MR. JOUR. Is there anything as curious in them as in these? PROF. PHIL. Certainly. For instance, the consonant _d_ is pronounced by striking the tip of the tongue above the upper teeth; _da_. MR. JOUR. _Da, da_. [Footnote: Untranslatable. _Dada_ equals "cock-horse" in nursery language] Yes. Ah! what beautiful things, what beautiful things! PROF. PHIL. The _f_, by pressing the upper teeth upon the lower lip; _fa_. MR. JOUR. _Fa, fa_. 'Tis the truth. Ah! my father and my mother, how angry I feel with you! PROF. PHIL. And the _r_, by carrying the tip of the tongue up to the roof of the palate, so that, being grazed by the air which comes out with force, it yields to it, and, returning to the same place, causes a sort of tremour; _r, ra_. MR. JOUR. _R-r-ra; r-r-r-r-r-ra_. That's true. Ah! what a clever man you are, and what time I have lost. _R-r-ra_. PROF. PHIL. I will thoroughly explain all these curiosities to you. MR. JOUR. Pray do. And now I want to entrust you with a great secret. I am in love with a lady of quality, and I should be glad if you would help me to write something to her in a short letter which I mean to drop at her feet. PROF. PHIL. Very well. MR. JOUR. That will be gallant; will it not? PROF. PHIL. Undoubtedly. Is it verse you wish to write to her? MR. JOUR. Oh no; not verse. PROF. PHIL. You only wish for prose? MR. JOUR. No. I wish for neither verse nor prose. PROF. PHIL. It must be one or the other. MR. JOUR. Why? PROF. PHIL. Because, Sir, there is nothing by which we can express ourselves except prose or verse. MR. JOUR. There is nothing but prose or verse? PROF. PHIL. No, Sir. Whatever is not prose is verse; and whatever is not verse is prose. MR. JOUR. And when we speak, what is that, then? PROF. PHIL. Prose. MR. JOUR. What! When I say, "Nicole, bring me my slippers, and give me my night-cap," is that prose? PROF. PHIL. Yes, Sir. MR. JOUR. Upon my word, I have been speaking prose these forty years without being aware of it; and I am under the greatest obligation to you for informing me of it. Well, then, I wish to write to her in a letter, _Fair Marchioness, your beautiful eyes make me die of love_; but I would have this worded in a genteel manner, and turned prettily. PROF. PHIL. Say that the fire of her eyes has reduced your heart to ashes; that you suffer day and night for her tortures.... MR. JOUR. No, no, no; I don't want any of that. I simply wish for what I tell you. _Fair Marchioness, your beautiful eyes make me die of love_. PROF. PHIL. Still, you might amplify the thing a little? MR. JOUR. No, I tell you, I will have nothing but those very words in the letter; but they must be put in a fashionable way, and arranged as they should be. Pray show me a little, so that I may see the different ways in which they can be put.