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 licks it, he loves it, he sniffs it, he revels in it. He wishes he could drink it, and the ink-stands were wide enough for him to get his fist right into it.
This boy is a most clever little fellow. When you can see his eyes, they are sparkling with mischief and intelligence. A beautiful, dirty face; a lovely boy, though an "unwashed."
A somewhat objectionable boy, although he is not responsible for his shortcomings, is the one who has been educated at home up to twelve or fourteen years of age.
Before you can garnish his brain, you have to sweep it. You have to replace the French of his nursery governess—who has acquired it on the Continong—by a serious knowledge of avoir and être.
He comes to school with a testimonial from his mother, who is a good French scholar, to the effect that he speaks French fluently.
You ask him for the French of