se, called Walcot Abbey, there was not a
chimney would draw; I sent for the architect and abused him, but he
could not manage it: I was obliged to do it myself."

"Did you manage it, sir?"

"Manage it--I think I did. The first time I lighted the fire, I opened
the door, and the draught was so great, that my little boy, William, who
was standing in the current of air, would have gone right up the
chimney, if I had not caught him by the petticoats; as it was, his frock
was on fire."

"Why sir, it must have been as bad as a hurricane!"

"No, no, not quite so bad--but it showed what a little knowledge of
philosophical arrangement could effect. We have no hurricanes in
England, Peter; but I have seen a very pretty whirlwind when I was at
Walcot Abbey."

"Indeed, sir."

"Yes; it cut four square haystacks quite round, and I lost twenty tons
of hay; it twisted the iron lamp-post at the entrance just as a porpoise
twists a harpoon, and took up a sow and her litter of pigs, that were
about a hundred yards from the back of the house, and landed them safe
over the house to the front, with the exception of the old sow putting
her shoulder out."

"Indeed, sir."

"Yes, but what was strange, there were a great many rats in the hayrick,
and up they went with the hay. Now, Peter, by the laws of gravitation,
they naturally come down before the hay, and I was walking with my
greyhound, or rather terrier, and after one coming down close to her,
which she killed, it was quite ridiculous to witness her looking up in
the air, and watching for the others."

"A greyhound did you say, sir, or a terrier?"

"Both, Peter; the fact is, she had been a greyhound, but breaking her
foreleg against a stump, when coursing, I had the other three amputated
as well, and then she made a capital terrier. She was a great favourite
of mine."

"Well," observed I, "I have read something like that in Baron
Munchausen."

"Mr Simple," said the captain, turning on his elbow and looking me
severely in the face, "what do you mean to imply?"

"Oh, nothing, sir, but I have read a story of that kind."

"Most probably; the great art of invention is to found it upon facts.
There are some people who out of a mole-hill will make a mountain; and
facts and fiction become so blended nowadays, that even truth becomes a
matter of doubt."

"Very true, sir," replied I; and as he did not speak for some minutes, I
ventured to bring my Bible to his bedside, as if I w