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 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,” murmured by Mrs. Dale;—­a treatise expressly written for the benefit of THE DOMESTIC CIRCLE.

It is an old jest that there is not a word in the language that conveys so little endearment as the word “dear.”  But though the saying itself, like most truths, be trite and hackneyed, no little novelty remains to the search of the inquirer into the varieties of inimical import comprehended in that malign monosyllable.  For instance, I submit to the experienced that the degree of hostility it betrays is in much proportioned to its collocation in the sentence.  When, gliding indirectly through the rest of the period, it takes its stand at the close, as in that “Charles dear” of Mrs. Dale—­it has spilt so much of Its natural bitterness by the way that it assumes even a smile, “amara lento temperet risu.”  Sometimes the smile is plaintive, sometimes arch. Ex. gr.

(Plaintive.)

“I know very well that whatever I do is wrong, Charles dear.”

“Nay, I am only glad you amused yourself so much without me, Charles dear.”

“Not quite so loud!  If you had but my poor head, Charles dear,” &c.

Arch.

“If you could spill the ink anywhere but on the best table-cloth, Charles dear!”