The Doctor, says Ralph, was as good a punch as he was a physician, and
after he settled at Uxbridge, in the latter character, where he first
opened his _medical budget_, with the proceeds of his Fellowship at
King's College alone to depend on, Ralph took advantage of a stay in
London to ride over to see his old college chum and fellow-punster,
and reached his _domus_ in the Doctor's absence. Ralph's wig was the
worse for a shower of rain he had rode through, and, taking it off,
desired the Doctor's man, William, to bring him his master's _old
grizzle_ to put on, whilst he dried and put a dust of powder into his.
But ere this could be accomplished, the Doctor returned, as fine as
may be, in his _best tye_, kept especially for visiting his patients
in. As soon as mutual greetings had passed, "Why, zounds, Ralph,"
exclaimed the Doctor, "what a cursed wig you have got on!" "True,"
said Ralph, taking it off as he spoke, "it is a bad one, and if you
will, as I have another with me, I will toss it into the fire." "By
all means," said the Doctor, "for, in truth, it is a very _caxon_,"
and into the _fire_ went the fry. The Doctor now began to skin his
legs, and calling his man, William, "Here," said he, taking off his
tye, "bring me my old wig." "Mr. Thicknesse has got it," said William.
"And where is it, Ralph," said the Doctor, turning upon his visiter.
"_Burnt_, as you desired; and this illustrates the spirit of all
mankind," said Ralph; "we can see the shabby wig, and feel the
pitiful tricks of our friends, overlooking the disorder of our own
wardrobes. As Horace says, 'Nil habeo quod agam;'--'mind every body's
business but your own.'" Talking of _gunpowder_ reminds me of