the unlucky collision of a flying fragment of rock had indeed
emancipated the spirit of the craniologist from its terrestrial
bondage.

Mr Escot had considerably outstripped his companions, and arrived at
the scene of the disaster just as Mr Cranium, being utterly destitute
of natatorial skill, was in imminent danger of final submersion. The
deteriorationist, who had cultivated this valuable art with great
success, immediately plunged in to his assistance, and brought him
alive and in safety to a shelving part of the shore. Their landing was
hailed with a view-holla from the delighted Squire, who, shaking them
both heartily by the hand, and making ten thousand lame apologies to
Mr Cranium, concluded by asking, in a pathetic tone, _How much water
he had swallowed?_ and without waiting for his answer, filled a large
tumbler with Madeira, and insisted on his tossing it off, which was no
sooner said than done. Mr Jenkison and Mr Foster now made their
appearance. Mr Panscope descended the tower, which he vowed never
again to approach within a quarter of a mile. The tumbler of Madeira
was replenished, and handed round to recruit the spirits of the party,
which now began to move towards Headlong Hall, the Squire capering for
joy in the van, and the little fat butler waddling in the rear.

The Squire took care that Mr Cranium should be seated next to him at
dinner, and plied him so hard with Madeira to prevent him, as he said,
from taking cold, that long before the ladies sent in their summons to
coffee, every organ in his brain was in a complete state of
revolution, and the Squire was under the necessity of ringing for
three or four servants to carry him to bed, observing, with a smile of
great satisfaction, that he was in a very excellent way for escaping
any ill consequences that might have resulted from his accident.