in view, and not in the number of Miss Lucretia’s _elect_; but as Mr. Snughead had not succeeded in showing me his wit; he returned to the charge. “You will soon be pleased with your situation, I hope,” said he, taking my hand, “and we shall hear you acknowledge the happiness you will meet here, without travelling further; a road which so many young ladies take, to find the temple of Hymen.” I withdrew my hand, and answered him with one of my petrifying looks, as you have named my honest contempt of _puppyism_. “When do you expect your brother?” continued he unmindful of my frowns. It was not determined, was the concise reply, and a silence ensued. Again the civil Mr. Snughead began. “I hear wonders of Sir Murdock’s health and amendment,” said he, addressing Miss Flint; “they tell me his journey to London has quite renovated him.” “It has produced exactly the consequences I predicted,” replied she, with a toss of her head. “He is now as much too _high_ in his spirits as he has been depressed; _now_ he is always in motion and busy, and as a proof of his amendment, he has in his walks with Miss Cowley met the _Heartleys_, and as I suppose, introduced them to her, as neighbours of mine and Lady Maclairn’s”—“Always in the wrong, poor man!” said he: “perhaps he told you, Miss Cowley, that they were duchesses incognito, for he knows them not himself. However, my dear _Madam_,” continued he with a more respectful manner, “I think you should be on your guard, and never walk with Sir Murdock without another companion. There is no dependence to be placed on a man whose mind is so unsettled as the poor baronet’s.” “When I perceive Sir Murdock acts either like a madman or a fool,” answered I, “it will be time enough to avoid him; hitherto, I have seen no indications of an unsettled mind.” “Perhaps not, _young lady_,” answered he with tartness, “neither your age nor experience, I presume, have given you the opportunity of understanding, that there is very frequently a wonderful shrewdness and cunning in madness.”—“I have observed no inconsistency in Sir Murdock’s mind,” answered I, with seriousness, “nor has he discovered to me any of that cunning you speak of, which I conclude may, and must be detected, if the person’s mind be disordered. However,” continued I, assuming a careless air, “if in any instance there can be found so much of _method_ in madness, as to evade all examination, it entirely confirms the received opinion, that madness and wit are closely allied. Folly under this supposition appears to me to be worse than lunacy, for that is incurable.”