ns, 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 that I can recommend?' The
three young Misses all look at each other, and then say (with the
indispensable great O to begin) "