hat 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
irritating, and substituted, with inelegant antithesis, "and more of a
happy man!"

"I do all I can with my heart," quoth the Doctor.

"Not you! For a man with such a heart as yours should never feel the
want of the sunshine. My friend, we live in an age of over mental
cultivation. We neglect too much the simple healthful outer life, in
which there is so much positive joy. In turning to the world within us,
we grow blind to this beautiful world without; in studying ourselves as
men, we almost forget to look up to heaven, and warm to the smile of
God."

The philosopher mechanically shrugged his shoulders, as he always did
when another man moralised--especially if the moraliser were a priest;
but there was no irony in his smile, as he answered thoughtfully--

"There is some truth in what you say. I own that we live too much as if
we were all brain. Knowledge has its penalties and pains, as well as its
prizes."

"That is just what I want you to say to Leonard."

"How have you settled the object of your journey?"

"I will tell you as we walk down to him after tea. At present, I am
rather too much occupied with you."

"Me? The tree is formed--try only to bend the young twig!"

"Trees are trees, and twigs twigs," said the Parson dogmatically; "but
man is always growing till he falls into the grave. I think I have heard
you say that you once had a narrow escape of a prison?"

"Very narrow."

"Just suppose that you were now in that prison, and that a fairy
conjured up the prospect of this quiet home in a safe land; that