depends on the definition of value, I shall be glad to set you right on that point.” “I am much obliged to you, sir,” said the Captain, and was about to express his utter disqualification for the proposed instruction, when Mr. Skionar walked up and said: “Lady Clarinda informs me that you wish to talk over with me the question of subjective reality. I am delighted to fall in with a gentleman who daily appreciates the transcendental philosophy.” “Lady Clarinda is too good,” said the Captain; and was about to protest that he had never heard the word “transcendental” before, when the butler announced dinner. Mr. Crotchet led the way with Lady Clarinda: Lord Bossnowl followed with Miss Crotchet: the economist and transcendentalist pinned in the Captain, and held him, one by each arm, as he impatiently descended the stairs in the rear of several others of the company, whom they had forced him to let pass; but the moment he entered the dining-room he broke loose from them, and at the expense of a little _brusquerie_, secured his position. “Well, Captain,” said Lady Clarinda, “I perceive you can still manœuvre.” “What could possess you,” said the Captain, “to send two unendurable and inconceivable bores to intercept me with rubbish about which I neither know nor care any more than the man in the moon?” “Perhaps,” said Lady Clarinda, “I saw your design, and wished to put your generalship to the test. But do not contradict anything I have said about you, and see if the learned will find you out.” “There is fine music, as Rabelais observes, in the _cliquetis d’asssiettes_, a refreshing shade in the _ombre de salle à manger_, and an elegant fragrance in the _fumée de rôti_,” said a voice at the Captain’s elbow. The Captain turning round, recognised his clerical friend of the morning, who knew him again immediately, and said he was extremely glad to meet him there; more especially as Lady Clarinda had assured him that he was an enthusiastic lover of Greek poetry. “Lady Clarinda,” said the Captain, “is a very pleasant young lady.” _The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—So she is, sir: and I understand she has all the wit of the family to herself, whatever that _totum_ may be. But a glass of wine after soup is, as the French say, the _verre de santé_. The current of opinion sets in favour of Hock: but I am for Madeira; I do not fancy Hock till I have laid a substratum of Madeira. Will you join me? _Captain Fitzchrome_.—With pleasure. _The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Here is a very fine salmon before me: and May is the very _point nommé_ to have salmon in perfection. There is a fine turbot close by, and there is much to be said in his behalf: but salmon in May is the king of fish. _Mr. Crotchet_.—That salmon before you, doctor, was caught in the Thames, this morning. _The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Παπαπαῖ! Rarity of rarities! A Thames salmon caught this morning. Now, Mr. Mac Quedy, even in fish your Modern Athens must yield. _Cedite Graii_.