The Worthington advance. [volume] (Worthington, Minn.) 1874-1908, 1875-10-22
MISCELLANY.
A DEAD PARTISAN COMMUNICATES
WITH THE LIVING.

Arscne Houssaye writes as follows to
The New York Tribune from Paris:
France is taking its vacation and enjoy
ing the delight of children Of school.
The deputies are beating up the country
to secure their reelection, and the stud
ents arc betaking themselves to the fields
to perfume their Latin, and to forget in
the fruitful presence Of nature the sterile
culture Of Greek roots. My second son,
IL years old, did not wait for the vaca-
ton to begin his truancy, and so did not
bring home any laurcls from tho Lyceum
Of Henry w. Once he was severly call
cd to order for having introduced smok.
ing tobacco into to the SCHOOL, a second
time for shaving introduced snuff This
was very grave, for upon signal given
by him sixty gamins Of his aye sneezed
vociferous1y in the face Of their master.
He was therefore placed outside Of com.
petition.
A more CHASTITY piece of mischief is
that perpetrated by Armand Barthet,
who died last year, and who has written
to his friends since his death. A letter
dated, 1.-THE Shades, Aug. l, 1885," came
to me duly post.marked like live letter.
It ran thus:
You have forgotten me, my dear Hcus-
sage. You promised to have "Lcsbia's
Sparrow" revived at the French theatre
with Mile. Favart. The absent are
wrong-to come back, you once said.
Take care. shall come back!
Rachel, whom I found here, sends
friendly greetings.
1t is rather difficult for me to answer
this letter, as the post is not responsible
for dilivery in the Shades. ''Take care! !"
he says, 81 shall come back" Very we'll.
Let him come. await him and stand
my ground.
Barthet was born fighting man, as he
was born poet, but he was alarmed for
the battle Of life. The first time met
him, l came near having meeting with
him if you will pardon the word. This is
the story. You will permit the PERSONAL.
tv, rs 4 man knows best what he himself
has seen.
was breakfasting, towards the end of
l847. at the Cafe. d. Orsay with Gerard
de Nerval. There entered q tall, swag.
gering fellow with his hat cooked on one
side. He asked for a demi tasse of cot.
fee and an ink-stand. All the tables
were occupied. He came unceremonious-
~ and sat down at ours, and there made
himself perfectly at home. We insisted
upon our rights but he wished to show
US by his clustering manner that he con-
sidered the place belonged to the last
occupant. lie ended by saying, "Per-
haps you don't like it!'' "No, 1 do not
like it" and threw my card on the ia
bic. He wrote his name and tossed it to.
ward ne, but as soon as he read nv name
ne seized my hand and cried, "Ah it is
you! havejust come from your house."
he had been to the Office of The Artistic
to speak about 'Lesb,a's Sparrow. | was
not yet director Of the French theatre.
but had the reputation Of bringing good
luck to debutants. Would to heaven
that Barthet had not presented himself
that day; for l did not discourage him
that path Of flowers which is a path Of
sorrow.
could: have published ''Lcsbia's Spar.
70" IN Ihe Artistic, or thrown it into the
tire, and the piece would not have been
played. I might have advised Barthet
to give up poetry, and he would have
mounted the tribune the year after and
finally became judge. Unfortunately
for him, I found his play little master.
piece, and SO wrote to Jan;n, the prince
OF critics, and to Rachel the princess of
the stage. 1t was like a train of gun.
powder, the way enthusiasm sprane IN
over the piece. Six weeks afterward the
Sparrow" was trying its wings under
the heaven of the French Comedy, from
which it had been driven not long before
by MN. the French comedians. There
Was one dramatic poet the moro. but a
poet was still 4 school. boy, and one who
never ceased to truant, in literature and
in life. He had only his hour, for care
Of the morrow seized him on the very
day Of his success. He was a dreamer
rather than: worker man of fancy
rather than Of study. He had already
hunted Bohemia too long. He would
tri6e week over sculpt1csque sonnet.
He said that sonorous rhymes were
brighter than Louis dor. Very pretty,
but you cannot gil your portmonnaie
With them. In vain his best friends, like