The Wheel seems drawn to Headlong Hall (1816), and now we land at Chapter VI. 

The Reverend Doctor Caster seated himself in the corner of a sofa near Miss Philomela Poppyseed. Miss Philomela detailed to him the plan of a very moral and aristocratical novel she was preparing for the press, and continued holding forth, with her eyes half shut, till a long drawn nasal tone from the reverend divine compelled her suddenly to open them in all the indignation of surprise. The cessation of the hum of her voice awakened the reverend gentleman, who, lifting up first one eyelid, then the other, articulated, or rather murmured, "Admirably planned, indeed!" 

 "I have not quite finished, sir," said Miss Philomela, " Will you have the goodness to inform me where I left off?" 

The doctor hummed a while, and at length answered: " I think you had just laid it down as a position, that a thousand a year is an indispensable ingredient in the passion of love, and that no man, who is not so far gifted by nature, can reasonably presume to feel that passion himself, or be correctly the object of it with a well-educated female." 

 "That, sir," said Miss Philomela, highly incensed, "is the fundamental principle which I lay down in the first chapter, and which the whole four volumes, of which I detailed to you the outline, are intended to set in a strong practical light."

 "Bless me!" said the doctor, "what a nap I must have had!"

A turn of the Wheel, and we return to the beginning, Headlong Hall (1816), Chapter IV. Squire Headlong has been bemoaning the sorry state of the grounds at Headlong Hall.

"My dear sir," said Mr. Milestone, "accord me your permission to wave the wand of enchantment over your grounds. The rocks shall be blown up, the trees shall be cut down, the wilderness and all its goats shall vanish like mist. Pagodas and Chinese bridges, gravel walks and shrubberies, bowling greens, canals, and clumps of larch, shall rise upon its ruins. One age, sir, has brought to light the treasures of ancient learning; a second has penetrated into the depths of metaphysics; a third has brought to perfection the science of astronomy; but it was reserved for the exclusive genius of the present times, to invent the noble art of picturesque gardening, which has given, as it were, a new tint to the complexion of nature, and a new outline to the physiognomy of the universe!"

 A return trip to Nightmare Abbey (1818), Chapter VIII.

Marionetta.—Do you, or do you not, know what is the matter with my cousin?

Mr. Flosky. —To say that I do not know, would be to say that I do not know, would be to say that I am ignorant of something; and God forbid that a transcendental metaphysician, who has pure anticipated cognitions of everything, and carries the whole science of geometry in his head without ever having looked into Euclid, should fall into so empirical an error as to declare himself ignorant of anything; to say that I do know, would be to pretend to positive and circumstantial knowledge touching present matter of fact, which, when you consider the nature of evidence, and the various lights in which the same thing may be seen—

 Marionetta.—I see, Mr. Flosky, that either you have no information, or are determined not to impart it; and I beg your pardon for having given you this unnecessary trouble. 

 Mr. Flosky.—My dear Miss O'CarrolI, it would have given me great pleasure to have said anything that would have given you pleasure; but if any person living could make report of having obtained any information on any subject from Ferdinando Flosky, my transcendental reputation would be ruined for ever.

The Wheel returns us to Crotchet Castle (1831), Chapter VIII, Science and Charity. On his way home from dinner, Reverend Doctor Folliott has been attacked by a pair of ruffians. He successfully (accidentally) defends himself.

...'I will beat you to a jelly, and I will then roll you into the ditch, to lie till the constable comes for you, thief.’

‘Hold! hold! reverend sir,’ exclaimed the penitent culprit, ‘I am disabled already in every finger, and in every joint. I will roll myself into the ditch, reverend sir.’

‘Stir not, rascal,’ returned the divine, ‘stir not so much as the quietest leaf above you, or my bamboo rebounds on your body, like hail in a thunder-storm. Confess, speedily, villain; are you simple thief, or would you have manufactured me into a subject, for the benefit of science? Ay, miscreant caitiff, you would have made me a subject for science, would you? You are a schoolmaster abroad, are you? You are marching with a detachment of the march of mind, are you? You are a member of the Steam Intellect Society, are you? You swear by the learned friend, do you?’

‘Oh no, reverend sir,’ answered the criminal, ‘I am innocent of all these offences, whatever they are...' 

Note: "Caitiff" is a coward, villain, despicable person. 

The Wheel is feeling frisky tonight, depositing us at The Plays of Thomas Love Peacock (1910), edited by A.B. Young. This short excerpt is from Scene I of The Three Doctors (1810-1815?). O'Fir is upset after being called an "impudent rascal," and removes a pair of pistols from his travelling trunk, saying it is "the shortest way of settling differences among friends."

O'Fir.

This trigger if I pull it,

Will emancipate a bullet

That shall set our quarrels right.

Narcotic.

When I see a loaded pistol,

My diastole and systole

Forget their functions quite. 

A mighty spin, and we arrive at Nightmare Abbey (1818), Chapter 11. 

MR. HILARY.

I will say, too, that the highest wisdom and the highest genius have been invariably accompanied with cheerfulness. We have sufficient proofs on record, that Shakespeare and Socrates were the most festive of companions. But now the little wisdom and genius we have, seem to be entering into a conspiracy against cheerfulness.

MR. TOOBAD.

How can we be cheerful with the devil among us?

THE HONORABLE MR. LISTLESS. 

How can we be cheerful when our nerves are shattered?

MR. FLOSKY. 

How can we be cheerful, when we are surrounded by a reading public, that is growing too wise for its betters?

SCYTHROP. 

How can we be cheerful when our great general designs are crossed every moment by our little particular passions?

MR. CYPRESS. 

How can we be cheerful in the midst of disappointment and despair?

MR. GLOWRY.

Let us all be unhappy together.

 A first-time visit to Crotchet Castle (1831), Chapter 2.

MR. CROTCHET, JUN.

...I am fitting up a flotilla of pleasure-boats, with spacious cabins, and a good cellar, to carry a choice philosophical party up the Thames and Severn, into the Ellesmere canal, where we shall be among the mountains of North Wales; which we may climb or not, as we think proper; but we will, at any rate, keep our floating hotel well provisioned, and we will try to settle all the questions over which a shadow of doubt yet hangs in the world of philosophy.

THE REV. DR. FOLLIOTT.

 I will be of the party, though I must hire an officiating curate, and deprive poor dear Mrs. Folliott, for several weeks, of the pleasure of combing my wig.