or Italian,
with all his natural gallantry. Many a good wife, who thinks it is a
reproach to her if her husband is ever "out of spirits," might have
turned peevishly from that speech, more elegant than sincere, and so
have made bad worse; but Mrs. Riccabocca took her husband's proffered
hand affectionately, and said with great naivete,--

"You see I am so stupid, Mr. Dale; I never knew I was so stupid till I
married. But I am very glad you are come. You can get on some learned
subject together, and then he will not miss so much his--"

"His what?" asked Riccabocca, inquisitively.

"His country. Do you think that I cannot sometimes read your thoughts?"

"Very often. But you did not read them just then. The tongue touches
where the tooth aches, but the best dentist cannot guess at the tooth
unless one open one's mouth.--Basta! Can we offer you some wine of our
own making, Mr. Dale?--it is pure."

"I 'd rather have some tea," quoth the parson, hastily. Mrs. Riccabocca,
too pleased to be in her natural element of domestic use, hurried into
the house to prepare our national beverage. And the parson, sliding into
her chair, said,--

"But you are dejected then? Fie! If there's a virtue in the world at
which we should always aim, it is cheerfulness."

"I don't dispute it," said Riccabocca, with a heavy sigh. "But though it
is said by some Greek, who, I think, is quoted by your favourite Seneca,
that a wise man carries his country with him at the soles of his feet,
he can't carry also the sunshine over his head."

"I tell you what it is," said the parson, bluntly; "you would have
a much keener sense of happiness if you had much less esteem for
philosophy."

"Cospetto!" said the doctor, rousing himself. "Just explain, will you?"

"Does not the search after wisdom induce desires not satisfied in this
small circle to which your life is confined? It is not so much your
country for which you yearn, as it is for space to your intellect,
employment for your thoughts, career for your aspirations."

"You have guessed at the tooth which aches," said Riccabocca, with
admiration.

"Easy to do that," answered the parson. "Our wisdom teeth come last and
give us the most pain; and if you would just starve the mind a little,
and nourish the heart more, you would be less of a philosopher and more
of a--" The parson had the word "Christian" at the tip of his tongue;
he suppressed a word that, so spoken, would have been exceedingly