“A pleasant voyage to you! There, not a word more; I must run down to coffee.” “Now may I never laugh more,” I said, “if I am baffled thus.” So I strolled back to the front of the house and proceeded to reconnoitre. A bay-window was half open, and in a small neat drawing-room I perceived a group assembled: an old lady, with a high muslin cap and red ribbons, was pouring out the coffee; her nephew, a tall awkward young gentleman, silting on one chair and resting his legs on another, was occupied in the study of Sir Charles Grandison; and my fair Margaret was leaning on a sofa, and laughing immoderately. “Indeed, miss,” said the matron, “you should learn to govern your mirth; people will think you came out of Bedlam.” I lifted the window gently, and stepped into the room. “Bedlam, madam!” quoth I, “I bring intelligence from Bedlam; I arrived last week.” The tall awkward young gentleman stared; and the aunt half said, half shrieked, “What in the name of wonder are you?” “Mad, madam! very particularly mad! Mad as a hare in March or a Cheapside blood on Sunday morning. Look at me! do I not foam? Listen to me! do I not rave? Coffee, my dear madam, coffee; there is no animal so thirsty as your madman in the dog-days.” “Eh, really!” said the tall awkward young gentleman. “My good sir,” I began. But my original insanity began to fail me, and I drew forthwith upon Ossian’s. “Fly! receive the wind and fly; the blasts are in the hollow of my hand, the course of the storm is mine!” “Eh, really!” said the tall awkward young gentleman. “I look on the nations and they vanish; my nostrils pour the blast of death; I come abroad on the winds; the tempest is before my face; but my dwelling is calm, above the clouds; the fields of my rest are pleasant.” “Do you mean to insult us?” said the old lady. “Ay! do you mean to insult my aunt?--really!” said the tall awkward young gentleman. “I shall call in my servants,” said the old lady. “I am the humblest of them,” said I, bowing. “I shall teach you a different tune,” said the tall awkward young gentleman, “really!” “Very well, my dear sir; my instrument is the barrel-organ;” and I cocked my sweet little pocket companion in his face, “Vanish, little Kastril; for by Hannibal, Heliogabalus, and Holophernes, time is valuable, madness is precipitate, and hair-triggers are the word! Vanish!” “Eh, really!” said the tall awkward young gentleman, and performed an _entrechat_ which carried him to the door: the old lady had disappeared at the first note of the barrel-organ. I locked the door, and found Margaret in a paroxysm of laughter. “I wish you had shot him,” she said, when she recovered; “I wish you had shot him: he is a sad fool.”