olite to a
teacher.

'Mr Johnson is engaged as private master to the children, uncle,' said
Mrs Kenwigs.

'So you said just now, my dear,' replied Mr Lillyvick.

'But I hope,' said Mrs Kenwigs, drawing herself up, 'that that will not
make them proud; but that they will bless their own good fortune,
which has born them superior to common people's children. Do you hear,
Morleena?'

'Yes, ma,' replied Miss Kenwigs.

'And when you go out in the streets, or elsewhere, I desire that you
don't boast of it to the other children,' said Mrs Kenwigs; 'and that if
you must say anything about it, you don't say no more than "We've got a
private master comes to teach us at home, but we ain't proud, because ma
says it's sinful." Do you hear, Morleena?'

'Yes, ma,' replied Miss Kenwigs again.

'Then mind you recollect, and do as I tell you,' said Mrs Kenwigs.
'Shall Mr Johnson begin, uncle?'

'I am ready to hear, if Mr Johnson is ready to commence, my dear,' said
the collector, assuming the air of a profound critic. 'What sort of
language do you consider French, sir?'

'How do you mean?' asked Nicholas.

'Do you consider it a good language, sir?' said the collector; 'a pretty
language, a sensible language?'

'A pretty language, certainly,' replied Nicholas; 'and as it has a name
for everything, and admits of elegant conversation about everything, I
presume it is a sensible one.'

'I don't know,' said Mr Lillyvick, doubtfully. 'Do you call it a
cheerful language, now?'

'Yes,' replied Nicholas, 'I should say it was, certainly.'

'It's very much changed since my time, then,' said the collector, 'very
much.'

'Was it a dismal one in your time?' asked Nicholas, scarcely able to
repress a smile.

'Very,' replied Mr Lillyvick, with some vehemence of manner. 'It's the
war time that I speak of; the last war. It may be a cheerful language.
I should be sorry to contradict anybody; but I can only say that I've
heard the French prisoners, who were natives, and ought to know how to
speak it, talking in such a dismal manner, that it made one miserable to
hear them. Ay, that I have, fifty times, sir--fifty times!'

Mr Lillyvick was waxing so cross, that Mrs Kenwigs thought it expedient
to motion to Nicholas not to say anything; and it was not until Miss
Petowker had practised several blandishments, to soften the excellent
old gentleman, that he deigned to break silence by asking,

'What's the water in French, sir?'

'L'EAU,'