f the day he 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 preceptor in the French
and Italian tongues. "_Exul sacerdos_; vone banished esprit. I came
into England twenty-five years ago, 'my dear.'"

CHAPTER XV.

So I studied French and Italian under the tuition of the banished priest,
to whose house I went regularly every evening to receive instruction. I
made considerable progress in the acquisition of the two languages. I
found the French by far the most difficult, chiefly on account of the
accent, which my master himself possessed in no great purity, being a
Norman by birth. The Italian was my favourite.

"_Vous serez un jour un grand philologue_, _mon cher_," said the old man,
on our arriving at the conclusion of Dante's Hell.

"I hope I shall be something better," said I, "before I die, or I shall
have lived to little purpose."

"That's true, my dear! philologist--one small poor dog. What would you
wish to be?"

"Many things sooner than that; for example, I would rather be like him
who wrote this book."

"_Quoi_, _Monsieur Dante_? He was a vagabond, my dear, forced to fly
from his country. No, my dear, if you would be like one poet, be like
Monsieur Boileau; he is the poet."

"I don't think so."

"How, not think so! He wrote very respectable verses; lived and died
much respected by everybody. T'other, one bad dog, forced to fly from
his country--died with not enough to pay his undertaker."

"Were you not forced to flee from your country?"

"That very true; but there is much difference between me and this Dante.
He fled from country because he had one bad tongue which he shook at his
betters. I fly because benefice gone, and head going; not on account of
the badness of my tongue."

"Well," said I, "you can return now; the Bourbons are restored."

"I find myself very well here; not bad country. _Il est vrai que la
France sera toujours la France_; but all are dead there who knew me. I
find myself very well here. Preach in popish chapel, teach schismatic,
that is Protestant, child tongues and literature