_The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—My dear sir, I am afraid you are growing warm. Pray be cool. Nothing contributes so much to good digestion as to be perfectly cool after dinner. _Mr. Crotchet_.—Sir, the Lacedæmonian virgins wrestled naked with young men; and they grew up, as the wise Lycurgus had foreseen, into the most modest of women, and the most exemplary of wives and mothers. _The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Very likely, sir; but the Athenian virgins did no such thing, and they grew up into wives who stayed at home—stayed at home, sir; and looked after their husbands’ dinner—his dinner, sir, you will please to observe. _Mr. Crotchet_.—And what was the consequence of that, sir? that they were such very insipid persons that the husband would not go home to eat his dinner, but preferred the company of some Aspasia, or Lais. _The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Two very different persons, sir, give me leave to remark. _Mr. Crotchet_.—Very likely, sir; but both too good to be married in Athens. _The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Sir, Lais was a Corinthian. _Mr. Crotchet_.—Od’s vengeance, sir, some Aspasia and any other Athenian name of the same sort of person you like— _The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—I do not like the sort of person at all: the sort of person I like, as I have already implied, is a modest woman, who stays at home and looks after her husband’s dinner. _Mr. Crotchet_.—Well, sir, that was not the taste of the Athenians. They preferred the society of women who would not have made any scruple about sitting as models to Praxiteles; as you know, sir, very modest women in Italy did to Canova; one of whom, an Italian countess, being asked by an English lady, “how she could bear it?” answered, “Very well; there was a good fire in the room.” _The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Sir, the English lady should have asked how the Italian lady’s husband could bear it. The phials of my wrath would overflow if poor dear Mrs. Folliott —: sir, in return for your story, I will tell you a story of my ancestor, Gilbert Folliott. The devil haunted him, as he did Saint Francis, in the likeness of a beautiful damsel; but all he could get from the exemplary Gilbert was an admonition to wear a stomacher and longer petticoats. _Mr. Crotchet_.—Sir, your story makes for my side of the question. It proves that the devil, in the likeness of a fair damsel, with short petticoats and no stomacher, was almost too much for Gilbert Folliott. The force of the spell was in the drapery. _The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Bless my soul, sir! _Mr. Crotchet_.—Give me leave, sir. Diderot— _The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Who was he, sir? _Mr. Crotchet_.—Who was he, sir? the sublime philosopher, the father of the Encyclopædia, of all the encyclopædias that have ever been printed. _The Rev. Dr. Folliott_.—Bless me, sir, a terrible progeny: they belong to the tribe of Incubi. _Mr. Crotchet_.—The great philosopher, Diderot—