each French
word, and they would positively come out easily. The letter "F" being
the most difficult letter for stammerers to pronounce, I always
imagined that he thought he would be all right with any sound, if he
could only say "F" first.

He was successful.

A boy with whom you find it somewhat difficult to get on is the
diffident one who always believes that the question you ask him is a
"catch." He is constantly on guard, and surrounds the easiest question
with inextricable difficulties. It is his misfortune to know that rules
have exceptions, and he never suspects that it would enter your head to
ask him for the illustration of a general rule.

He knows, for instance, that nouns ending in _al_ form their plural
by changing _al_ into _aux_; but if you ask him for the plural of
_general_, he will hesitate a long while, and eventually answer you,
_generals_.

"Do you mean to say, my boy, that you do not know how to form the
plural of nouns in _al_?"

"Yes, sir, but I thought _general_ was an exception."

* * * * *

I pass over the wit who, being asked for the plural of _egal_,
answered, "two gals."

* * * * *

A diverting little boy in the class-room is the one who always thinks
"he has got it." It matters little to him what the question is, he has
not heard the end of it when he lifts his hand to let you know he is
ready.

"What is the future of _savoir_?"

"Please, sir, I know: _je savoirai_."

"Sit down, you ignoramus."

And he resumes his seat to sulk until you give him another chance. He
wonders how it is you don't like his answers. His manner is generally
affable; you see at once in him a mother's pet who is much admired at
home, and thinks he is not properly appreciated at school.

Mother's pets are to be recognized at a glance. They are always clean
and tidy in face and person. Unfortunately they often part their hair
in the middle.

* * * * *

Such is not the testimonial that can be given to young H. He spends an
hour and a pint of ink over every exercise.

He writes very badly.

To obtain a firm hold of his pen, he grasps the nib with the ends of
his five fingers. I sometimes think he must use his two hands at once.
He plunges the whole into the inkstand every second or two, and
withdraws it dripping. He is smeared with ink all over; he rubs his
hands in it, he