“To change the air and the scene. I'll be frank with you--you are man enough to bear the truth--you have received a shock that will very likely bring on brain-fever, unless you get some sleep tonight. But you would not sleep in Hillsborough. You'd wake a dozen times in the night, trembling like an aspen leaf, and fancying you were blown up again.” “Yes, but my mother, sir! If I don't go home at seven o'clock, she'll find me out.” “If you went crazy wouldn't she find you out? Come, my young friend, trust to my experience, and to the interest this attempt to murder you, and your narrow escape, have inspired in me. When I have landed you in the Temple of Health, and just wasted a little advice on a pig-headed patient in the neighborhood (he is the squire of the place), I'll drive back to Hillsborough, and tell your mother some story or other: you and I will concoct that together as we go.” At this Henry was all obedience, and indeed thanked him, with the tears in his eyes, for his kindness to a poor stranger. Dr. Amboyne smiled. “If you were not a stranger, you would know that saving cutlers' lives is my hobby, and one in which I am steadily resisted and defeated, especially by the cutlers themselves: why, I look upon you as a most considerate and obliging young man for indulging me in this way. If you had been a Hillsborough hand, you would insist upon a brain-fever, and a trip to the lunatic asylum, just to vex me, and hinder me of my hobby.” Henry stared. This was too eccentric for him to take it all in at once. “What!” said Dr. Amboyne, observing his amazement, “Did you never hear of Dr. Doubleface?” “No, sir.” “Never hear of the corpulent lunatic, who goes about the city chanting, like a cuckoo, 'Put yourself in his place--put yourself in her place--in their place?' “No, sir, I never did.” “Then such is fame. Well, never mind that just now; there's a time for every thing. Please observe that ruined house: the ancient family to whom it belongs are a remarkable example of the vicissitude of human affairs.” He then told him the curious ups and downs of that family, which, at two distant periods, had held vast possessions in the county; but were now represented by the shell of one manor house, and its dovecote, the size of a modern villa. Next he showed him an obscure battlefield, and told him that story, and who were the parties engaged; and so on. Every mile furnished its legend, and Dr. Amboyne related them all so graphically that the patient's mind was literally stolen away from himself. At last, after a rapid drive of eleven miles through the pure invigorating air, they made a sudden turn, and entered a pleasant and singularly rural village: they drew up at a rustic farmhouse, clad with ivy; and Dr. Amboyne said, “This is the temple: here you can sleep as safe from gunpowder as a field-marshal born.”