by a long passage to the kitchen again, where two rounds of boiled beef had been put to officer the quartern loaves, and so through the washery and pot-and-pannery into the garden ground, where I came in for as long a yarn about the wholesomeness of fresh vegetables and salads, as if the whole crew of youngsters had been on the books with the scurvy. From the cabbages we got to the flowerbeds; and says the Doctor, “I don’t circumscribe, or circumvent, one or t’other; I don’t circumvent my pupils to scholastical works, but encourage perusing the book of Nature.”--“That’s very correct, then, Doctor,” said I, “and my own sentiment exactly. Nevy, what’s Natural Philosophy?”--“Keeping rabbits,” says Bob; which sounds likely enough, but it’s not the thing by sixty degrees. I can’t say but I felt the cats’-paws coming over my temper; but I kept it under till we fetched the paddock, to look at the cows; and that brought up another yarn about milk-dieting; and says Madam, “when summer comes, our Doctor is so good as to permit the young gentlemen to make his hay.”--“No doubt alive, Ma’am,” says I; “saves hands, and good fun too, eh, nevy?--What’s Agriculture?” However this time dear Bob chose to play sulky, and wouldn’t answer good or bad; whereby the Doctor crowds up, with a fresh question. “Now then, Master Robert,” says he pretty sharp, “I will ask you something you _do_ know. What is Algebra,--Al--gebra?”--“Please Sir,” says Bob, “it’s a wild donkey all over stripes.”--“There’s a dear boy!” cries Madam, the more fool she; but old Darby looked as black as thunder at midnight. “I’m afraid,” says he, letting go the toplifts, as one may say, of his eyebrows; “I’m afraid there has been a little slackness here with the cat; but, by your leave, Sir, and so forth, I will investigate a little into it myself. Now Master Robert, take a pull at your mental tackle, for I’m going to overhaul your Mathematics:--How do you describe a triangle?”--“Please Sir,” says Bob, “it’s the thing that tingle-tangles to the big drum.” Well, there was the devil to pay again, and no pitch hot! Old Darby looked as if he meant either to drop down dead on the spot of apoplexy, or to murder dear Bob; he swelled and reddened up so about the wattles without hoisting out a word. For my own part, nevy as he was, I couldn’t help serving him out a back-handed slap of the head, and then I turned-to at the schoolmaster. “So, Mister Doctor,” says I, “this is what you call a liberal education in your manifest?”--“Sir,” says he, looking as stiff as a corporal just made, “whatever your, some cursed long hard word may be, I cannot consider myself liable for the lagging astern of, I must say, the dullest sailor in my whole convoy.”--“Why, blood and thunder!” said I, for old Nick could not have helped it--“you told me that Bob, my nevy there, was the handiest and smartest of the whole kit!”--“That was _me_, Sir,” says the lady hauling in between us--“and then I only spoke as to temper,