A. Spare my feelings, my dear friend; I am now old and full of wisdom.

F. Men fond of good living will read you, because you do them justice, and so their proper rank in society is at last assigned to them.

A. In that instance you are certainly right. Who would believe that those honest gentlemen could have been so long misunderstood ! I look upon them with all the feelings of a father-such hand-some, bright-eyed fellows!

F. Besides, have you not often told us that such a work as yours was needed in our libraries?

A. I have said so, and it is the fact. I will not swerve a jot from that opinion, but stick to it like a mastiff.

F. Why, you talk like a man whose mind is quite made up; so let us go together and see

A. No, no! If authorship has its pleasures, it has also its thorns; and I leave the whole business, as a legacy, to my heirs.

F. But, in the mean time, you wrong your friends,. acquaintances, and contemporaries. Do you mean to say you can do such a thing?

A. My heirs! you forget them! I have heard say that the shades of the departed generally derive pleasure from the praises of the living. It is a sort

of beatitude that I wish to keep in store for the other world.

F. But what certainty have you that those praises will be bestowed in the proper quarter? Are you certain of the care and diligence of your heirs?

A. Well, I have no grounds for thinking that they would neglect this one duty, since on account of it they will be excused many others.

F. Would they, could they, have for your book that father's affection, those author's attentions, without which a work always makes its first public appearance awkwardly ?

A. I shall leave the manuscript corrected, fairly copied out, and fully equipped, with nothing to do but print it.

F. What about the chapter of accidents? 'Tis arrangements of that sort, alas! that have ruined many valuable works; such as that of the distinguished Le Cat, on the "State of the Soul during Sleep"-the labour of a lifetime.

A. That certainly was a great loss, and I by no means hope to occasion similar regrets.

F. Be sure of this-that, in settling matters with the Church, the lawyers, the faculty, and with each other, heirs have quite enough on their hands; and

that there would not be time, even if there were the inclination, to give full attention to all the manifold details connected with the publication of even a small book.

A. But the title! The subject! And what about ill-natured wags of critics?

F. At the single word "gastronomy" every one pricks up his ears: it is quite the rage. And as for the waggish critics, they are as fond of good living as other men. So set your mind perfectly at ease. Besides, you surely know that personages of the greatest weight have sometimes produced light and amusing works. Montesquieu is an instance.

A. (eagerly). Upon my word, you are right! He wrote the "Temple of Gnidus"; and there would surely be more real advantage in the study of that which is every day the want, the pleasure, and the occupation of man, than in telling us what was done or said, more than two thousand years ago, by two youngsters chasing each other through Grecian

groves.

F. You give in, then, at last?

A. I give in! Not at all. What you have heard is but a touch of nature betraying the author;

•*

* Perhaps the original phrase here, "to show the tips of his ears," is worth noting. It is curiously borrowed from the fable of the ass in the lion's skin, thus meaning, to betray unintentionally one's mind or disposition by some word or action.

which recalls to my mind a scene in an English comedy that once greatly amused me. It occurs in a piece called "The Natural Daughter," I think, and I should like to have your opinion upon it.

Some Quakers are introduced; a class of men who, as you know, of course, "thee" and "thou" everybody, wear clothes of the simplest kind, never serve as soldiers, never swear-even in a court of law,- do everything with a dull gravity, and in particular must never put themselves in a passion. Well, the hero of the piece is a handsome young Quaker, who, in spite of the brown coat, large, broad-brimmed hat, and straight hair with which he appears on the stage, falls deeply in love. Accordingly, a puppy of a rival takes courage from that appearance and demeanour, and so makes fun of him and insults him, that the young man, getting gradually heated with anger, at last becomes furious, and gives the coxcomb a thorough thrashing.

That punishment bestowed, he instantly recovers his former demeanour, and collects himself, exclaiming in a penitential tone, "Alas! thou seest that the flesh has prevailed over the spirit."

I now do as he did; and, after a display of pardonable feeling, come back to my former opinion.

F. It is too late now. As you yourself admit, you have betrayed your real mind on the matter. I

have now a hold upon you, and you must come off to the publishers'. I may even tell you that the secret of your book has not been kept by all who knew it.

A. Don't be too rash, my dear boy, for I shall have something to say about yourself; and who knows what that may be?

F. What could you say on that topic? You needn't think you can frighten me.

*

A. I shall not tell how our common native-place boasts of having given you birth; nor how, at twenty-four, you published a work which has since held a place in the foremost rank; nor how, by a well-deserved reputation, you now command the confidence of all; how your patients take courage from your manner, admire your skill, and are consoled by your sympathy. I shall not tell what everybody knows, but I shall discover to all Paris (rising up), to all France (throwing his head back), to the whole world, the only fault in you which I know of!

F. (seriously). Which fault, if you please?

* Belley, the chief town of Bugey, a lovely country, with mountains and hillocks, rivers and limpid brooks, waterfalls and deep pools; a regular jardin anglais of a hundred square leagues in size. In this country, before the Revolution, the constitution of society was such that the third estate was really the governing class.'