and we all adore him and try to imitate his funny Swiss accent.

Professor Pierce, who is, you know, the greatest mathematician in the
world, teaches us mathematics and has an awful time of it; we must be very
stupid, for the more he explains, the less we seem to understand, and when
he gets on the rule of three we almost faint from dizziness. If he would
only explain the rule of one! The Harvard students say that his book on
mathematics is so intricate that not one of them can solve the problems.

We learn history and mythology from Professor Felton, who is very near-
sighted, wears broad-brimmed spectacles, and shakes his curly locks at us
when he thinks we are frivolous. He was rather nonplussed the other day,
when Louise Child read out loud in the mythology lesson something about
"Jupiter and ten." "What," cried Mr. Felton, "what are you reading? You
mean 'Jupiter and Io,' don't you?" "It says ten here," she answered.

Young Mr. Agassiz teaches us German and French; we read Balzac's _Les
Chouans_ and Schiller's _Wallenstein_.

Our Italian teacher, Luigi Monti, is a refugee from Italy, and has a sad
and mysterious look in his black eyes; he can hardly speak English, so we
have things pretty much our own way during the lessons, for he cannot
correct us. One of the girls, translating _capelli neri_, said "black
hats," and he never saw the mistake, though we were all dying of laughter.

No one takes lessons in Greek from long-bearded, fierce-eyed Professor
Evangelinus Apostolides Sophocles, so he is left in peace. He does not
come more than once a week anyway, and then only to say it is no use his
coming at all.