xt that appears," said the barber, "is the Diana, called the
second, by Salmantino; and another, of the same name, whose author is
Gil Polo."

"The Salmantinian," answered the priest, "may accompany and increase the
number of the condemned--to the yard with him: but let that of Gil Polo
be preserved, as if it were written by Apollo himself. Proceed, friend,
and let us despatch; for it grows late."

"This," said the barber, opening another, "is the 'Ten Books of the
Fortune of Love,' composed by Antonio de lo Frasso, a Sardinian poet."

"By the holy orders I have received!" said the priest, "since Apollo was
Apollo, the muses muses, and the poets poets, so humorous and so
whimsical a book as this was never written; it is the best, and most
extraordinary of the kind that ever appeared in the world; and he who
has not read it may be assured that he has never read anything of taste:
give it me here, neighbor, for I am better pleased at finding it than if
I had been presented with a cassock of Florence satin." He laid it
aside, with great satisfaction, and the barber proceeded, saying:--

"These which follow are the 'Shepherd of Iberia,' the 'Nymphs of
Enares,' and the 'Cure of Jealousy.'"

"Then you have only to deliver them up to the secular arm of the
housekeeper," said the priest, "and ask me not why, for in that case we
should never have done."

"The next is the 'Shepherd of Filida.'"

"He is no shepherd," said the priest, "but an ingenious courtier; let
him be preserved, and laid up as a precious jewel."

"This bulky volume here," said the barber, "is entitled the 'Treasure of
Divers Poems.'"

"Had they been fewer," replied the priest, "they would have been more
esteemed: it is necessary that this book should be weeded and cleared of
some low things interspersed amongst its sublimities: let it be
preserved, both because the author is my friend, and out of respect to
other more heroic and exalted productions of his pen."

"This," pursued the barber, "is 'El Cancionero' of Lopez Maldonado."

"The author of that book," replied the priest, "is also a great friend
of mine: his verses, when sung by himself, excite much admiration;
indeed such is the sweetness of his voice in singing them, that they are
perfectly enchanting. He is a little too prolix in his eclogues; but
there can never be too much of what is really good: let it be preserved
with the select. But what book is that next to it?"

"The 'Galatea' of