_The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ Why that, Miss Gryll, I cannot well make out. I have asked several professors of the science, and have got nothing in return but some fine varieties of rigmarole, of which I can make neither head nor tail. It seems to be a real art of talking about an imaginary art of teaching every man his own business. Nothing practical comes of it, and, indeed, so much the better. It will be at least harmless, as long as it is like Hamlet's reading, 'words., words, words.' Like most other science, it resolves itself into lecturing, lecturing, lecturing, about all sorts of matters, relevant and irrelevant: one enormous bore prating about jurisprudence, another about statistics, another about education, and so forth; the _crambe repetita_ of the same rubbish, which has already been served up 'twiës hot and twiës cold,'{1} at as many other associations nicknamed scientific. _Miss Gryll._ Then, doctor, I should think Lord Curryfin's lecture would be a great relief to the unfortunate audience. _The Rev. Dr. Opimian._ No doubt more amusing and equally profitable. Not a fish more would be caught for it, and this will typify the result of all such scientific talk. I had rather hear a practical cook lecture on bubble and squeak: no bad emblem of the whole affair. _Mr. Gryll._ It has been said a man of genius can discourse on anything. Bubble and squeak seems a limited subject; but in the days of the French Revolution there was an amusing poem with that title;{2} and there might be an amusing lecture; especially if it were like the poem, discursive and emblematical. But men so dismally far gone in the affectation of earnestness would scarcely relish it. 1 And many a Jacke of Dover hast thou sold, That hath been twiës hot and twiës cold. Chaucer: The Coke's Prologue. 2 'Babble and Squeak: a Gallimaufry of British Beef with the Chopped Cabbage of Gallic Philosophy.' By Huddesford. CHAPTER IX SAINT CATHARINE ... gli occhi su levai, E vidi lei che si facea corona, Riflettendo da se gli eterni ral Dante: Paradiso, xxxi. 70-72. I lifted up my gaze, And looked on her who made herself a crown, Reflecting from herself the eternal rays. It was not long before the doctor again walked over to the Tower, to propose to his young friend to co-operate in the Aristophanic comedy. He found him well disposed to do so, and they passed a portion of the afternoon in arranging their programme.