"Very often. But you did not read them just then. The tongue touches where the tooth aches, but the best dentist can not guess at the tooth unless one opens one's mouth.—Basta! Can we offer you some wine of our own making, Mr. Dale? it is pure."
"I'd rather have some tea," quoth the Parson hastily.
Mrs. Riccabocca, too pleased to be in her natural element of domestic use, hurried into the house to prepare our national beverage. And the Parson, sliding into her chair, said:
"But you are dejected, then? Fie! If there's a virtue in the world at which we should always aim, it is cheerfulness."
"I don't dispute it," said Riccabocca, with a heavy sigh. "But though it is said by some Greek, who, I think, is quoted by your favorite Seneca, that a wise man carries his country with him at the soles of his feet, he can't carry also the sunshine."
"I tell you what 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!"