Indeed, even from his early boyhood he was the most extraordinarily gifted creature I have ever known, or even heard of; a kind of spontaneous humorous Crichton, to whom all things came easily--and life itself as an uncommonly good joke. During that summer term of 1847 I did not see very much of him. He was in the class below mine, and took up with Laferté and little Bussy-Rabutin, who were first-rate boys, and laughed at everything he said, and worshipped him. So did everybody else, sooner or later; indeed, it soon became evident that he was a most exceptional little person. [Illustration: "'QUEL AMOUR D'ENFANT!'"] In the first place, his beauty was absolutely angelic, as will be readily believed by all who have known him since. The mere sight of him as a boy made people pity his father and mother for being dead! Then he had a charming gift of singing little French and English ditties, comic or touching, with his delightful fresh young pipe, and accompanying himself quite nicely on either piano or guitar without really knowing a note of music. Then he could draw caricatures that we boys thought inimitable, much funnier than Cham's or Bertall's or Gavarni's, and collected and treasured up. I have dozens of them now--they make me laugh still, and bring back memories of which the charm is indescribable; and their pathos, to me! And then how funny he was himself, without effort, and with a fun that never failed! He was a born buffoon of the graceful kind--more whelp or kitten than monkey--ever playing the fool, in and out of season, but somehow always _à propos_; and French boys love a boy for that more than anything else; or did, in those days. Such very simple buffooneries as they were, too--that gave him (and us) such stupendous delight! For instance--he is sitting at evening study between Bussy-Rabutin and Laferté; M. Bonzig is usher for the evening. At 8.30 Bussy-Rabutin gives way; in a whisper he informs Barty that he means to take a nap ("_piquer un chien_"), with his Gradus opened before him, and his hand supporting his weary brow as though in deep study. "But," says he-- "If Bonzig finds me out (si Bonzig me colle), give me a gentle nudge!" "All right!" says Barty--and off goes Bussy-Rabutin into his snooze. 8.45.--Poor fat little Laferté falls into a snooze too, after giving Barty just the same commission--to nudge him directly he's found out from the _chaire_. 8.55.--Intense silence; everybody hard at work. Even Bonzig is satisfied with the deep stillness and studious _recueillement_ that brood over the scene--steady pens going--quick turning over of leaves of the Gradus ad Parnassum. Suddenly Barty sticks out his elbows and nudges both his neighbors at once, and both jump up, exclaiming, in a loud voice: "Non, m'sieur, je n'dors pas. J'travaille." Sensation. Even Bonzig laughs--and Barty is happy for a week.