pleasure with me? ⁠How is this, Sir Cameron? You seem offended with me ​ ⁠Why do you suppose that I am offended? ⁠Your looks tell me so; I would gladly interpret them otherwise. ⁠And you have learned to watch and interpret looks, it seems: you are too young a man for this. ⁠Why, a dog or an infant will do as much. ⁠Fidelity and affection may do any thing.

⁠If I am destitute of those qualities, I have harboured too long under your roof. (A sullen pause on the part of Sir Cameron.) Farewell, cous'n: I shall visit Miss Vane and her niece once more, and then return to town.

⁠Hark ye, cousin! you will see Mr. Harding, no doubt, when you are in town; pray give my respects to him—my very profound respects.⁠[Exit Franklin.
O, that he had remained as I once knew him! I should have loved him, I should have taken him to my heart.—Vain wish! the world is a school ​of perversion. (Walks to and fro again, and then stops.) Money, thou art truly styled the root of all evil. I should soon, of my own accord, have declared the blunder of that stupid attorney, and should have behaved liberally and nobly. But now, what can I do? It were silliness—it were cowardice to concede. No; I will carry the suit through every court in England first, and live on a crust after all, if lawyers will leave me as much.

⁠You intended to ride this morning, but I am sorry I cannot accompany you. I have made an engagement with Miss Vane to try the newly discovered organ of her nephew, and will give him his first lesson of mathematics forthwith. ⁠Ha! put by his aunt under your tuition? ⁠Why should this surprise you? it is only an experiment. ⁠True, true; we are all, now-a-days, busy with experiments: we shall find out, by and by, some new way of giving brains to a dunce, dexterity to awkwardness, boldness to timidity, ay, and stability to the wavering of a fair lady's will. Faith ​and truth! governing and law-making will only be matters of experiment. Make verses on the subject, man, and publish them; that will be another experiment. ⁠Nay, how far rhyme without reason will succeed, is no new experiment. ⁠But there will be reason in it, if thou dost not mar it with thy rhyme. ⁠Welcome, Brightly; you will help me to deal with this moody man here. Have you any news to tell that may amuse us? ⁠To be sure I have. The learned phrenologist has suddenly disappeared from his lodgings; and Miss Vane and her niece are preparing to set off for town. ⁠Who told you this? It cannot be true: the last part of the story cannot be true. ⁠Yet that is just the part of it that I am most ​assured of; for they are preparing the imperial of her carriage, and horses have been ordered from the inn. If you would have her remain, Kunliffe, you had better go speedily to wish her good-bye. ⁠Wish her to the devil! ⁠Wishes are free to every one; but even that wish may be expressed in a civil manner.—Come away with me, Thornhill: the moody man will deal best with himself; and I have some curiosity to see that urchin get his lesson of lines and triangles before they go; for many half hours and half minds may pass away ere his fair aunt is actually in her carriage.

⁠[Exeunt Brightly and Thornhill.

⁠Preparing to depart!—No notice given!—The phrenologist too disappeared! Yes, yes; there is some compact in all this.—His sudden illness too, and all those affected grimaces.—Can he have persuaded her, that some terrible propensities are revealed on the surface of my pericranium; and can she be such a fool as to believe him?—Ay, ay; a rich heiress has fallen into the hands of a cunning knave by a weaker device ere now.—I must not linger here: I'll ​get to the bottom of this villainy before I rest.—O, this world of knaves and fools! why was my lot cast in it?—But, being so cast, shall I become quietly the prey of cunning and deceit? May I not use similar weapons in self-defence?—No, no! let her go: fortune was not my object; and if she is fool enough to believe him, she is worthy of such a mate.—Yet it makes me distracted. Oh, this perversity of mind! She is fickle, she is foolish, she is fanciful, she is capricious, and her very faults endear her to my unaccountable feelings.—He shall not have her.—His filthy fingers sprawling over my head for such a villainous purpose: it is abominable.—If deceit will not serve me, force shall. What brings you here, Marmalade? ⁠La, Sir! nothing bad, I'm sure. If she waits at the back garden gate, it is for no bad purpose, I'm sure. ⁠Who waits there? Tell me plainly, and in few words. ⁠Lord a' mercy! why should I make many words about it? She has done it very badly, ​and I don't care who knows what a miserable mantua-maker she is. ⁠Mantua-maker! What does all this nonsense mean? ⁠It is nonsense, for sartain; and I says to her, says I, "What does it signify making the gown too long, only for to save the cutting of the stuff, when I cannot take one step before me, without trampling it in the dirt?" ⁠Is the gown here? ⁠Yes, Sir Cameron; and she is waiting at the back gate to take it to be altered. ⁠Ha! let me see it. ⁠I hope you like the colour, Sir: it is gay, but genteel. I never buys nothing that is vulgar. ⁠Why should you, Marmalade? People only buy what they want.—And it is too long for you? ​ ⁠A mort too long. The giantess that beats the drum at Middleton fair might wear it and be fitted. ⁠Give it to me. ⁠To you, Sir Cameron! ⁠Ask no questions. The gown is mine: carry it back to your own room, and I'll follow you immediately. [Exit Housekeeper.] Yes, this will do; she will provide me with shawl and bonnet besides, and I'll be a match for this cursed philosopher.⁠ [Exit.

