My Schooling 



inexperienced fingers — and then to trace at the 

 head of the white page a line of strokes, single 

 letters or words, according to the scholar's 

 capabilities. When that is over, keep an eye 

 on the work of art which is coming to adorn 

 the copy ! With what undulating movements 

 of the wrist does the hand, resting on the little 

 finger, prepare and plan its flight ! All at 

 once, the hand starts off, flies, whirls; and, lo 

 and behold, under the line of writing is un- 

 furled a garland of circles, spirals and 

 flourishes, framing a bird with outspread 

 wings, the whole, if you please, in red ink, the 

 only kind worthy of such a pen. Large and 

 small, we stood awestruck in the presence of 

 these marvels. The family, in the evening, 

 after supper, would pass from hand to hand 

 the masterpiece brought back from school : 



'What a man!' was the comment. 'What 

 a man, to draw you-a Holy Ghost with a stroke 

 of the pen !' 



What was read at my school? At most, in 

 French, a few selections from sacred history. 

 Latin recurred oftener, to teach us to sing 

 vespers properly. The more advanced pupils 

 tried to decipher manuscript, a deed of sale, 

 the hieroglyphics of some scrivener. 



And history, geography? No one ever 



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