The Kenosha telegraph. [volume] (Kenosha, Wis.) 1860-1888, 1875-01-07

| S'@oSO-SAeSA]o
men in rags, bareheaded; some having
their hands tied. The cannonade does
1 not stop. A uniform roar seems to per
wade tho air it hovers over the city to-
1 gether with the smoke and heat. < 4
TX Toward evening / could hear from
my room, on the fourth floor, something
new added to the former uproar could
be detected other sharp and nearer
sounds-short, crashing volleys. The
people said that the prisoners were be-
ing executed in the mairies.
And SO for hours and hours. 4 x
Impossible to sleep even at night. TT
you venture on the boulevard to reach
the first street with the purpose of OBJ
tanning news, or even to breathe the
fresh air-you are stopped at once and
questioned who are you, from whence.
your residence, and the reason you are
not in uniform? On being told that YOU
are foreigner, they eye you with sus-
picion and imperiously order you home.
Once National Guardsman from the
province (who seem the most jealousy
wished to arrest me at all hazards, on
account of my wearing morning
blouse. "You wear it in order to be
en- rapport with the rebels" cried he.
in ecstasy. "Who can tell but what
you are Russian agent, and have gold
in your pockets to foment our civil dis
sensions !" [ proposed to have my
pockets examined, but this enraged him
more. Russian gold, Russian agents.
with many other equally ridiculous and
improbable phantoms were the night
mares at that period, and were held in
awe by the excited populace.
I again repeat this was q time of
terror.
Three days were spent on such men
tai rack; the fourth came (26th Of
Juue). The news from the conflict
reached us quite regularly, passing
from the lips of one person to another
along the streets. For example, we
already knew that the Pantheon was
captured, and the left side of the Seine
held by the army; that Gen. Beat was
shot by the insurgents and Archbishop
Affras mortally wounded, that only the
Faubourg st. Antoine still resisted. I
remember listening to the reading of
the proclamation of Cavaignac, appeal
ing for the last time to the patriotic
feeling which still remained in the most
hardened hearts. An ordinary, an
huzzar officer, galloped along the boule-
ward, and, forming circle as big as an
apple, with the fingers of his right
J hand, exclaimed "With such bullets
they fire on us p
In the same house where [ lodged,
even on the same floor, lived the re-
nowned German poet G -. I was
acquainted with h1ln. I called on him
for the purpose of unburdening my
thoughts TO him, of escaping from my
self, and the aching grief of idleness
and isolation.
On the morning after the 26th of
June | was sitting in his room-he had
just finished his lunch, when suddenly
the garcon entered with a disturbed
countenance.
"What do you want ?"
=" A blouse wishes to see you, Mon
sieur c."
GA blouse What blouse ?"
" A man in blouse, workingman
an old man inquiries for citizen G..
| Will you admit him ?"
| G. and I exchanged looks. "Show
him in, said he, after a pause.
The garcon retired, repeating as if to
himself: ga man-in a blouse !" He
was Mortified And was it long since
when, after the days of February, the
blouse was the most fashionable,
proper, and safe dress? But, other
times-other morals at the epoch of
the instruction of June, the blouse in
Paris became stigma, seal of Cain,
and excited feeling of horror and ami
mostly.
The garcon returned and silently
beckoned to man, following his steps,
to enter the apartment he was
indeed a blouse-a ragged, spotted
blouse. His pantaloons and stockings
were patched and covered with dust,
red rag encased his neck-and his
head was covered with mass of gray
ish-black hair, matted and covering his
very eyebrows. From under his hair
projected a long, aquiline nose, and
peeped small, oldish and infamed, dim
eyes. Sunken cheeks, wrinkles on his
face as deep as scars, large, crooked
mouth, unshaven beard, red, dirty
hands, and that peculiar bending of the
spine 1nd1caJ1V0 or the pressure or pro-
longed, overtaxing work
There was no doubt that in our pres
ence stood one of the numerous labor
ers, hungry and unknown, with whom
the lower layers of civilized societies
abound
" Which of you is citizen G-?" he
asked, with hoarae voice.
@ am c." answered the German
poet, but not without certain con-
fusion.
:" You are expecting your son with
his nurse-from Berlin %
eyes, indeed, am. But how did
you know it? He left Berlin four DAYS
ago, but L presumed"
"Your boy arrived yesterday but as
the railroad depot at ST. Denis is in