“Do you like the wine?” asked Jehu, as if he thought it superfine.

“Yase, I like moch—­especially de sherry and de port.”

Jehu smiled, but made no reply.

Mrs Tomkins supposed that port and sherry were favourite beverages in Poland, but, for her part, she had found that nothing agreed so well with British stomachs as the native wines.

“Ah! my lady,” said the Pole, “ve can give up very moch so long ve got British religions.”

“Very true, indeed,” answered Mrs Tomkins.  “Pray, Mr Levisohn, what may be your opinion of the lost sheep?  Do you think they will come into the fold during our time?”

Before the gentleman replies, it may be proper to state on his behalf, that he had never given his questioner any reason to suppose that he was better informed on such mysterious subjects than herself.  The history of his introduction into the family of the linen-draper is very short.  He had been for some years connected with Mr Tomkins in the way of business, having supplied that gentleman with all the genuine foreign, but certainly English, perfumery, that was retailed with considerable profit in his over-nice and pious establishment.  Mrs Tomkins, no less zealous in the cause of the church than that of her own shop, at length, and all on a sudden, resolved to set about his conversion, and to present him to the chapel as a brand plucked with her own hand from the burning.  As a preliminary step, he was invited to supper, and treated with peculiar respect.  The matter was gently touched upon, but discussion postponed until another occasion.  Mr Levisohn being very shrewd, very needy, and enjoying no particular principles of morality and religion, perceived immediately the object of his hostess, met her more than half-way in her Christian purposes, and accepted her numerous invitations to tea and supper with the most affectionate readiness.  Within two months he was received into the bosom of the church, and became as celebrated for the depth and intensity of his belief as for the earnestness and promptitude with which he attended the meetings of the brethren, particularly those in which eating and drinking did not constitute the least important part of the proceedings.  Being a foreigner, he was listened to with the deepest attention, very often indeed to his serious annoyance, for his ignorance was awful, and his assurance, great as it was, not always sufficient to get him clear of his difficulties.  His foreign accent, however, worked wonders for him, and whenever too hard pressed, afforded him a secure and happy retreat.  An unmeaning grin, and “me not pronounce,” had saved him from precipices, down which an Englishman, caeteris paribus, must unquestionably have been dashed.

“Vill dey come?” said Mr Levisohn, in answer to the question.  “Yase, certainly, if dey like, I tink.”

“Ah, sir, I fear you are a latitudinarian,” said the lady.

“I hope Hevin, my dear lady, vill forgive me for dat, and all my wickedness.  I am a shinner, I shtink!”