Pencil Sketches: or, Outlines of Character and Manners. Leslie Eliza

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Philip could not help laughing; but Sam called off Neptune from Bijou, and set the fallen pug on his legs again, for which compassionate act he was complimented by the French ladies on his bonté de cœur,27 and honoured at parting, with the title of le doux Sammi.28

      "I'll never return this visit," said Uncle Philip, after the French guests had taken their leave.

      "Oh! but you must," replied Mrs. Clavering; "it was intended expressly for you – you must return it, in common civility."

      "But," persisted Uncle Philip, "I wish them to understand that I don't intend to treat them with common civility. A pack of selfish, ridiculous, impudent fools. No, no. I am not so prejudiced as to believe that all French people are as bad as these – many of them, no doubt, if we could only find where they are, may be quite as clever as the first lieutenant of that frigate; but, to their shame be it spoken, the best of them seldom visit America, and our country is overrun with ignorant, vulgar impostors, who, unable to get their bread at home, come here full of lies and pretensions, and to them and their quackery must our children be intrusted, in the hope of acquiring a smattering of French jabber, and at the risk of losing everything else."

      "Don't you think Uncle Philip always talks best when he's in a passion?" observed Dick to Sam.

      After Mrs. Clavering had returned to the house, Dick informed his uncle that, a few days before, she had made a dinner for the whole French family; and Captain Kentledge congratulated himself and Sam on their not arriving sooner from their voyage. Dick had privately told his brother that the behaviour of the guests, on this occasion, had not given much satisfaction. Mrs. Clavering, it seems, had hired, to dress the dinner, a mulatto woman that professed great knowledge of French cookery, having lived at one of the best hotels in New York. But Monsieur Franchimeau had sneered at all the French dishes as soon as he tasted them, and pretended not to know their names, or for what they were intended; Monsieur Ravigote had shrugged and sighed, and the ladies had declined touching them at all, dining entirely on what (as Dick expressed it) they called roast beef de mutton and natural potatoes.29

      It was not only his regard for the children that made Mrs. Clavering's French mania a source of great annoyance to Uncle Philip, but he soon found that much of the domestic comfort of the family was destroyed by this unaccountable freak, as he considered it. Mrs. Clavering was not young enough to be a very apt scholar, and so much of her time was occupied by learning her very long lessons, and writing her very long exercises, that her household duties were neglected in consequence. As in a provincial town it is difficult to obtain servants who can go on well without considerable attention from the mistress, the house was not kept in as nice order as formerly; the meals were at irregular hours, and no longer well prepared; the children's comfort was forgotten, their pleasures were not thought of, and the little girls grieved that no sweetmeats were to be made that season; their mother telling them that she had now no time to attend to such things. The children's story-books were taken from them, because they were now to read nothing but Telemaque; they were stopped short in the midst of their talk, and told to parlez Français.30 Even the parrots heard so much of it that, in a short time, they prated nothing but French.

      Uncle Philip had put his positive veto on Sam's going to French school, and he insisted that little Anne had become pale and thin since she had been a pupil of the Franchimeaus. Mrs. Clavering, to pacify him, consented to withdraw the child from school; but only on condition that she was every day to receive a lesson at home, from old Mr. Ravigote.

      Anne Clavering was but five years old. As yet, no taste for French "had dawned upon her soul," and very little for English; her mind being constantly occupied with her doll, and other playthings. Monsieur Ravigote, with all the excitability of his nation, was, in the main, a very good-natured man, and was really anxious for the improvement of his pupil. But all was in vain. Little Anne never knew her lessons, and had as yet acquired no other French phrase than "Oui, Monsieur."31

      Every morning, Mr. Ravigote came with a face dressed in smiles, and earnest hope that his pupil was going that day to give him what he called "one grand satisfaction;" but the result was always the same.

      One morning, as Uncle Philip sat reading the newspaper, and holding little Anne on his knee while she dressed her doll, Mr. Ravigote came in, bowing and smiling as usual, and after saluting Captain Kentledge, he said to the little child: "Well, my dear little friend, ma gentille Annette,32 I see by the look of your countenance that I shall have one grand satisfaction with you this day. Application is painted on your visage, and docility also. Is there not, ma chère?"33

      "Oui, Monsieur," replied the little Anne.

      "J'en suis ravi.34 Now, ma chère, commençons – commençons tout de suite."35

      Little Anne slowly descended from her uncle's knee, carefully put away her doll and folded up her doll's clothes, and then made a tedious search for her book.

      "Eh! bien, commençons," said Mr. Ravigote, "you move without any rapidity."

      "Oui, Monsieur," responded little Anne, who, after she had taken her seat in a low chair beside Mr. Ravigote, was a long time getting into a comfortable position, and at last settled herself to her satisfaction by crossing her feet, leaning back as far as she could go, and hooking one finger in her coral necklace, that she might pull at it all the time.

      "Eh! bien, ma chère; we will first have the lessons without the book," said Mr. Ravigote, commencing with the vocabulary. "Tell me the names of all the months of the year – for instance, January."

      "Janvier," answered the pupil, promptly.

      "Ah! very well, very well, indeed, ma chère– for once, you know the first word of your lesson. Ah! to-day I have, indeed, great hope of you. Come, now, February?"

      "Fevrier," said little Anne.

      "Excellent! excellent! you know the second word too – and now, then, March?"

      "Marsh."

      "Ah! no, no – but I am old; perhaps I did not rightly hear. Repeat, ma chère enfant,36 repeat."

      "Marsh," cried little Anne in a very loud voice.

      "Ah! you are wrong; but I will pardon you – you have said two words right. Mars, ma chère, Mars is the French for March the month. Come now, April."

      "Aprile."

      "Aprile! there is no such word as Aprile —Avril. And now tell me, what is May?"

      "Mai."

      "Excellent! excellent! capital! magnifique! you said that word parfaitement bien.37 Now let us proceed – June."

      "Juney."

      "Ah! no, no —Juin, ma chère, Juin– but I will excuse you. Now, tell me July."

      Little Anne could make no answer.

      "Ah! I fear – I begin to fear you. Are you not growing bad?"

      "Oui,

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