As to French being the language of polite society everywhere; in the first place, it isn't true; and, in the second place, if it were true, the fact would hardly be pertinent in this discussion. I think this will be fully appreciated, when I state that, during my own residence in Paris, I did not hear of more than two or three American girls who could be said to really enjoy a social existence among the French-speaking population. And yet, the American girls residing in Paris had, generally, I presume, made special preparations in the language. As to the "science and literature locked up in the French language," I can only say, that those of us who know how much science and literature our girls get through their knowledge of French, smile, when we hear this claim mentioned. As to the peculiar mental discipline involved in the study of the French tongue, it is very easy to put forward this claim, but difficult to defend it. That the study of this language is valuable, as a mental discipline, I believe; but that it is peculiar, or if peculiar, particularly valuable, I do not believe. I have no doubt that nine-tenths of the money and precious time given to the study of French, in our ladies' seminaries, is, in great part, wasted. French is studied, in most cases, for the same reason that the piano is,--it is fashionable. A gentleman without education outside of his store, takes his daughter to a school, when about the following conversation might be heard:-- "I wish to place my daughter in your school." "What studies would you have her pursue?" "Well, she has finished the English studies, and I reckon she had better take up music, French and Italian." "Why do you select these studies?" "Well, my daughter thinks she would like to finish off with these." "Does she know anything of these languages?" "No, I believe not." "How much longer do you intend to keep her in school?" "Only this year. I can't afford to send her more than one year longer." At this stage of the conversation the daughter is brought in; and the teacher sees a pale, round-shouldered, sickly-looking young woman, and, upon a little conversation, finds, judging from her voice, manners and intelligence, that she greatly needs a thorough course of physical and vocal training, with simple, rudimentary, English studies. The teacher asks her to go into an adjoining room, and write him a letter, giving a brief account of her journey from home. In this note she makes several mistakes in spelling and grammar, while the chirography is very bad. If the teacher is a true educator, he advises a course, which leads the father and daughter to consult a little aside, after which they leave, with the promise that they will think of it, and if he concludes to have her come, he will drop a line. Wouldn't they like to look at some rooms? No, not just now; they would think of it, and drop a line.