AUTHOR. Perhaps.

FRIEND. Women will read your book because they will see---

AUTHOR. My dear friend, I am old, I am attacked by a fit of
wisdom. Miserere mei.

FRIEND. Gourmands will read you because you do them justice, and
assign them their suitable rank in society.

AUTHOR. Well, that is true. It is strange that they have so long
been misunderstood; I look on the dear Gourmands with paternal
affection. They are so kind and their eyes are so bright.

FRIEND. Besides, did you not tell me such a book was needed in
every library.

AUTHOR. I did. It is the truth--and I would die sooner than deny
it.

FRIEND: Ah! you are convinced! You will come home with me?

AUTHOR. Not so. If there be flowers in the author's path, there
are also thorns. The latter I leave to my heirs.

FRIEND. But then you disinherit your friends, acquaintances and
cotemporaries. Dare you do so?

AUTHOR. My heirs! my heirs! I have heard that shades of the