imparts her instruction in reading and writing
to the zealous aspirants for knowledge.

"I would not," she says, " miss their lessons
for the world; because, you see, I have thus
always an eye upon their conduct, and
have an opportunity of throwing in a little
good advice, and making them read good
books,"

As these young damsels go out to their
work directly after the lesson is over—taking
breakfast at a late hour in the day—
Mademoiselle Honorine provides herself, before
starting to the five o'clock mass, with a bit of
dry bread, which she puts in her pocket, ready
to eat when the moment of hunger arrives.
She never allows herself any other breakfast;
and, as she drinks only cold water, no
expenditure of fuel is necessary for this in her
establishment. Except it occurs to any of
her pupils—few of whom are much richer
than her earliest-served—to offer her some
refreshment to lighten her labours,
Mademoiselle Honorine contrives to walk, and
talk, and laugh, and be amusing on an
empty stomach, till dinner-time, when she
is careful to provide herself with an apple
and another slice of bread, which she enjoys
in haste, and betakes herself to other
occupations, chiefly unremunerative—such as
visiting a sick neighbour, reading to a blind
friend, or taking a walk on the fashionable
promenade with an infirm invalid, who
requires the support of an arm.

Fire in France is an expensive luxury which
she economises—not that she indulges, when
forced to allow herself in comfort, in much
besides turf or pine-cones, with perhaps a
sprinkling of faggot-wood if a friend calls in.
She is able, however, to keep a little canary in
a cage, who is her valued companion; and she
nourishes, besides, several little productive
plants in pots, such as violets and résida;
chiefly, it must be owned, with a view of
having the means of making floral offerings,
on birthdays and christenings, to her very
numerous acquaintances.

She is never seen out of spirits, and is
welcomed as an object of interest whenever she
flits along with her round, rosy, smiling face,
shrined in braids of white hair, and set off with
a smart fashionable-shaped bonnet; for she
likes being in the fashion, and is proud of the
slightness of her waist, which her polka shows
to advantage. The strings of her bonnet, and
the ribbons and buttons of her dress, are
sometimes very fresh, and her mittens are
sometimes very uncommon: this she is
particular about, as she shows her hands a good
deal in accompanying herself on the guitar,
which she does with much taste, for her ear
is very good and her voice has been musical.
There are few things Mademoiselle Honorine
cannot do to be useful. She can play at
draughts and dominos, can knit or net,
knowing all the last new patterns; her satin
stitch is neatness itself. It is suspected that
she turns some of these talents to advantage;
but that is a secret, as she considers it more
dignified to be known only as a teacher.

She had a curious set of pupils when I
became acquainted with her. Those whom I
knew were English; who were, rather late in
their career, endeavouring to become
proficients in a tongue positively necessary for
economical, useful, or sentimental purposes,
as the case might be, but which in more early
days they had not calculated on requiring.

They were of those who encourage late
ambition—

"And from the dregs of life think to receive
What the first sprightly running could not give."

The first of these was a bachelor of some
fifty-five, formerly a medical practitioner, now
retired, and living in a lively lodging, in a
premier that overlooked the Loire; which
reflected back so much sun from its broad
surface on a bright winter's day, that the
circumstance greatly diminished his expenses
in the dreaded article of fuel—a consideration
with both natives and foreigners. Economy
was strictly practised by Dr. Drowler.
Nevertheless, as he was very gallant, and loved to
pay compliments to his fair young French
friends, whom he did not suspect of laughing
at him, he became desirous of acquiring greater
facility in the lighter part of a language
which served him indifferently well in the
ordinary concerns of his bachelor house-keeping.
He therefore resolved to take advantage
of the low terms and obliging disposition of
Mademoiselle Honorine, and placed himself
on her form. There was much good-will on
both sides, and his instructress declared that
she should have felt little fear of his ultimate
success, but for his defective hearing; which
considerably interfered with his appreciation
of those shades of pronunciation which might
be necessary to render him capable of charming
the attentive ears of the young ladies, who
were on the tiptoe of expectation to hear
what progress he had made in the language
of Jean Jacques Rousseau.

Another of Mademoiselle Honorine's charges
was Mrs. Mumble, a widow of uncertain
age, whose early education had been a good
deal left to nature; and who—her income
being small—had sought the banks of the
poetical Loire, (in, she told her Somersetshire
friends, the south of France) to make, as
she expressed it, "both ends meet." "One
lesson a week at a franc," she reflected,
"won't ruin me, and I shall soon get to speak
their language as well as the best of 'em."
Mademoiselle Honorine herself would not
have despaired of her pupil arriving at
something approaching to this result, could she
have got the better of a certain indistinctness
of utterance caused by the loss of several
teeth.

Miss Dogherty was a third pupil; a young
lady of fifty, with very youthful manners,
and a slight figure. She had laboured long
to acquire the true "Porris twang," as she