had every reason to feel grateful for the prospect that awaited me
at my starting in life.

The quiet twilight was still trembling on the topmost ridges of
the heath; and the view of London below me had sunk into a black
gulf in the shadow of the cloudy night, when I stood before the
gate of my mother's cottage. I had hardly rung the bell before
the house door was opened violently; my worthy Italian friend,
Professor Pesca, appeared in the servant's place; and darted out
joyously to receive me, with a shrill foreign parody on an English
cheer.

On his own account, and, I must be allowed to add, on mine also,
the Professor merits the honour of a formal introduction.
Accident has made him the starting-point of the strange family
story which it is the purpose of these pages to unfold.

I had first become acquainted with my Italian friend by meeting
him at certain great houses where he taught his own language and I
taught drawing. All I then knew of the history of his life was,
that he had once held a situation in the University of Padua; that
he had left Italy for political reasons (the nature of which he
uniformly declined to mention to any one); and that he had been
for many years respectably established in London as a teacher of
languages.

Without being actually a dwarf--for he was perfectly well
proportioned from head to foot--Pesca was, I think, the smallest
human being I ever saw out of a show-room. Remarkable anywhere,
by his personal appearance, he was still further distinguished