CHAPTER XXX. P. I.—p. 289. THE OLD BELLS RUNG TO A NEW TUNE. If the bell have any sides the clapper will find 'em. BEN JONSON. CHAPTER XXXI. P. I.—p. 302. MORE CONCERNING BELLS. Lord, ringing changes all our bells hath marr'd; Jangled they have and jarr'd So long, they're out of tune, and out of frame; They seem not now the same. Put them in frame anew, and once begin To tune them so, that they may chime all in. HERBERT. CHAPTER XXXII. P. I.—p. 308. AN INTRODUCTION TO CERTAIN PRELIMINARIES ESSENTIAL TO THE PROGRESS OF THIS WORK. _Mas demos ya el assiento en lo importante, Que el tiempo huye del mundo por la posta._ BALBUENA. THE DOCTOR, &c. CHAPTER VII. A. I. A FAMILY PARTY AT A NEXT DOOR NEIGHBOUR'S. Good Sir, reject it not, although it bring Appearances of some fantastic thing At first unfolding! GEORGE WITHER TO THE KING. I was in the fourth night of the story of the Doctor and his horse, and had broken it off, not like Scheherezade because it was time to get up, but because it was time to go to bed. It was at thirty-five minutes after ten o'clock, on the 20th of July in the year of our Lord 1813. I finished my glass of punch, tinkled the spoon against its side, as if making music to my meditations, and having my eyes fixed upon the Bhow Begum, who was sitting opposite to me at the head of her own table, I said, “It ought to be written in a Book!” There had been a heavy thunder-storm in the afternoon; and though the thermometer had fallen from 78 to 70, still the atmosphere was charged. If that mysterious power by which the nerves convey sensation and make their impulses obeyed, be (as experiments seem to indicate) identical with the galvanic fluid; and if the galvanic and electric fluids be the same (as philosophers have more than surmised;) and if the lungs (according to a happy hypothesis) elaborate for us from the light of heaven this pabulum of the brain, and material essence, or essential matter of genius,—it may be that the ethereal fire which I had inhaled so largely during the day produced the bright conception, or at least impregnated and quickened the latent seed. The punch, reader, had no share in it. I had spoken as it were abstractedly, and the look which accompanied the words was rather cogitative than regardant. The Bhow Begum laid down her snuff-box and replied, entering into the feeling, as well as echoing the words, “It _ought_ to be written in a book,—certainly it ought.” They may talk as they will of the dead languages. Our auxiliary verbs give us a power which the ancients, with all their varieties of mood, and inflections of tense, never could attain. “It _must_ be written in a book,” said I, encouraged by her manner. The mood was the same, the tense was the same; but the gradation of meaning was marked in a way which a Greek or Latin grammarian might have envied as well as admired.