Rosalie--or Rosa, as she has always called herself--was a wild, active, impetuous child, impatient of restraint, and having a detestation of study. She was a long time in acquiring even the elements of reading and writing. When not in the fields, she was in the garden. She remembers a gray parrot, a pet of her grandfather’s, that often called out “Rosa! Rosa!” in a voice like her mother’s, and would bring her in, when her mother would seize the opportunity to make her repeat her catechism. When the lesson was over, the little girl would scold the bird angrily for the trick it had played her. But if Rosa hated her books, she dearly loved all objects in nature, and was happiest when rambling in wood or meadow, gathering posies as large as herself. Her complexion was fair, with rosy cheeks; her light auburn hair curled in natural ringlets; and she was so plump that the Spanish poet Moratia, who then lived in Bordeaux, and spent his evenings at Bonheur’s, used to call her his “round ball.” He would romp with the merry child for hours together, and laugh over the rude figures she was fond of cutting out of paper. Rosa was fond of amusing herself in her father’s studio, drawing rough outlines on the walls, or burying her little fat hands in the clay, and making grotesque attempts at modeling, though these childish efforts were not noticed by her family as showing any genius. The exiled poet, however, saw the boldness, vigor, and originality of her nature, and often prophesied that his favorite would turn out, in some way, “a remarkable woman.” In 1829 Raymond Bonheur quitted Bordeaux, and established himself with his family in Paris. Interested in the ideas then fermenting in the public mind, he entered into the excitement that preceded the Revolution of July. Periods of national effervescence are not favorable to art; the painter could not sell his pictures, and had to betake himself once more to giving drawing-lessons. His wife gave lessons on the piano; but the growing agitation of the social and political world made their united exertions profitless. Madame Bonheur sustained her husband’s courage throughout this trying period, while she was often compelled, after the day’s labors, to sit up half the night to earn with her needle a precarious support for the morrow. When public tranquillity returned, Bonheur resumed his teaching, and had some of his works noticed in the Paris Exhibition.