ad that
mysterious something about him which we of his own sex can so little
comprehend, but which always propitiates the other. He owed this, in part,
to his own profound but hypocritical policy; for he looked upon woman as
the natural enemy to man--against whom it was necessary to be always on the
guard; whom it was prudent to disarm by every species of fawning servility
and abject complaisance. He owed it also, in part, to the compassionate
and heavenly nature of the angels whom his thoughts thus villainously
traduced--for women like one whom they can pity without despising; and
there was something in Signor Riccabocca's poverty, in his loneliness, in
his exile, whether voluntary or compelled, that excited pity; while,
despite the threadbare coat, the red umbrella, and the wild hair, he had,
especially when addressing ladies, that air of gentleman and cavalier
which is or was more innate in an educated Italian, of whatever rank, than
perhaps in the highest aristocracy of another country in Europe. For,
though I grant that nothing is more exquisite than the politeness of your
French marquis of the old _regime_--nothing more frankly gracious than the
cordial address of a highbred English gentleman--nothing more kindly
prepossessing than the genial good-nature of some patriarchal German, who
will condescend to forget his sixteen quarterings in the pleasure of doing
you a favor--yet these specimens of the suavity of their several nations
are rare; whereas blandness and polish are common attributes with your
Italian. They seem to have been immemorially handed down to him, from
ancestors emulating the urbanity of Caesar, and refined by the grace of
Horace.

"Dr. Riccabocca consents to dine with us," cried the Parson, hastily.

"If madame permit?" said the Italian, bowing over the hand extended to
him, which, however, he forebore to take, seeing it was already full of
the watch.

"I am only sorry that the trout must be quite spoiled," began Mrs. Dale,
plaintively.

"It is not the trout one thinks of when one dines with Mrs. Dale," said
the infamous dissimulator.

"But I see James coming to say that dinner is ready?" observed the Parson.

"He said _that_ three quarters of an hour ago, Charles dear," retorted
Mrs. Dale, taking the arm of Dr. Riccabocca.

Chapter VIII.

While the Parson and his wife are entertaining their guest, I propose to
regale the reader with a small treatise apropos of that "Charles dear