New Orleans Republican. [volume] (New Orleans, La) 1867-1878, 1875-06-06

Emile the year previously had fallen q
victim to the fever that had ragged on the
island; and their child AngIice was likely
to follow him. In pitiful terms she begged
Antoine to take charge of the child until
she was old enough to enter the convent Of
the Sacre CGur. The epistle was finished
hastily by another hand, informing Antoine
of Mrs. Sardin's death: it also told him that
Anglice had been placed on board vessel
shortly to leave the island for some western
port
The letter, delayed by storm and ship
wreck. was hardly read and wept over
when little Anglice arrived.
On beholding her. Antoine uttered cry
of joy and surprise, she was SO like the wO-
man he had wOrshiped.
The passion that had been crowded down
in his heart, broke out and lavished its
rudeness on this child, who was to him not
only the ADglice of years ago, but his
friend. Emile JArdin, also
Anglice possessed the wild. strange
beauty of her mother, the bending willowy
form, the rich tint of skin, the large tropical
eyes, that had almost made AntOines sacred
robes mockery to him.
For a month or two Anglice was wildly
unhappy in her new home. She talked con-
tinually of the bright country where she
was born, the fruits and flowers, and blue
skies, the tall, fan like trees, and the
streams that went murmurng through
them to the sea. Antoine could not pacity
ner. BY and by she ceased to weep, and
went about the cottage in a weary, discOn-
sOlate way, that cut Antoine to the heart.
A long tailed paroquet, which she brought
with her in the ship, walked solemnly be-
hind her from room to room, mutely piDlng,
it seems, for those orient airs that used to
rutiie it's brilliant plumage.
Before the year ended he noted that the
ruddy tings had faded from her cheek. that
her eve had grown languid and her slight
form more willowy than ever.
physician was consulted; he could dis.
cover nothing wrong in the child except
this fading and dropping. He failed to ac-
count for shat. 1t was some vague disease
Of the mind, he said, beyond his skill.
So Anglice faded day after day. She sell
dom left the room now. At last Antoine
could not shut out the fact that the child
was passing away. lie had learned to love
her 80!
"Dear heart" he said once, "what is it
ails thee!"
"Nothing, mon PEREZ for so she called
him.
The winter passed The balmy spring
had come with its magnolia blooms, and
Anglice seemed to revive. In her small
bamboo chair, on the porch, she swayed 10
and fro in the fragrant breeze, with pecu-
liar undulating motion, like graceful tree
At times something seemed to weigh
upon her mind. Antoine observed it and
waited. At length she spoke.
"Near our house," said little Anglice,
"near our house, on the island, the palm
trees are waving under the blue sky. Ga,
how beautiful! l seem to lie beneath them
all day long. l am very, very happy. l
yearned for them so much that l grew
sick-don't you think it was SO, mon perez"
"Helas, yes" exclaimed Antoine sudden
ly. LET us hasten to those pleasant islands,
where palms are waving"
Anglice smiled.
II am going there, mon PEREZ" week
from that evening the wax candles burned
at her feet and forehead. lighting her on in
her journey. All was over. Now, was
AntOine's heart empty. Death, like another
Emile, had stolen his new Ang ice. He had
nothing to do but to lay the blighted flower
away.
Pere Antoine made shallow grave in his
garden. and heaped the fresh brown mould
over his idol.
In the tranqail spring evenings the priest
was seen sitting by the mound, his fingers
closed on the unread breviary.
The summer broke on that sunny land;
and id the cool morning twilight, and after
nightfall, Antoine fingered by the grave.
He could never be with it enough.
Ouo uOTAluR uc OUScTttu b dC6 sUou,
with two curiously shaped emerald leaves.
springing up from the center of the mound.
At first he only noticed it casually; but at
length the plant grew so tall, and was so
strangely unlike anything he had ever seen
before. that he examined it with care.
How straight and graceful and exquisite
it wat! When it swung to and fro with the
summer wind, in the twilight, it seemed to
Antoine as if little Anglice were standing
there in the garden.
The days stole by, and Antoine tended it.
wondering what manner of blossom it
would unfold, white, or scarlet, or golden.
One Sunday, stranger with brOnZed,
weather beaten face, like sailors leaned
over the garden rail, and said to him,
What a fine young date palm you have got
sir"
mon Dieu" cried Pere Antoine, '.and
is it a palm 7"
"Yes, indeed" returned the man. ~
didn't reckon the tree would flourish in this
latitude"
''Ah, mon Dieu !" was all the prizes. could
say aloud: but he murmured to himself |
"Cest lie bon Dieu qui ma donne cela''
Ii Pere Antoine loved the tree before, he
worshiped it now. He watered it and nur-
tured it, and could have clasped it in his
arms. Here were Emile, Anglice and the
child, all in one
The years glided by, and the date palm |
and the priest grew together; only one be- |
came vigorous and the other feeble. Pere
Antoine had long passed the meridian of |
lite. The tree was in its youth: it no longer |
stood in an isolated garden, for pretentious
brick and stucco houses had clustered about |
AntOines cottage. They looked down |
scowling on the humble matched roof. The
city was edging Up. trying to crowd him Off |
his land, but he chung to it like lichen, |
a md rafnse6 TO aell
Spectators piled gold on his door steps, |
and he laughed at them. Sometimes he |
was hungry, and cold, and thinly clad, but |
he laughed none the less. !
Get thee behind me, Satan - said the |
old priests smile. Pere Antoine was very |
old now, scarcely able to walk; but he |
could sit under the plant, caresslng leaves |
of his palm, loving it like an Arab; and |
there he sat till the grimmest of spectators |
came to him. but even in death. Pere An |
tome was faithful to the trust
The owner of that land loses it if he |
harms the date tree. And there it stands |
in the narrow. dngy street, beautiful |
dreamy stranger, an exquisite foreign lady, |
whose grace is a Joy to the eye, the incense |
of whose breath makes the air enamored
May the hand wither that touches it un-
gently, because it grew from the heart of |
little Anglice,'' said Miss Blondeau, ten
Derby.
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