The vicar and Mr. Seymour instantly proceeded with the terrified Jerry Styles towards the house of the unfortunate “planer of deals;” they had not gone far before they met several other villagers, who informed them that Dr. Doseall was in attendance upon the wounded man, and had pronounced him to be in the greatest danger. On their arrival at the house, the roof of which they at once perceived had not suffered in the fray, they learned that Tom Plank had been engaged in some experiments for producing a _vacuum_, in the prosecution of his new scheme of propelling passengers through a funnel; and that, in firing a mixture of oxygen and hydrogen gases, he had neglected the usual precaution, and blown up his apparatus; the stop-cock had been unceremoniously expelled through the window, and, in its passage, had ungraciously flown in the face of its master, and left the traces of its indignation in the form of a very slight scratch upon his forehead; this accident, with a burn of the fingers, was the only personal injury he had sustained. “Come, come,” said Mr. Seymour, “no mischief has occurred, and the accident will, I trust, teach you more caution for the future. You are not the first adventurer who has _burned_ his _fingers_ by _bubble_ speculations, and in vain attempts to _raise the wind_.” Dr. Doseall, however, with a countenance of stern composure, and a portentous shake of the head, maintained that the accident was by no means so trifling as Mr. Seymour appeared to suppose; and, in conformity with this view of the case, he had prudently bled his patient largely, and directed sundry mixtures and lotions, together with a _quantum sufficit_ of laudanum, in order, as he said, “to keep down the swelling and puffing of the head,” although there were those present who were uncharitable enough to hint, that the _swelling_ and _puffing_ related rather to the Doctor’s bill and character, than to the patient’s pericranium. After a short interval, engaged in answering the numerous enquiries of the anxious spectators, the doctor, with an air of awful solemnity, advanced to the sufferer, and offered him a bolus of no ordinary size; upon the virtues of which he descanted in most touching language. “Avaunt!” exclaimed Mr. Seymour, “do you suppose that Tom Plank has the throat of the great dragon which the Indians believe to swallow the moon, and thus to produce the phænomena of lunar eclipses? Away with thy treacle and pipe-clay; there cannot be the least pretext for this parade of remedies; I warrant you that Dame Nature, unless she be put out of humour by your officious interference, will heal the scratch before to-morrow’s sunrise.”