lung them down. What were they to me? At last, coming to a
thick volume, I opened it, and after inspecting its contents for a few
minutes, I paid for it what was demanded, and forthwith carried it home.

It was a tessaraglot grammar; a strange old book, printed somewhere in
Holland, which pretended to be an easy guide to the acquirement of the
French, Italian, Low Dutch, and English tongues, by means of which any
one conversant in any one of these languages could make himself master of
the other three. I turned my attention to the French and Italian. The
old book was not of much value; I derived some benefit from it, however,
and, conning it intensely, at the end of a few weeks obtained some
insight into the structure of these two languages. At length I had
learnt all that the book was capable of informing me, yet was still far
from the goal to which it had promised to conduct me. 'I wish I had a
master!' I exclaimed; and the master was at hand. In an old court of the
old town lived a certain elderly personage, perhaps sixty, or
thereabouts; he was rather tall, and something of a robust make, with a
countenance in which bluffness was singularly blended with vivacity and
grimace; and with a complexion which would have been ruddy, but for a
yellow hue which rather predominated. His dress consisted of a snuff-
coloured coat and drab pantaloons, the former evidently seldom subjected
to the annoyance of a brush, and the latter exhibiting here and there
spots of something which, if not grease, bore a strong resemblance to it;
add to these articles an immense frill, seldom of the purest white, but
invariably of the finest French cambric, and you have some idea of his
dress. He had rather a remarkable stoop, but his step was rapid and
vigorous, and as he hurried along the streets, he would glance to the
right and left with a pair of big eyes like plums, and on recognising any
one would exalt a pair of grizzled eyebrows, and slightly kiss a tawny
and ungloved hand. At certain hours of the day be might be seen entering
the doors of female boarding-schools, generally with a book in his hand,
and perhaps another just peering from the orifice of a capacious back
pocket; and at a certain season of the year he might be seen, dressed in
white, before the altar of a certain small popish chapel, chanting from
the breviary in very intelligible Latin, or perhaps reading from the desk
in utterly unintelligible English. Such was my