A Parlour in the House of Latitia, and the Glass Door of a small Conservatory seen at one side, with a Curtain drawn behind it.

Enter Flounce, who goes to the door, which she opens in silence, giving a key to somebody in the inside.

⁠It was well I found the coast clear, and have ​given him the key: he may now keep concealed, or come out as he pleases. ⁠What wert thou doing in the conservatory? Hast thou left any odd matters there?—But I have changed my mind again, and sha'n't set off till the evening; so you need not be in a hurry. ⁠I never am, Ma'am; for the more I hurry myself to obey your directions, the surer it always proves to be of no use. ⁠Thou art rather sharp, methinks: something has ruffled thee. What strange awkward rantipole was that I saw thee speaking to a few minutes since in the lane? ⁠She did not tell me her name, Ma'am; and I had too little curiosity to ask it. I never speaks when there is no reason for it. ⁠A good rule, Flounce, which thou observest, with some exceptions. (Looking off the Stage.) But look yonder,—a man coming in a strange ​stealing manner along the passage: what brings him here? ⁠No good, I'm sure; for it is Doctor Crany: I know him by his legs. ⁠Is it possible, my good Sir? I thought you were ere now many miles hence,—that you considered your life as in danger. ⁠I will account for my being here; but to your ears alone can I explain it. ⁠And now, Sir, if you please. ⁠That I considered my life in danger is true. Ay, too truly in danger from the offence I must have given to a man with such destructive propensities. ⁠And why did you venture nevertheless to remain? ​ ⁠Ah, dearest Miss Vane! can you ask that question? do not my eyes—my fond languishing eyes answer it plainly, and tell you that I could not think of saving my own life when the safety of one whom I love far better than myself is concerned. ⁠You astonish me. ⁠Let me entreat you to remain no longer in the neighbourhood of such a dangerous person. I tremble to think of it. ⁠What can I do? ⁠Fly with me this very night. Fly with a man who loves, who adores you, whose whole life shall be devoted to your happiness. (Kneels at her feet.) ⁠Off, base deceiver! yon have betrayed yourself; and thank Heaven you have! I see your purpose now: you have slandered a worthy gentleman for your own selfish ends. ​ ⁠Slandered, Madam! do you believe that the organs of murder are not really on his head? ⁠No, Sir; neither that nor any bad thing do I believe of him. ⁠Have patience for a moment: I cannot suffer you to run upon your own destruction. I implore—I beseech you for your own safety! my chaise is at the gate: if the present opportunity is neglected (Catching hold of her gown.) ⁠Unhand me; let me go, or I will alarm the house, and bring some one to my assistance. ⁠O come, come, good Madam, come nearer. ⁠Good Madam! and what is your pleasure here, good Madam? ⁠My pleasure is that you release that lady's hand from your unworthy hold: touch but the ​tip of her finger or the hem of her garment, if you dare; I will not permit the smallest breach of decorum in my presence. ⁠You are a lady of an extreme delicacy, undoubtedly. ⁠Yes, Sir, of a delicacy which must not be offended. ⁠I plainly perceive, Madam, that yours is entirely of that description. I have the honour to obey your commands. (Stepping backward and bowing low.) ⁠You are extremely polite, Sir; I have the honour to thank you for your ready obedience. ⁠My obedience to you, Madam, expresses my deference to the sex of whom you are the worthy representative. ⁠Say rather, that part of the sex to whom ​gallants like yourself pay their readiest obedience. ⁠As you please, Madam, and I wish you good day. ⁠No, no, Sir, your company is too agreeable; I will not part with it so soon. ⁠Devil take her! she has the grasp and the power of a moss-trooper. ⁠What uncouth sight is here; is there masquerading in the house? ⁠Indeed, there is some appearance of it. This lady has come unexpectedly, and has done me unspeakable service; for which I know not how to thank her enough. ⁠But she steals away and avoids your acknowledgments. ​ ⁠My good Madam, you will not leave me so soon. ⁠Permit me to go out to the open air; I am faint and languid.

⁠You had better put off your head-gear; that large bonnet, with so much hooding and muffling under it, would exclude the free air from your face, though you were on the top of Mount Ararat. Permit me to assist in removing it. (Sir Cameron puts out his hand to prevent Brightly, and says something indistinctly.) You speak with such a soft, pretty voice, lady, that I don't know one word you say.

