awkward. He would very likely not have said one word, had not an
Englishman, a writer of talent, addressed him in Latin; but the doctor,
being unable to make him out, modestly answered that he did not
understand English, which caused much hilarity. M. Baffo, however,
explained the puzzle by telling us that Englishmen read and pronounced
Latin in the same way that they read and spoke their own language, and I
remarked that Englishmen were wrong as much as we would be, if we
pretended to read and to pronounce their language according to Latin
rules. The Englishman, pleased with my reasoning, wrote down the
following old couplet, and gave it to me to read:

'Dicite, grammatici, cur mascula nomina cunnus,
Et cur femineum mentula nomen habet.'

After reading it aloud, I exclaimed, "This is Latin indeed."

"We know that," said my mother, "but can you explain it?"

"To explain it is not enough," I answered; "it is a question which is
worthy of an answer." And after considering for a moment, I wrote the
following pentameter

'Disce quod a domino nomina servus habet.'

This was my first literary exploit, and I may say that in that very
instant the seed of my love for literary fame was sown in my breast, for
the applause lavished upon me exalted me to the very pinnacle of
happiness. The Englishman, quite amazed at my answer, said that no boy of
eleven years had ever accomplished such a feat, embraced me repeatedly,
and presented me with his watch. My mother, inquisitive like a woman,