o be
the best constructor of a dunghill in the world, for he deals in nothing
but dirt. He refuses to wash his hands, because, he says, it would
disqualify him from giving the last touch to his poem and his
characters."

"Have you philosophers as well as poets here?" asked the stranger.

"Oh dear, yes, sir. We have poetical philosophers, and philosophical
poets; but, I protest to heaven, the wisdom of Solomon, or of an
archangel, could not decide the difference between their folly. There's
a man now, with the old stocking in his hand--it is one of his own, for
you may observe that he has one leg bare--who is pacing up and down in
a deep thinking mood. That man, sir, was set mad by a definition of his
own making."

"Well, let us hear it," said the stranger.

"Why, sir, he imagines that he has discovered a definition for
'nothing.' The definition, however, will make you smile."

"And what, pray, is it?"

"Nothing," he says, "is--a footless stocking without a leg; and
maintains that he ought to hold the first rank as a philosopher for
having invented the definition, and deserves a pension from the crown."

"Who are these two men dressed in black, walking arm in arm?" asked the
stranger. "They appear to be clergymen."

"Yes, sir," replied his conductor, "so they are; two celebrated
polemical controversialists, who, when they were at large, created
by their attacks, each upon the religion of the other, more ill-will,
rancor and religious animosity, than either of their religions, with all
their virtues, could remove. It is impossible to describe the evil they
did. Ever since they came here, however, they are like brothers. They
were placed in the same room, each in a strong strait-waistcoat, for the
space of three months; but on being allowed to walk about, they became
sworn friends, and now amuse themselves more than any other two in the
establishment. They indulge in immoderate fits of laughter, look each
other knowingly in the face, wink, and run the forefinger up the nose,
after which their mirth bursts out afresh, and they laugh until the
tears come down their cheeks."

The stranger, who during all this time was on the lookout for poor
Fenton, as was old Corbet, could observe nobody who resembled him in the
least.

"Have you females in your establishment?" he asked.

"No, sir," replied the gentleman; "but we are about to open an asylum
for them in a detached building, which is in the course of being
erect