Port Royal standard and commercial. [volume] (Beaufort, S.C.) 1874-1876, 1876-03-16
HE TELLS A STORY.

HE TELLS A STORY.
Arsene Houssaye Gives us n Characteristic
Sketch of Partisan Life.
And now, my dear readers, says Ar
sene Houssaye in letter to the New
York Tribune, let me tell you story of
another friend of mine, who was an
ass, but not a savant. His name was
Pierrot.
The frost was silvering the trees OF the
park Monceau with dull white powder,
like the head of a marquis of the old
regime. 1t was in front of the rotunda,
and nine o'clock in the morning. The
sun hung in the fog like globe of fire,
but cast forth no beams. The wind was
cruel to the poor world. People walked
rapidly along the Boulevard de Cour-
celles: women yelled their faces and men
drew their heads inside their collars. 1t
was day when q lovers sigh would
have frozen in the air.
was hurryipg by like everybody else.
A female ragpicker, pale and famished,
led by the bride poor little donkey,
which seemed hundred years old, and
which dragged a poor little cart, full of
the rubbish of the street: rags, broken
bottles, torn papers, worn out sklllets,
crusts of bread, the thousand nothlDgs
which are the fortune OF ragplckers.
The woman had done good work since
midnight, but the ass was ready to drop.
He stopped short, as if he had made up
his mind to go no further. His legs
trembled and threatened a fall. He
hung his head with resignation, as If
awaiting the stroke of death.
The sight touched and arrested me.
A man would have cursed and beaten
the poor beast to rouse him; the woman
looked at him with al eye of motherly
pity. The donkey returned her look, as
If saving: "You see it is all over. l
have done my best for you night after
night, because saw your misery was
greater than mine. You have treated
me well, sharing your bread with me,
and your neighbor's oats, when you
could steal any; but am dying at last: -
The woman looked at him and SAID
gently: "Come, come. dear Pierrot,
do not leave me here" She ightened
the load by taking out basket OF
broken bottles. "Come, now." she
said, as if talking to child. sYou can
get along nicely now" She put hes
shoulder to the wheel. but the donkey
did not move. He knew he had not
the strength to walk to st. Ouen, his
wretched home. She still coaxsd HIM.
"How do you think We can get on this
way, Pierrot2 To be sure, I could drag
the cart. But can't put you in it, and
YOU would be ashamed to be dragged
after it." The donkey raised his ears,
but no move.
was going to speak to her, when she
ran to the nearest wine shop. The ass
followed h r with anxiouseyes he seem
ed fearful that he would die without his
mistress. He was so little you would
have taken him at distance for Pyre
mean dog. He had grown gray in the
harness. A few tufts of gray hair re-
mained here and there on his emaciateo
body. He looked like mountain burn
ed bare in many places. His resigned
air showed a mind free from worldly
vanities. He was far past the age where
one strikes attitudes. He was almos
transparent in his lesnness. But hi
face was all the more expressive. L
had something almost human IN Its IN
telligence and goodness. Why had h'
been condemned to such sufferlng; wa!
It the eypiation of former life passed
in luxurious orgies?
The ragpicker soon returned, bring
ing a piece of bread and q piece O
sugar. The ass turned and showed hi
teeth, like old piano keys. But although
it was his breakfast time, he had NJ
more strength in his mouth than In bl
legs. She gave him the sugar. He tool
it as il to oblige her, but dropped l
again. and the same with the bread.
"What shall I do9" said the rag
picker. She thought no more OF he
cart. She was full of anxiety for he
friend Pierrot. "Pierrot !" she criet
again. Two great tears came to he
eyes. She took his head In her arm
and kissed him like a child. The ca
ress did what nothing else could 10
The ass reused himself and brayed as /
his best days. I feared it was oni y III
swan song. I approached and said :
the woman: "You seem to be In trou
ble."
"Oh," she said, crying, "if 20
knew how love this beast. I save
him from the butchers four years age
In those days had only hod. :! hav
raised seven children with my hooi
The father is gone and one other, an
my eldest daughter was taken away
fortnight ago. My worst grief was thu
I had to take one to the foundhngs-
had eleven in all-four of them died
the breast. It's no use; you can't ha'
good milk when you work In the stree
all night. This little donkey has bee
my consolation. He was better cor
pany than my husband. He never g
drunk, and never beat me, and / nevt
beat him. Did I, Pierrot9"
The poor little beast appeared
share in the conversation. He ha
araised his ears and ssssnssa' One