Foxcroft Academy - Review Yearbook (Dover Foxcroft, ME)

Page 22 text:

20 ACADEMY REVIEW woodpecker who, perched on his cocked hat, is looking at him and laughing. The sous-prefet shrugs his shoulders and wishes to continue his discourse, but the woodpecker inter- rupts him again and cries to him from afar: What is the use P V Why! VVhat is the use ? says the sous-prefet, who becomes very redg and, driving away with a gesture, that audacious little bird, he starts again, louder than ever: Gentlemen and dear fellow citizens Gentlemen and dear fellow citizens continues the sous-prefet more impres- sively than before. But then the little violets lean towards him on the ends of their long stems and say to him gently: UM. le sous-prefet. do you see how sweet we smell ? And the springs under the moss make divine music for himg and in the branches, over his head, a multitude of little warblers begin to sing for him their prettiest tunes: and all the little people of the forest conspire to hinder him from going on with his discourse. M. le sous-prefet, overcome by the perfume of the flowers, intoxicated by the music, tries in vain to resist the new charm which surrounds him. He leans his elbows on the grass, un- fastens his fine: coat, stammers again two or three times: Mesieurs et chers administres . . . . Mesieurs et chers admi . . . . Mesieurs et chers . . . . . Then he sends the fellow citizens to the old Harry and the Muse of Agri- culture has nothing to do but to hide its face. Veil your face, O Muse of Agricul- ture! ..... NVhen at the end of an hour, the peo- ple of the sous-prefecture, disturbed about their master, entered the little woods, they saw a sight which made them draw back in horror: M. le sous- prefet was lying flat on the ground, his waistcoat unbuttoned, in true bohe- mian fashion. He had taken off his coat . . . . . and, while munching vio- lets, Monsieur the sous-prefet was writing poetry.

Page 21 text:

ACADEMY come . . . . It is so warm in that carriage! ..... The road to the Combe-aux-Fees stretches out long and dusty under the southern sun . . . . . The air is sultry . . . . . and on the oaks bordering the road, all covered with white dust, thou- sands of little grasshoppers are an- swering each other from tree to tree . . . . . Suddenly M. le sous-pre- fet trembles. Down there at the foot of a slope, he sees a little forest of green oaks which seems to beckon to him. The little forest of green oaks seems to' be calling him. Come here. M. le sous-prefet: to compose your speech you can do much better under my trees . . . . . M. le sous-prefet is bewitchedg he jumps down from his carriage and tells his people to wait for him, that he is going to compose his speech in the little forest of green oaks. In the forest of green oaks there are birds, violets, and little springs under the delicate grass ..... XYhen they noticed M. le sous-prefet with his beautiful attire and his embossed leather portfolio, the birds were afraid and stopped singing, the springs did not dare to make a noise, and the vio- lets hid themselves in the grass . . . No one in this little world had ever seen a sous-prefet, and they ask each other in low voices who the beautiful seigneur is. In low voices, under the green arbor, they ask each other who the beautiful seigneur is ..... Meanwhile, M. le sous-prefet. overjoyed with the silence and coolness of the forest, takes REVIEW 19 off his coat, places his hat on the grass and seats himself on the moss at the foot of a young oak: then he opens his big portfolio and takes out a large sheet of foolscap. He is an artist ! said the Warbler. No, said the bulhnch, he is not an artist, since he has on silver-trimmed trousers: he is 'rather a prince. Yes, he is rather a prince, said the bullinch. Neither an artist nor a prince. in- terrupts an old nightingale who has sung all the season in the gardens of the sous-prefet-ure . . . . . I know what that is, it is a sous-prefet! And all the little forest whispers: lt is a sous-prefetl Tt is a sous- prefetln How bald he is! remarks a-lark with a fine crest. The violets ask: ls he wicked? ls he wicked? ask the violets. The old nightingale replies: Not at all l And on this assurance the birds be- gin to sing again, the little springs flow as before. the violets give out perfume, as if the gentleman were not there . . . . . Unmoved in the midst of all this pretty confusion, M. le sous-prefet calls upon the agricultural Muse, and, his pencil raised. begins to declaim in his most dignified manner: Gentlemen and dear fellow-citizens. Gentlemen and dear fellow-citi- zens, says the sous-prefet in his cere- monious voice ...,. A peal of laughter interrupts him: he turns and sees nothing, but a big

Page 23 text:

A R 1 WWWAM Q43 M9 HM MHA Way Qiivixafff Hlgyf nomxegr www vwqgfdffia my qv 3 EER W 'if wie N 0707 7 f- Tg . W. ' 5 25- ' ,. -. W 5 4 Vg ' Q ' , , . ' 0 VQ ww. no ' . . 1 ' ., 0 3 S W' -af , f A-AAA' .K A 76 ,S 4 3' . - 5,- 5 - r 1 D v -6 , I ' -9 V. 01.01. sq! 'I -f xx .Al iw