The Bossier banner., 1886-04-01
physical enthusiasm. Of noisy hilarity,
of animal spirits y

ana the evenings OF my astonishing
companion were not less full of adyen-
ture than his Sundays. Collar-and-el-
| DOW wrestling in a tent, under the red
light OF torches, between him, simple
| amateur, and Dubois, the iron man in
person rat chases near the mouth of
sewers with dogs as fierce as tigers
sanguinary encounters at night in
the most dangerous quarters, with
rufflans and nose-eaters-w the most
insignificant episodes Of his nightly ca
reer. Nor do / dare relate other adj
ventures of more intimate character,
from which, as the writer's of an earlier
| day would say in noble style, a pen the
least timorous would recoil with hor-
ror. However painful it may be to
confess an unworthy sentiment, I am
| obliged to say that my admiration for
| Menrtrier was not unmixed with re-
gret and bitterness, perhaps with envy.
| But the recitation of his most marvel
| Gus exploits had never awakened in
me the least feeling of incredulity, and
Achille Meurtrier easily took his place
| in my mind among heroes and demi-
gods, between Roland and Pirithous.
/ II,
At this time | was great wanderer
in The suburbs, and occupied the leis-
ure of my summer evenings by solitary
| walks in those distant regions, as un-
known to the Parisians of the boulevards
as the country of the Caribbees, and of
whose somber charm / endeavored
later to tell in verse. An evening in
July, hot and dusty, at the hour when
the first gaslights were beginning to
twinkle in the misty twilight, / was
walking slowly from Vaugirard,
through one of those long and depress-
ing suburban streets lined on each side
by houses of unequaled height, whose
porters and portresses, 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 plaster, sergent de vile, a child
carrying home four-pound loaf larger
than himself, or a young girl hurrying
on in hat and cloak with leather bag
on her arm, and every quarter hour the
half empty omnibus coming back to its
place of departure with the heavy trot
of its tired horses.
Stumbling now and then on the pave
ment, for asphaltis is an unknown luxury
in these places, went down the street,
tasting all the charms of a stroller.
Sometimes / stopped before an inclos-
ute to watch through the broken boards
the fading glories of the setting sun
and the black silhouettes of the chirn-
neys thrown against greenish sky.
Sometimes through an open window
on the ground floor / caught sight of
an interior, picturesque and familiar;
here jolly looking laundress holding
her fiat iron to her cheek; there work
men sitting at tables and smoking
in the ground floor of cabaret, while
an old Bohemian, standing before them,
1 sang something about liberty, accom-
panying himself on an old guitar.
Suddenly 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 and widows cap,
leaning back in an easy chair covered
with green Utrecht velvet and sitting
| quietly with her hands folded on her
lap. Everything around her was so
old, and seemed to have been preserved,
less through a wise economy than on
account of hallowed memories, since
the honeymoon with Monsieur
of the high complexion, in a
frock coat and fiowered waistcoat,
whose oval crayon ornamented the
| wall. By two lamps on the mantle
shelf every detail of the old-fashioned
furniture could be distinguished, from
the clock on a fish of artificial and
| painted marble to the old and anti
quated piano, on which, without doubt,
as young girl in leg-of-mutton sleeves
and with her hair dressed la grecque,
she played the airs of Romagnesi. Ger
tainly a loved and only daughter, re-
naming unmarried through her alice
ton for her mother, piously watched
over the last years of the widow. It
was she, was sure, who had so tender
| ly placed her dear mother, she who
had put the ottoman under her feet,
| she who placed near her the inlaid
table and arranged on it the waiter and
the two cups. / expected already to
see her coming in, carrying the even
ing coffee, the sweet, calm girl, who
should be dressed in mourning like the
widow and resemble her very much.
Absorbed by the contemplation of a
scene so sympathetic, and by the pleas
| ure Of imagining that humble poem, /
remained standing some steps from the
open window. sure of not being no.
ticed in the dusky street, when / saw a
| door open and there appeared--oh.