women, but upon our greatest names and best men; sullying the shield of Britannia, and dabbling the union-jack in mud—that I was stung. With vicious relish he brought up the most spicy current continental historical falsehoods—than which nothing can be conceived more offensive. Zélie, and the whole class, became one grin of vindictive delight; for it is curious to discover how these clowns of L&bassecour secretly hate England. At last, I struck a sharp stroke on my desk, opened my lips, and let loose this cry:—
"Vive l'Angleterre, l'Histoire et les Héros! A bas la France, la Fiction et les Faquins!"
The class was struck of a heap. I suppose they thought me mad. The professor put up his handkerchief, and fiendishly smiled into its folds. Little monster of malice! He now thought he had got the victory, since he had made me angry. In a second he became good-humoured. With great blandness he resumed the subject of his flowers; talked poetically and symbolically of their sweetness, perfume, purity, etcetera; made Frenchified comparisons between the "jeunes filles" and the sweet blossoms before him; paid Mademoiselle St. Pierre a very full-blown compliment on the superiority of
