I am prepared to overlook many annoyances.
Woke up this (Sunday) morning feeling pains all over. Compared to this, my bed at Mrs. Tribble's was one of roses. I look round. In the corner I see a small washstand. A chair, a looking-glass six inches square hung on the wall, and my trunk, make up the furniture.
I open the window. It is raining a thick, drizzling rain. Not a soul in the road. A most solemn, awful solitude. Horrible! I make haste to dress. From a little cottage, on the other side of the road, the plaintive sounds of a harmonium reach me. I sit on my bed and look at my watch. Half an hour to wait for my breakfast. The desolate room, this outlook from the window, the whole accompanied by the hymn on the harmonium, are enough to drive me mad. Upon my word, I believe I feel the corner of my eye wet. Cheer up, boy! No doubt this is awful, but better times will come. Good heavens! You are not banished from France. With what pleasure your friends will welcome you back in Paris! In nine hours, for a few shillings, you can be on the Boulevards.
Breakfast is ready. It consists of tea and bread and butter, the whole honored by the presence of Mr. and Mrs. R. I am told that I am to take the boys to church. I should have much preferred to go alone.
On the way to church we met three young ladies – the Squire's daughters, the boys tell me. They look at me with a kind of astonishment that seems to me mixed with scorn. This is probably my fancy. Every body I meet seems to be laughing at me.
Am still at M., teaching a little French and learning a good deal of English.
Mrs. R. expresses her admiration for my fine linen, and my wardrobe is a wonder to her. From her remarks, I can see she has taken a peep inside my trunk.
Received this morning a letter from a friend in Paris. The dear fellow is very proud of his noble ancestors, and his notepaper and envelopes are ornamented with his crest and crown. The letter is handed to me by Mrs. R., who at the same time throws a significant glance at her husband. I am a mysterious person in her eyes, that is evident. She expresses her respect by discreetly placing a boiled egg on my plate at breakfast. This is an improvement, and I return thanks in petto to my noble friend in Paris.
Whatever may be Mr. R.'s shortcomings, he knows how to construct a well-filled time-table.
I rise at six.
From half-past six to eight I am in the class-room seeing that the boys prepare their lessons.
At eight I partake of a frugal breakfast.
From half-past eight till half-past nine I take the boys for a walk.
From half-past nine till one I teach more subjects than I feel competent to do, but I give satisfaction.
At one I dine.
At five minutes to two I take a bell, and go in the fields, ringing as hard as I can to call the boys in.
From two to four I teach more subjects than – (I said that before).
After tea I take the boys for a second walk.
My evenings are mine, and I devote them to study.
Mr. R. proposes that I should teach two or three new subjects. I am ready to comply with his wishes; but I sternly refuse to teach la valse à trois temps.
He advises me to cane the boys. This also I refuse to do.
I cannot stand this life any longer. I will return to France if things do not take a brighter turn.
I leave Mr. R. and his "Dotheboys Hall."
At the station I meet the clergyman. He had more than once spoken to me a few kind words. He asks me where I am going.
"To London, and to Paris next, I hope," I reply.
"Are you in a hurry to go back?"
"Not particularly; but – "
"Well, will you do my wife and myself the pleasure of spending a few days with us at the Vicarage? We shall be delighted if you will."
"With all my heart."
Have spent a charming week at the Vicarage – a lovely country-house, where for the first time I have seen what real English life is.
I have spoken to my English friend of my prospects, and he expresses his wonder that I do not make use of the letters of recommendation that I possess, as they would be sure to secure a good position for me.
"Are not important posts given by examination in this country?" I exclaimed.
But he informs me that such is not the case; that these posts are given, at elections, to the candidates who are bearers of the best testimonials.
The information is most valuable, and I will act upon my friend's advice.
My visit has been as pleasant as it has been useful.
A vacancy occurred lately in one of the great public schools. I sent in my application, accompanied by my testimonials.
Have just received an official intimation that I am elected head-master of the French school at St. Paul's.
One piece of good luck never comes alone.
I am again appointed London correspondent to one of the principal Paris papers.
Allons, me voilà sauvé!
III
I Make the Acquaintance of Public School Boys. – "When I Was a Little Boy." – An Awful Moment. – A Simple Theory. – I Score a Success.
I am not quite sure that the best qualification for a school-master is to have been a very good boy.
I never had great admiration for very good boys. I always suspected, when they were too good, that there was something wrong.
When I was at school, and my master would go in for the recitation of the litany of all the qualities and virtues he possessed when a boy – how good, how dutiful, how obedient, how industrious he was – I would stare at him, and think to myself: How glad that man must be he is no longer a boy!
"No, my dear little fellows, your master was just like you when he was mamma's little boy. He shirked his work whenever he could; he used to romp and tear his clothes if he had a chance, and was far from being too good for this world; and if he was not all that, well, I am only sorry for him, that's all."
I believe that the man who thoroughly knows all the resources of the mischievous little army he has to fight and rule is better qualified and prepared
