“Among the fine London Houses where I teach the language of my native country,” said the Professor, rushing into his long-deferred explanation without another word of preface, “there is one, mighty fine, in the big place called Portland.  You all know where that is?  Yes, yes—­course-of-course.  The fine house, my good dears, has got inside it a fine family.  A Mamma, fair and fat; three young Misses, fair and fat; two young Misters, fair and fat; and a Papa, the fairest and the fattest of all, who is a mighty merchant, up to his eyes in gold—­a fine man once, but seeing that he has got a naked head and two chins, fine no longer at the present time.  Now mind!  I teach the sublime Dante to the young Misses, and ah!—­my-soul-bless-my-soul!—­it is not in human language to say how the sublime Dante puzzles the pretty heads of all three!  No matter—­all in good time—­and the more lessons the better for me.  Now mind!  Imagine to yourselves that I am teaching the young Misses to-day, as usual.  We are all four of us down together in the Hell of Dante.  At the Seventh Circle—­but no matter for that:  all the Circles are alike to the three young Misses, fair and fat,—­at the Seventh Circle, nevertheless, my pupils are sticking fast; and I, to set them going again, recite, explain, and blow myself up red-hot with useless enthusiasm, when—­ a creak of boots in the passage outside, and in comes the golden Papa, the mighty merchant with the naked head and the two chins.—­ Ha! my good dears, I am closer than you think for to the business, now.  Have you been patient so far? or have you said to yourselves, ‘Deuce-what-the-deuce!  Pesca is long-winded to-night?’”

We declared that we were deeply interested.  The Professor went on: 

“In his hand, the golden Papa has a letter; and after he has made his excuse for disturbing us in our Infernal Region with the common mortal Business of the house, he addresses himself to the three young Misses, and begins, as you English begin everything in this blessed world that you have to say, with a great O.  ’O, my dears,’ says the mighty merchant, ’I have got here a letter from my friend, Mr.——­’(the name has slipped out of my mind; but no matter; we shall come back to that; yes, yes—­right-all-right).  So the Papa says, ’I have got a letter from my friend, the Mister; and he wants a recommend from me, of a drawing-master, to go down to his house in the country.’  My-soul-bless-my-soul! when I heard the golden Papa say those words, if I had been big enough to reach up to him, I should have put my arms round his neck, and pressed him to my bosom in a long and grateful hug!  As it was, I only bounced upon my chair.  My seat was on thorns, and my soul was on fire to speak but I held my tongue, and let Papa go on.  ’Perhaps you know,’ says this good man of money, twiddling his friend’s letter this way and that, in his golden fingers and thumbs, ’perhaps you know, my dears, of a drawing-master