iousness that he could not have
uttered such a sentence to save his own life, without venturing out of
his depth; therefore, he pursued the discourse in Italian.

"Your language, Signore," observed Andrea Barrofaldi, with warmth, "is
no doubt a very noble one, for the language in which Shakespeare and
Milton wrote cannot be else; but you will permit me to say that it has a
uniformity of sound, with words of different letters, that I find as
unreasonable as it is embarrassing to a foreigner."

"I have heard such complaints before," answered the captain, not at all
sorry to find the examination which had proved so awkward to himself
likely to be transferred to a language about which he cared not at all,
"and have little to say in its defence. But as an example of what
you mean--"

"Why, Signore, here are several words that I have written on this bit of
paper, which sound nearly alike, though, as you perceive, they are quite
differently spelled. Bix, bax, box, bux, and bocks," continued Andrea,
endeavoring to pronounce, "big," "bag," "bog," "bug," and "box," all of
which, it seemed to him, had a very close family resemblance in sound,
though certainly spelled with different letters; "these are words,
Signore, that are enough to drive a foreigner to abandon your tongue
in despair."

"Indeed they are; and I often told the person who taught me the
language--"

"How! did you not learn your own tongue as we all get our native forms
of speech, by ear, when a child?" demanded the vice-governatore, his
suspicions suddenly revived.

"Without question, Signore, but I speak of books, and of learning to
read. When 'big,' 'bag,' 'bog,' bug,' and 'box,'" reading from the paper
in a steady voice, and a very tolerable pronunciation, "first came
before me, I felt all the embarrassment of which you speak."

"And did you only pronounce these words when first taught to read them?"

This question was awkward to answer; but Vito Viti began to weary of a
discourse in which he could take no part, and most opportunely he
interposed an objection of his own.

"Signor Barrofaldi," he said, "stick to the lugger. All our motives of
suspicion came from Tommaso Tonti, and all of his from the rig of Signor
Smees' vessel. If the lugger can be explained, what do we care about
bixy, buxy, boxy!"

The vice-governatore was not sorry to get creditably out of the
difficulties of the language, and, smiling on his friend, he made a
gentle bow of compl