CHAPTER II.
A FAMILY CONSULTATION .-- A PRIEST, AND AN ERA IN LIFE.
"YOU are ruining the children, my dear Sir William," said my gentle mother, one day when I had been particularly witty; "and the Abbe Montreuil declares it absolutely necessary that they should go to school." "To school!" said my uncle, who was caressing his right leg, as it lay over his left knee,--"to school, Madam! you are joking.

What for, pray ?" "Instruction, my dear Sir William," replied my mother.
"Ah, ah; I forgot that; true, true!" said my uncle, despondingly, and there was a pause.

My mother counted her rosary; my uncle sank into a revery; my twin brother pinched my leg under the table, to which I replied by a silent kick; and my youngest fixed his large, dark, speaking eyes upon a picture of the Holy Family, which hung opposite to him.
My uncle broke the silence; he did it with a start.
"Od's fish, Madam,"-- (my uncle dressed his oaths, like himself, a little after the example of Charles II.)--"od's fish, Madam, I have thought of a better plan than that; they shall have instruction without going to school for it." "And how, Sir William ?" "I will instruct them myself, Madam," and William slapped the calf of the leg he was caressing.
My mother smiled.
"Ay, Madam, you may smile; but I and my Lord Dorset were the best scholars of the age; you shall read my play." "Do, Mother," said I, "read the play.

Shall I tell her some of the jests in it, Uncle ?" My mother shook her head in anticipative horror, and raised her finger reprovingly.

My uncle said nothing, but winked at me; I understood the signal, and was about to begin, when the door opened, and the Abbe Montreuil entered.