⁠She is observant of forms, and will not have a gentleman's assistance. (Aloud to Sir Cameron.) Let me take off your bonnet, if I can reach it. (Sir Cameron stoops, and she removes the bonnet.) And this handkerchief, too (takes off a handkerchief), and a great cap besides. What's under all this!

⁠Look to Dr. Crany there, don't let him steal off. ​ ⁠Sir Cameron,—Sir Cameron disguised! ⁠How had you patience to endure all these trammels?

⁠I have been too fortunate under them to feel impatient, but help me, an thou wilt, to get rid of them now. (Putting off his female attire, assisted by Brightly.) But where is the doctor? don't let him steal off.

⁠No, Sir; you need have no apprehension that I shall steal off, as you are pleased to term it. I am too bold in my conscious innocence, and in the principles of an incomparable science, to shrink from defending both. Have I not already given proofs of its truth and usefulness in the discovery I have made of the talents of that unmanageable boy?—who may now be cultivated, from a mere vacant idler, into one of the deepest philosophers of the age. ⁠Here comes his tutor, very opportunely, to corroborate your assertions, Dr. Crany. (To ​Thornhill.) And pray what report have you to make of the wonderful capacity of your pupil? ⁠I have little to say on that subject. ⁠And even that little need not be said. (Picking up the book.) This dishonoured Euclid tells the tale plainly enough. ⁠Come away to your room, Master Lawry: O fy, fy! I beg pardon, Madam, for coming after him, but he gets worser and worser than ever, since that heathenish book there was put into his hands.

⁠I cannot suffer this defamation. Come here, young Sir, and I will show the organs of mathematics on your head of a most prominent and promising size. (To Flounce.) Pray make him stand still one moment, if you please. (Flounce takes hold of Lawry, while the Doctor parts his hair with his fingers, and shews a lump.) There, gentlemen, you see it with your own eyes; a more superb organ never met the sight or the touch of a phrenologist. ​

⁠Lord help you, doctor! that is the lump that came but the other day, after a blow from the bat-ball: two pennyworth of the oil of rosemary would send it away in no time at all.

⁠Well, well; there is no contending with prejudice, and the sooner I take my leave the better;—if I am not to be considered as under constraint. (Bowing affectedly to Sir Cameron.)

⁠You have my good leave now, learned Sir, to go where you please. ⁠But won't you wait for a guard of protection, good Doctor, being in the neighbourhood of so tremendous an enemy? ⁠Nay, Mr. Brightly, let him off peaceably with no more taunts: I believe he has great faith in his art, though he abuses it for his own base purposes. I thank you all: to you, Mr. Thornhill, I am greatly obliged. And what shall I do now with this unruly boy? Why was I left guardian to such a creature? ​ ⁠Never trouble your head about me, aunt; I can handle a rope and climb to the mast-head, and look over a hundred leagues of ocean, and visit far-off shores, as well as any boy. ⁠My dear creature, my dear boy! that were a hard life for thee; thou art too good for this. ⁠Not a whit, not a whit! Am I too good for what Lord Nelson has done before me? ⁠And now, credulous dupe as I have been, will you pardon me, Sir Cameron?

⁠Allow me to answer for you, Kunliffe, or you will mar your present advantage. (To Miss Vane.) You cannot surely expect, my dear lady, to be let off with impunity. Say your own self what amends he ought to have: pronounce your own punishment, and it shall be immediately inflicted,

⁠How provoking you are, Mr. Brightly! how ​can I pronounce or think of any thing immediately? Do you determine it. ⁠You give me leave to do so, on the spot, then? ⁠O no, no! not immediately. ⁠I beg pardon, Madam, immediately is a position you dislike: I shall take time to consider; and, at your tea-table, in the evenings it shall be pronounced. ⁠Round which, I presume, we are all invited to assemble. ⁠Most assuredly; I request all present to do me that honour. Excuse me now; I must retire: the thoughts of my own folly make me quite bewildered and unwell.⁠[Exit.

⁠She must have a bad time of it, I think, if she sicken on every new proof of her folly. (Half aside to Thornhill).

⁠The caustic of thy tongue is intolerable; her ​worst fault is indecision; and if she were wiser than she is, who would like her the better for it?

⁠Not you, I can plainly perceive. (Aside to Thornhill, as Sir Cameron hurries off). Those words augur well, methinks, for my paddock.

⁠Don't bespeak your fruit trees, however, till you have won it. But let us follow him and learn all that happened while he was under that absurd metamorphosis. ⁠Ay, let us do so; I have a great curiosity to know every thing about it. Who would have thought of his dignity compromised under a mantua and petticoat?

⁠[Exeunt after Sir Cameron.