and thoughts that were nobly
solemn.

When the door closed on his visitors, he remained for some moments
motionless, and in deep meditation; then he unclosed the door and stole
forth. The night was already far advanced, the heavens were luminous
with all the host of stars. "I think," said the student, referring, in
later life, to that crisis in his destiny,--"I think it was then, as I
stood alone, yet surrounded by worlds so numberless, that I first felt
the distinction between mind and soul."

"Tell me," said Riccabocca, as he parted company with Mr. Dale, "whether
you would have given to Frank Hazeldean, on entering life, the same
lecture on the limits and ends of knowledge which you have bestowed on
Leonard Fairfield?"

"My friend," quoth the parson, with a touch of human conceit, "I have
ridden on horseback, and I know that some horses should be guided by the
bridle, and some should be urged by the spur."

"Cospetto!" said Riccabocca, "you contrive to put every experience of
yours to some use,--even your journey on Mr. Hazeldean's pad. And I
now see why, in this little world of a village, you have picked up so
general an acquaintance with life."

"Did you ever read White's' Natural History of Selborne'?"

"No."

"Do so, and you will find that you need not go far to learn the habits
of birds, and know the difference between a swallow and a swift. Learn
the difference in a village, and you know the difference wherever
swallows and swifts skim the air."

"Swallows and swifts!--true; but men--"

"Are with us all the year round,--which is more than we can say of
swallows and swifts."

"Mr. Dale," said Riccabocca, taking off his hat with great formality,
"if ever again I find myself in a dilemma, I will come to you instead of
to Machiavelli."

"Ah!" cried the parson, "if I could but have a calm hour's talk with you
on the errors of the Papal relig--"

Riccabocca was off like a shot.

CHAPTER XXII.

The next day Mr. Dale had a long conversation with Mrs. Fairfield. At
first he found some difficulty in getting over her pride, and inducing
her to accept overtures from parents who had so long slighted both
Leonard and herself. And it would have been in vain to have put before
the good woman the worldly advantages which such overtures implied. But
when Mr. Dale said, almost sternly, "Your parents are old, your father
infirm; their least wish should be as binding to you as their command,"
the widow bo