penny toward the household expenses. When he has done a little stroke of business, he takes a holiday, and only reappears when his purse is empty.
I really cannot undertake to keep Tribble in dolce far niente, and I give Mrs. Tribble notice to leave.
9 A.M. – I read in this morning's paper the following advertisement:
"Residence, with or without board, for a gentleman, in a healthy suburb of London. Charming house, with creepers, large garden; cheerful home. Use of piano, etc."
"Without board" is what I want. Must go and see the place.
6 P.M. – I have seen the house with creepers, and engaged a bedroom and sitting-room. Will go there to-night. My bed is provided with a spring mattress. Won't I sleep to-night, that's all!
I remove my goods and chattels from the charming house. I found the creepers were inside.
It will take me a long time to understand English, I am afraid.
I examine my financial position. I came to England with fifty pounds; have been here thirty days, and have lived at the rate of a pound a day. My money will last me only twenty days longer. This seems to be a simple application of the rule of three.
The thought that most Lord-Mayors have come to London with only half-a-crown in their pockets comforts me. Still I grow reflective.
I can see that the fee I receive for the weekly letter I send to my Parisian paper will not suffice to keep me. Good living is expensive in London. Why should I not reduce my expenses, and at the same time improve my English by teaching French in an English school as resident master? This would enable me to wait and see what turn events will take.
I have used my letters of recommendation as a means of obtaining introductions in society, and my pride will not let me make use of them again for business.
I will disappear for a time. When my English is more reliable, perhaps an examination will open the door of some good berth to me.
Received this morning an invitation to be present at a meeting of the Teachers' Association.
Came with a friend to the Society of Arts, where the meeting is held in a beautiful hall, and presided over by Canon Barry.
What a graceful and witty speaker!
He addresses to private school-masters a few words on their duty.
"Yours," he says, "is not only a profession, it is a vocation, I had almost said a ministry" (hear, hear), "and the last object of yours should be to make money."
This last sentence is received with rapturous applause. The chairman has evidently expressed the feeling of the audience.
The Canon seems to enjoy himself immensely.
Beautiful sentiments! I say to myself. Who will henceforth dare say before me, in France, that England is not a disinterested nation? Yes, I will be a school-master; it is a noble profession.
A discussion takes place on the merits of private schools. A good deal of abuse is indulged in at the expense of the public schools.
I inquire of my friend the reason why.
My friend is a sceptic. He says that the public schools are overflowing with boys, and that if they did not exist, many of these private school-masters would make their fortune.
I bid him hold his wicked tongue. He ought to be ashamed of himself.
The meeting is over. The orators, with their speeches in their hands, besiege the press reporters' table. I again apply to my friend for the explanation of this.
He tells me that these gentlemen are trying to persuade the reporters to insert their speeches in their notes, in the hope that they will be reproduced in to-morrow's papers, and thus advertise their names and schools.
My friend is incorrigible. I will ask him no more questions.
There will be some people disappointed this morning, if I am to believe what my friend said yesterday. I have just read the papers. Under the heading "Meeting of the Teachers' Association," I see a long report of yesterday's proceedings at the Society of Arts. Canon Barry's speech alone is reproduced.
For many months past, M. Thiers has carried the Government with his resignation already signed in his frockcoat pocket.
"Gentlemen," he has been wont to say in the Houses of Parliament, "such is my policy. If you do not approve it, you know that I do not cling to power; my resignation is here in my pocket, and I am quite ready to lay it on the table if you refuse me a vote of confidence."
I always thought that he would use this weapon once too often.
A letter, just received from Paris, brings me the news of his overthrow and the proclamation of Marshal MacMahon as President of the Republic.
The editor of the French paper, of which I have been the London correspondent for a few months, sends me a check, with the sad intelligence that one of the first acts of the new Government has been to suppress our paper.
Things are taking a gloomy aspect, and no mistake.
To return to France at once would be a retreat, a defeat. I will not leave England, at any rate, before I can speak English correctly and fluently. I could manage this when a child; it ought not to take me very long to be able to do the same now.
I pore over the Times educational advertisements every day.
Have left my name with two scholastic agents.
I have put my project into execution, and engaged myself in a school in Somersetshire.
The post is not a brilliant one, but I am told that the country is pretty, my duties light, and that I shall have plenty of time for reading.
I buy a provision of English books, and mean to work hard.
In the mean time, I write to my friends in France that I am getting on swimmingly.
I have always been of the opinion that you should run the risk of exciting the envy rather than the pity of your friends, when you have made up your mind not to apply to them for a five-pound note.
Arrived here yesterday. Find I am the only master, and expected to make myself generally useful. My object is to
