can believe, like the
woman mentioned by Trallianus, that the universe is upheld upon my left
thumb; or that my nose is made of glass, and irradiates the walls and
the ceiling with beautiful prismatic colours. Also, I can think I am a
looking-glass, like the little Scotchman, Donald Munro, and reflect,
and copy all the glances, grimaces, and postures of those who look into
my face. More than this, I feel capable of convincing myself, as the
Chevalier D'Epernay did, that my anima sensitiva has shorn my head
bare, so that I shall merely have to rely upon the hair or two left on
my lips to inspire you with a certain amount of respect. As true
Serapion brethren, you will know how to indulge, and give due honour to
all these little delusions. And pray don't think of curing me, by
applying the remedies recommended by Boerhaave, Mercurialis, Antius of
Amyda, Friedrich Kraft, and Herr Richter; inasmuch as they all
prescribe a considerable amount of castration, or, at all events,
gentle slapping of the face, and boxing of the ears. And the fact is,
without doubt, that a certain amount of threshing has a beneficial
effect on both heart and mind, and awakens the activity of some of the
most important functions of the body. I just ask you, what would have
become of us--should we ever have learnt a single one of our lessons,
in the fifth form, but for a due amount of threshing? I recollect quite
well that when, at the age of twelve, I read the 'Sorrows of Werther,'
I went off and immediately fell in love with a young lady of thirteen,
and wanted to shoot myself. Luckily my father cured me of this
super-excitation of my heart on the system of treatment recommended by
Rhases and Valuscus de Taranta, who prescribed castigation as a
sovereign remedy for love. At the same time the old gentleman shed
warm, paternal tears of joy on discovering that I was not an ass: for
experience proves that love, in said animal, increases in proportion as
he is beaten."

"Oh, most delightful of all fabulists!" cried Theodore. "How you are
caprioling and curvetting! Please to go on doing so always! Flash your
lightnings in amongst us whenever the atmosphere is growing sultry, in
all the quaintest of your phrases. And, above all, freshen our
Sylvester up a little; for, after his usual wont, he has not uttered a
single word as yet."

"The fact is," said Ottmar, "that I can scarcely convince myself that
it really _is_ Sylvester who is sitting in that chai