h occupies a little
terrace above the river, has somewhat the air of a chateau, and in its
windowed roof and moated gardens shows that it aspired to the proud
distinction of a seignorial residence.

It might be difficult to ascertain how an edifice of this size and
pretension came to be built in such a place; at the time I speak of, it
was a school, and a modest-looking little board affixed to a pear-tree
at the gate announced, "The Academy of Monsieur Jost." In my boyish
eyes, this chateau, its esplanade above the stream, the views it
embraced, and the wild, luxuriant orchard by which it was begirt,
comprised an amount of magnificence and beauty such as no stretch of
imagination could surpass. In respect to its picturesque site, my error
was probably not great: the mountain scene, in all its varied tints of
season and sunlight, is still before me, nor can I remember one whose
impression is more pleasing.

The chateau, for so it was called, lost nothing in my estimation by any
familiarity with its details. I only knew of the large school-room with
its three windows that opened on the terrace, the smaller chamber where
the classical teacher held his more select audience, and a little den,
fitted up with cases of minerals, insects, and stuffed birds, which
was denominated Monsieur Jost's cabinet, and where that worthy man sat,
weeks, mouths, I believe years long, microscope in eye, examining the
intricate anatomy of beetles, or poring over some singular provisions in
the eyelids of moths. Save when "brought up" for punishment, we rarely
saw him. Entirely engrossed with his own pursuits, he seldom bestowed
a thought upon us; and when, by any untoward incident such as I
have alluded to, we were thrust into his notice, the presence of a
strange-looking butterfly, a brilliant dragon-moth, a spider even, would
be certain to divert his thoughts into a new channel, and ourselves and
our derelictions be utterly forgotten. Need I say that no culprit ever
appeared in the dock without some such recommendation to mercy, nor was
there one of us ever unprepared with some specimen of the insect tribe,
ready to be produced at any moment of emergency?

It is but fair to say that the other masters--there were but two--were
singularly forbearing and indulgent. Monsieur Gervois, who "taught"
the little boys, was a quaint-looking, venerable old gentleman, with a
queue, and who wore on fete-days a ribbon in his button-hole. He was, it
was s