The Arkansaw traveler., 1885-01-31
rHR PRINTER POET.
pg nsx pKRLEs POOR.

s.,cet poDulaT man in France when was -tortv years since-a festive young ls= s,udens in Paris. He resided at Passy, near the house inhabited by Franklin -hen minister to France, in a snug-look- ing stone house, kso stories high, with oTeen winio~ shutters fronting on an un- fenuented by-stxeet. on the high plot of land where Napoleoa intended to have huiit paiacs for his son, Ringing at inc door, one was ushexed into small entry, and. ii nrivileged, upstAus to at
 poeiss study h was simply furnished Ioos... with q table in the centre, covered with bcoks. mannscripts, and the morn ipe's COryaiye-Sata1, violent opposi- lion paper. The genius Loci was thick set man rather under the common stature, and slightly bowed by time. The prints of him give good idea of his fine bald head, though there was more fnought on his noble brow, more char acter in his mirth-twinkling gray eye, and less sensuality about his mouth. His features were regularly fun rather rubicund complexion vas frightened by A frequent smile, and had you, kind reader, met him in an omnibus, you
 
 lent, intelligent old gentleman, with the polit. manners of the old schoos. His
 ommoa stay-at-hcsne garb was checked woolen dressing gown. 5.~ck vest and pants, list-woven slippers, and velvet smoking cap on his head. A cup ot coffee ou rising in the mouning, break fast, with meat and wine, at eleven, and dinner at five, made up his ordinary reueine, and those who could obtain an invitation to ait at the little round table in his eating-room, prized 1t more than they would . bid to the palace.
 "And were you really printer, Mon- sieur Beranger ?" said to the veteran song-writer, as we sat chatting in his breakfast room one May morning.
 "Thas I was," he replied, and good printer, too nor do 1 ever take up book without scanning the title page, for always excelled in composing title pages. Hadoills, too, used to like to work upon, and well remember one blue Monday, when all alone in the office boring over an odd volume of poetry, an old farmer came in with an order for some auction placards. Though had not been in the office three months, took the composing stick in hand, then locked up my form, put it to press, and by stepping upon a stool to fly the frisket, worked off the job, presenting my master the next morning with a speci- men and the money had received. He was so pleased, good man, that he gave me the money and half day to spend it in, and happy half day it was."
 This was in the office of M. Laisne, at Peronne, and Beranger must then have been about fifteen years of age, having first seen the light of Paris on the I7th of August, I78o. His father, who was journeyman tailor, inhabited a small chamber in the rue MoRtorgueil, so famed for its piscatory delicacies, where the boyhood of the poet was passed in extreme indulgence. A place as stable boy was at last provided for him by pious aunt at reronne, but he was soon sent to her house in disgrace, having neglected his horses to read Voltaire. It was saltry summer day, nor had he re- ceived tithe of the scolding in store for him ere the coming up of thunder storm sent od the old lady to sprinkle her house with holy water. to ward of the lightning. The culprit stood at the door to enjoy the scene, and the electric fluid striking tree hard by, he was felied to the floor by the shock. Coming to his senses, he cried out to his aunt, who was telling her pater-nosters on her knees by his side, "Well, what is your holy water good for p The horror. stricken devotee turned him out of doors on the spot, and when few days after ward he entered M. Laisne's printing office all good boys in Peronne had been told to shun him as incorrigibly wicked.
 His employer was man of talent, aud finding his apprentice had taste for versiicas;c., cultivated it, lending him the French classical authors. He was soon successful composer of odes, and was tempted away from the printing office by the gaieiies of Parisian life, diving madly into that maelstrom of pleasure which unceasingly whirls around in the dissipated metropolis.
 Many years afterward he described his life in a garret at twenty years old" in poem which is a fair specimen of his muse, minRling the quaint, heroic bac- ~AsoAAoA4on osA0 kOAao~oA AAs oo~h o AAoA' ner as to win the whole mass of the French. Combining the powers of Am aceron and TyrtGus, he enlists the sensesby glowing strains, and then, en- tering the mind by soul-stirripg bur den, wins the heart by noble and daring thoughts. But am getting on too fast for when Berangez lived in a garres he had not commenced song-writing, but revelied in bscolics, heroic odes and physiological compositions. One winter day, in 1893. finding himself without copper, he sent one of his productions by post to Lucien Bonaparte, with . letter usking his protection. It was accorded, pecuniary aid was bestowed with it. and six years afesward the poet took his seat in the secrstary's office at the university as copying clerk, with a salary of S2so A fellow scriviner belonged to the Cavean Ca rollicking musical club, who still dine monthly at Pestel'A in the rue St. Honore). and the initiation of Berangsr, by oblig- inv him fSa r0nuuon~ q s00U frsx tha orra.