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.

Taking a moment to rest at Maid Marian. The Wheel needs a drop of oil. Here are some useful words from the friar (Chapter 16):

"The world is a stage, and life is a farce, and he that laughs most has most profit of the performance. The worst thing is good enough to be laughed at, though it be good for nothing else; and the best thing, though it be good for something else, is good for nothing better."

A more vigorous spin of the Wheel than customary, and we are rewarded with the first visit to Maid Marian (1822), Chapter 3.

"He looked up at them fiercely, with his mouth full of beef and his eyes full of flame..."

A turn of the Wheel, and a return visit to Headlong Hall, Chapter 9.

Mr. Escot passed a sleepless night, the ordinary effect of love, according to some amatory poets, who seem to have composed their whining ditties for the benevolent purpose of bestowing on others that gentle slumber of which they so pathetically lament the privation.

 The lucky Wheel sends us to The Misfortunes of Elphin (1829), Chapter 3. Seithenyn ap Seithyn has been drinking.

"I do not know what right the wind has to blow upon me here; nor what business the sea has to show itself here; nor what business you have here; but one thing is very evident, that either my castle or the sea is on fire; and I shall be glad to know who has done it, for terrible shall be the vengeance of Seithenyn ap Seithyn..."

 Spin to win, today we land in Headlong Hall (1816), Chapter 5. 

MR. PANSCOPE:

...you seem desirous, by the futile process of analytical dialectics, to subvert the pyramidal structure of synthetically deduced opinions, which have withstood the secular revolutions of physiological disquisition, and which I maintain to be transcendentally self-evident, categorically certain, and syllogistically demonstratable. 

SQUIRE HEADLONG:

Bravo! Pass the bottle. The very best speech that ever was made.

MR. ESCOT:

It has only the slight disadvantage of being unintelligible.

 Today the Wheel takes us to Chapter 5 of Nightmare Abbey (1818). Mr. Flosky is speaking.

"This rage for novelty is the bane of literature. Except my works and those of my particular friends, nothing is good that is not as old as Jeremy Taylor: and, entre nous, the best parts of my friends' books were either written or suggested by myself."

Notes: 

--Jeremy Taylor (1613-1667), a cleric in the Church of England. The "Shakespeare of the Divines."

--entre nous: between us