l, and
entered the parsonage lawn. Two dogs, that seemed to have sat on watch
for their master, sprang towards him, barking; and the sound drew the
notice of Mrs. Dale, who, with parasol in hand, sallied out from the
sash window which opened on the lawn. Now, O reader! I know that, in
thy secret heart, thou art chuckling over the want of knowledge in the
sacred arcana of the domestic hearth betrayed by the author; thou art
saying to thyself, "A pretty way to conciliate 'little tempers' indeed,
to add to the offence of spoiling the fish the crime of bringing an
unexpected friend to eat it. Pot-luck, quotha, when the pot 's boiled
over this half hour!"

But, to thy utter shame and confusion, O reader! learn that both the
author and Parson Dale knew very well what they were about.

Dr. Riccabocca was the special favourite of Mrs. Dale, and the only
person in the whole county who never put her out, by dropping in. In
fact, strange though it may seem at first glance, Dr. Riccabocca had
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 villanously 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 his 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
any other 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 high-bred
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 favour,--yet
these specimens of the suavity of their several nations are