John Bull made to go to church by a Frenchman! The idea was novel, and I thought extremely funny.

To teach "the art of speaking and writing the French language correctly" is a n.o.ble but thankless career in England.

In France, the Government grants a pension to, and even confers the Legion of Honor upon, an English master[13] after he has taught his language in a _lycee_ for a certain number of years.

[13] Among the nominations in the Legion of Honor, published on the 14th of July, 1884, I noticed the name of the English master (an Englishman) in the _lycee_ of Bordeaux.

The Frenchman who has taught French in England all his lifetime is allowed, when he is done for, to apply at the French Benevolent Society for a free pa.s.sage to France, where he may go and die quietly out of sight.

If you look at the advertis.e.m.e.nts published daily in the "educational"

columns of the papers, you may see that compatriots of mine give private lessons in French at a shilling an hour, and teach the whole language in 24 or 26 lessons. Why not 25? I always thought there must be something cabalistic about the number 26. These gentlemen have to wear black coats and chimney-pots. How can they do it if their wives do not take in mangling?

Mystery.

In a southern suburb of London, I remember seeing a little house covered, like a booth at a fair, with boards and announcements that spoke to the pa.s.ser-by of all the wonders to be found within.

On the front-door there was a plate with the inscription:

"Mons. D., of the University of France."

Now Englishmen who address Frenchmen as "Mons."[14] should be forgiven.

They unsuccessfully aim at doing a correct thing. But a Frenchman dubbing himself "Mons." publishes a certificate of his ignorance.

[14] "_Mons._, a familiar and contemptuous abbreviation of Monsieur."--LITTRe, "Dictionnaire de la Langue Francaise."

The house was a double-fronted one.

On the right window there was the inscription:

"French Cla.s.ses for Ladies."

On the left one:

"French Cla.s.ses for Gentlemen."

The s.e.xes were separated as at the Turkish Baths.

On a huge board, placed over the front door, I read the following:

"_French Cla.s.ses for Ladies and Gentlemen.

Greek, Latin, and Mathematical Cla.s.ses.

Art and Science Department.

Music, Singing, and Dancing taught.

Private Lessons given, Families waited upon.

Schools attended.

For Terms and Curriculum, apply within._"

What a saving of trouble and expense it would have been to this living encyclopaedia if he had only mentioned what he did not teach!

Since I have called your attention to the expression _Mons._, and reminded you of its proper meaning, never send a letter to a Frenchman with the envelope addressed as _Mons._

I know, dear American reader, that _you_ never do. But you have friends. Well, tell them to write _Monsieur_ in full; or, as cobblers in their back parlors are now addressed as _Esquires_, rather confer the same honor upon a Frenchman. He will take it as a compliment.

Democracy is making progress in England. Where is the time when only land-owners, barristers, graduates of the Universities, were addressed as Esquires?

All ladies and gentlemen in England now.

Not all, though.

A young lady friend, who visits the poor in her district, called one day at a humble dwelling.

She knocked at the door, and on a woman opening it, asked to see Mrs.

"Oh! very well," said the woman, and, leaving the young lady in the street, she went inside, and called out at the top of her voice:

"Ada, tell the _lady_ on the second floor that a _young person_ from the district wants to see her."

_Apropos_ of "Esquire" I should like to take the opportunity of paying a well-deserved compliment to the Postal Authorities in England.

Some eight years ago, I lived in the Herbert Road, Shooter's Hill, near London.

After three weeks of wonderful peregrinations, a letter, addressed in the following manner, duly reached me from France:

Angleterre Esquire

Monsieur....

Erbet Villa

pres Londres.

My dear compatriot had heard that "Esquire" had to be put somewhere, or else the letter would not reach me.

This is not the only letter addressed to me calculated to puzzle the postman.

A letter was once brought to me with the following high-flown inscription: