New Orleans daily crescent. [volume] ([New Orleans, La.]) 1851-1866, 1856-03-10
Foreign Quotations.

| New ORLEANS, March /, 1856.
| Foreign Quotations
\ From time to time there appear in the French,
| German, Italian and Spanish papers, descriptions of
odd characters and various incidents of daily life that
to illustrate, in peculiarly vivid manner, the
ideas and habits of the people in countries that have
often been misrepresented or but imperfectly under
stood and described by superficial tourists and letter
writer's. Hence we have thought that an occasional
| column or two of TRANSACTIONS, embracing some Of
these agreeable and instructive tres, would answer
| useful purpose, while it would not prove unaccept-
| able to the general reader.
\ To-day give characteristic sketch from the pen
of the favorte feulletonst, Amedee Achard and ap-
pend to it a pleasant anecdote of the Boulevard.
ONE OF THE GOLDEN YOUTH.
| A German poet, whose name has escaped me, COM
pared life to vast forest, full OF young and vigorous
trees in the midst Of which woodcutter is stroing
At first the forest is still dense and ourishing; but
the woodcutters axe continues to strike, and inces
SAINT blows scatter death around it, The trees fall
by first, and then another; where their
trunks stood close together the light begins to break
through; shere and there broad vacant spaces grow
larger and larger soon the regretfl eye counts the
victims by hundreds The axe pursues its work of
distinctions it assails the oaks which still remain
erect huls them down and Widens the vacant space.
Its blows redouble in speed and you might almost
fancy that, like good workman, it was anxious to
finish its task before the close Of day. In the
ing the forest was as dense and tutted as meadow
where the grass growsruxuriantly; by evening it is
bare expanse. Wait but another hour, and the last
tree will have fallen.
That forest is youth, with its many friends; that
Wood-cutter is death.
1t never weares of it's blows, and by the time that
age has come when the first wrinkles fuTow the pen
sive brow, what gaps are already visible, and how
many of those we loved the best are gone!
| First, one died in the very flower of youth, her
forehead decked with its laXcn curls, and she still
smiling upon life her heart still trimming with joy
anticipations Then, another followed; and then
another; fourth fell suddenly and in the very pride
of his strength Death strikes on, and soon we no
longer count those we have lost; we think of them
sometimes, and those who remain last have their,
memories full of phantoms which beckon them to
hasten
A few months ago 1t was DR.. Valleix, man whose
life long act of seEsacritce, upright heart
strong, manly spirit; Of those whose death
leaves void difficult to fill. After him it was Charles
Reynaud, suddenly stricken down at his happiest
moment; yesterday it was Frederic Berat Who will
| it be tomorrow? ..., e,
Of Berats illness until they heard of his death. He
was already gone ere they knew that there was any
cause for apprehension. Those who may have heard
of it never thought that he could die He was one
! of those happy natures who wear life as branch
bears toweret, as nest nurses a bird. You never
upon his countenance the trace of either effort
fatigue He always smiled and gloomy days slipped
over him as drops of water the wings of beetle
One morning. few lines in one of the newspapers
informed his friends that he had died, in little
chamber of house, in the Rue de Lille. In but
few days disease had killed him.
1t is nota biography that here wish to write. I
do not precisely know how Berat commenced his
career, but know how he terminated it. Paris
friendships have this sngularity about them, that
they are like riyulets flowing from remote and differ
ent regions; their waters meet and mingle without
| knowing whence they have come I met Frederic
Berat, for the first time, at dinner party, and
parted from him. for the last time in the cemetery.
| While the poor but excellent Frederic Berat was
departing, the same day. and about the same hour
| died man who lived brilliantly all his life though
unpossessed of capital Or revenues.
We will, ifyou choose, call him the Count de T***
He had coronet upon bis visiting cards. and title
at the head of his name. Whether he had these le
| Ultimately, or not, was q question few cared to ask
| He used thenl-that sutfced
| Count de T*** knew everybody. He visited this
| set and was visited by that Some he shook by the
hand; others he saluted by touch of his hat He
| fingered the ganlut of poiteness with corsummate
| elegance, passing by imperceptble degrees and
standings from familiarity to recognition, and never
making mistake. There was no one in Paris enjoy
! ing any position in the social hierarchy whom he
could not approached it be the banker, minister
senator or peer Of France, he had the en1ee to all
their salons and knew how to present himself exactly
on the days it proper for him to be there. At
the age of twentyone he found himself one morning
on the streets of Paris without family and with
few thousand francs for all his worldly possessions,
while he felt an appetite vigorous enough to swallow
up millions.
Come, come, he said to himself we must be reason
able and content ourselves with $4,000 francs per
annum, good year or bad year. So he took small
range of rooms on the Rue ST. George, established
himself in them as well as he could and applied all
his time to the cultivation of two things, viz: din
ners and whist.
While yet quite young, aud aided by the guidance
and instruction of an old uncle, once contractor for
the armies ofthe Directory, he had learned the infu
enee of a good dinner and the utility of whist.
The acquaintance and connections which spring up
from anchovy toast, he said, maintained and kept
alive by the comfortable 81" RUBBER
Count dc 1A** comprehended that he was too poor
not to play, but he required play of such kind that
no one could reproach him for winning often and in
which the skill acquired repealed the chances of i'll
| fortune.
| After eighteen months Or two years of application
he made progress enough to be accounted one of the
very best of theatrical Players practice did the rest
| and he became one OF the masters of whist. From
that moment he devoted himself to the cultivation of
mort in which the gains are double. His little suite of
rooms the Rue st. Georges were not adapted to
large receptions and he made salon of the Freres
Proyencaux, his house and his private office When
he desired to open relations with parsonage of i'm
portance he asked him to dinner and So from dinner
to dinner he would at length succeed in capturing his
party between a pheasant and buisson Decreases
But he applied himself especially to the task of MAX
ing his dinners better than the choicest. More par
lcularly was he intieXible respecting his wines.
Between success and failure he would say, there is
often no greater distance than that which separates
| fine brand OF wine from a poor one.
| The Count de I never employed his liquid sill
yer but in useless expenditure. He was never seen
buying railway shares but to sell them again costly
furalture but TO offer it to his friends; curiosties
books rare porcelain richly chased arms medals or