thought it
was a mere work of amusement,--of fancy. It seems so as I look over it."

PARSON.--"So is the 'Vicar of Wakefield;' yet what book more
instructive?"

RANDAL.--"I should not have said that of the 'Vicar of Wakefield.' A
pretty book enough, though the story is most improbable. But how is it
instructive?"

PARSON.--"By its results: it leaves us happier and better. What can any
instruction do more? Some works instruct through the head, some through
the heart. The last reach the widest circle, and often produce the most
genial influence on the character. This book belongs to the last. You
will grant my proposition when you have read it."

Randal smiled and took the volume.

MRS. DALE.--"Is the author known yet?"

RANDAL.--"I have heard it ascribed to many writers, but I believe no one
has claimed it."

PARSON.--"I think it must have been written by my old college friend,
Professor Moss, the naturalist,--its descriptions of scenery are so
accurate."

MRS. DALE.--"La, Charles dear! that snuffy, tiresome, prosy professor?
How can you talk such nonsense? I am sure the author must be young,
there is so much freshness of feeling."

MRS. HAZELDEAN (positively).--"Yes, certainly, young."

PARSON (no less positively).--"I should say just the contrary. Its tone
is too serene, and its style too simple, for a young man. Besides, I
don't know any young man who would send me his book, and this book has
been sent me, very handsomely bound, too, you see. Depend upon it Moss
is the loan--quite his turn of mind."

MRS. DALE.--"You are too provoking, Charles dear! Mr. Moss is so
remarkably plain, too."

RANDAL.--"Must an author be handsome?"

PARSON.--"Ha! ha! Answer that if you can, Carry." Carry remained mute
and disdainful.

SQUIRE (with great naivete).--"Well, I don't think there's much in the
book, whoever wrote it; for I've read it myself, and understand every
word of it."

MRS. DALE.--"I don't see why you should suppose it was written by a man
at all. For my part, I think it must be a woman."

MRS. HAZELDEAN.--"Yes, there's a passage about maternal affection, which
only a woman could have written."

PARSON.--"Pooh! pooh! I should like to see a woman who could have
written that description of an August evening before a thunderstorm;
every wild-flower in the hedgerow exactly the flowers of August, every
sign in the air exactly those of the month. Bless you! a woman would
have filled the hedge with violet