uced by a monomania which compelled him to decline
the simple enjoyment of reasonable food and dress. Cooke's monomania,
however, was a rare one. In Blackwood's Magazine there appeared, several
years ago, an admirable writer, whose name we now forget, under the
title of a modern Pythagorean; but that was merely a _nom de guerre_,
adopted, probably, to excite a stronger interest in the perusal of his
productions. Here, however, was a man in whom the principle existed upon
what he considered rational and philosophic grounds. He had gotten
the philosophical blockhead's crotchet into his head, and carried the
principle, in a practical point of view, much further than ever the old
fool himself did in his life.

CHAPTER XXI. The Dinner at Ballyspellan

--The Appearance Woodward.--Valentine Greatrakes.

The Thursday appointed for the dinner at length arrived. The little
village was all alive with stir and bustle, inasmuch as for several
months no such important event had taken place. It was, in fact, a
gala day; and the poorer inhabitants crowded about the inn to watch the
guests arriving, and the paupers to solicit their alms. Twelve or one
was then the usual hour for dinner, but in consequence of the large
scale on which it was to take place and the unusual preparations
necessary, it was not until the hour of two that the guests sat down to
table. Some of the principal names we have already mentioned--all the
males, of course, invalids--but, as we have said, there were a good
number of the surrounding gentry, their wives and daughters, so that the
fete was expected to come off with great eclat. Topertoe was dressed, as
was then the custom, in full canonical costume, with, his silk cassock
and bands, for he was a doctor of divinity; and Manifold was habited in
the usual dress of the day--his falling collar exhibiting a neck whose
thickness took away all surprise as to his tendency to apoplexy. The
lengthy figure of the unsubstantial Pythagorean was cased in linen
garments, almost snow-white, through which his anatomy might be read as
distinctly as if his living skeleton was naked before them. Mrs. Rosebud
was blooming and expanded into full flower, whilst Miss Rosebud was just
in that interesting state when the leaves are apparently in the act of
bursting out and bestowing their beauty and fragrance on the gratified
senses of the beholder. Dr. Doolittle, who was a regular wag--indeed
too much so ever to succeed in h