cerning the Academy,
and is reminded of Piron's epigram in the shape of his own epitaph:

Ci git Piron qui ne fut rien,
Pas meme academicien.

He wrote it, however, after his failure to obtain one of the
much-coveted arm-chairs.

Our national vanity might be flattered by hearing that the phrase
"L'oeil Americain" is used to describe an eye whose piercing vision is
escaped by nothing, were we not told that it dates from the translation
of Cooper's Leatherstocking tales into French, and has no reference, as
"Natty Bumpo" would say, to "_white_ gifts."

We find long, elaborate definitions of those much-disputed words,
"chic," "cachet" and "chien," which, after all has been said, seem to
take their meaning from the intention of those who use them and the
perception of those who hear. "Chocnoso" is a delightfully expressive
and absurd onomatopeic word to describe what is brilliant, startling and
remarkable. The most striking feature of this elaborate book is that,
although it contains almost words enough to constitute the vocabulary of
a miniature language, yet the vast majority of these words would be as
unintelligible to an educated Frenchman as to an Englishman. The bulk of
French slang is never heard by the ears of educated people nor uttered
by their lips: it circulates among the classes which create it; and the
size of this dictionary is therefore not necessarily appalling to a
Frenchman's eyes: it does not represent the corruption of the language,
because slang does not taint the speech of those classes who control and
make the standard speech and literature of the nation. If a dictionary
of English slang were published now, how many young ladies and gentlemen
of the educated classes, either in England or America, could profess
honest and absolute ignorance of the meaning of most of the words? The
answer to this question makes the moral of this paper.

F. A.

NOTES.

If it be true, as a writer in the February Gossip says, that "it is what
Mr. Mill has omitted to tell us in his _Autobiography_, quite as much as
what he has there told us, that excites popular curiosity," the
following anecdote told by John Neal, one of Jeremy Bentham's
secretaries, may be found interesting. The father of John Stuart Mill,
it seems, was in the habit of borrowing books of Bentham, and was even
allowed the privilege of carrying them away without asking permission--a
courtesy