The Arkansaw traveler., 1886-01-23

eesases. as night h the most daneeFous quarters with rnffians and nosa-eaaers-- were the most insignificant episodes of hts nightly career. Nor do dare relate other adventures of . more intimate char aeter, from which, as the wrihers of an earlier day would say in noble style, pen the least timorous would recoil with hor- TOT.
 However painful itsnay be to confess an unworthy sentiment, l am obliged to say that my admiration for Meursrier was not unmixed with regret and bitterness, perhaps with envy. But the recitasions ot his most marvellous exploits had never awakened in me the least feeling of in- credulity, and Achille MeurtrieT easily took his place in my mind among heroes and demi-gods, between Roland and Pirithous.
 At this time was great wanderew In the suburbs. and occupied the leisure ot my summer evenings by solitary walks in those distant regions. as unknown to the Parisians ot the BoulevaYds as the country of the Caribbees, and oi whose sombre charms l endeavored later to tell in verse.
 An evening in July, hot and dusty, at the hour when the first gas lights were beginning to twinkle in the misty twi. light, l was walking slowly from Vaugi- rard, through one of those long and depressing suburban streets lined on each side by houses of unequal height. whose poriers and p ,rtresses in shirt sleeves and calico sat on the steps and imag- ined that they were taking the fresh air. Hardly any one passing in the whole street, perhaps mason white with plas- ter, a sergent de vile, a child carrying home four pound leaf larger than him selt, or a young girl hurying on in hat and cloak with leather bag on her arm, and every quarter hour the hali-empty omnibus coming back to its place of de- patture with the heavy trot of its tired horses. Stumbling nov and then on the pavement, for asphalt is an unkno~n lux ury in these places, went down the street, tasting all the charms of a stroller Sometimes stopped before an enclosure to watch through the broken boards the fading glories of the setting snn, and the black silhouettes of the chimneys thrown against the greenish sky. Sometimes through an open window on the ground floor caught sight of an interior, pic turesque and familiar here jolly look ing laundrcss holding her flat iron to her cheek there workmen sitting at tables and smoking in the ground floor of A cabaret, while an old Bohemian, stand ing before them, sang something about liberty, accompanying himself on an old guitar.
 Sudddealy stopped.
 One of these personal pictures had caught my eye by its domestic and charming simplicity. She looked SO happy and peaceful in her simple little room, the dear old lady In her black dress aad widows cap, leaning back in an easy chair covered with green Uuech, velvet, and sitting quietly with her hands folded on her lap. Every thing around her was SO old, and seemed to have been preserved, less through wise economy than on account of hallowed memories, since the honeymoon with monsieur of the high complexion, in frock coat and lowered waistcoat, whose oval crayon ornamensed the wall. By two lamps on the mantel shelf every detail of the old. fashioned furniture could be disting- uished, from the clock on a 6sh of aytI- ficial and painted marble to the old and antiquated piano, on which, without doubt, as 2 young girl in leg-of-mutton sleeves and with her hair dressed a Ia grecqae. she played the airs of Romag- nesi.
 Certaialy loved and only daughter, remaining snmarned through her sffsc- ton fos hes mother, piously watched over the last years of the widow. It was she, ! was sure, who had SO tenderly placed her dear mother, she who had put the ottoman under her feet, who placed near the inlaid table and arranged on it the wiiter and the two cups. l ex- pecte1 already to sec her coming in, carrying the evening coffee, the sweet calm girl, who should be dressed h mourning like the widow and resemble her very mach.
 scene 90 sympathetic, and by the pleas ure of imagining that humble poem. 1 remained standing some sieps from the open window, sure of not being noticed in the dusky street, when say a door open and there appeared -oh how far he was from my thoughts at that moment my nieud Meurtrier himself, the formid- able hero of tilts on the river and trays in unknown places.
 A sudden doubt crossed me. 1 felt that was on the point of discovering a mystery.
 It was he indeed. His terrible hairy hand he'd tiny silver co flee pot, and he was followed by poodle which gre atly embarrassed his steps-a valiant and classic poodle, the poodle of blind cias- inette players, a poor beggAr's pood le, a poodle clipped like lion, with hairy ruffies on his four paws, aad white mus tache like general of the Cymnase.
 " Mamma" said the giant in tone of ineffAble tenderness, here is your cofee 1 am sure that you viii ind i, nice to- night. The water was boiling well, and poured it on drop by drop"
 Thank you," said the old lady, roll.