St. Tammany farmer. [volume] (Covington, La.) 1874-current, 1886-04-10

/ hoH W NIiICll. dS Tie "ElleIS Ol al cs1I Illcl
day would say i'm noble style, a pen the
least timorous would recoil with hor
ror. However painful it may be t.
confess an unworthy sentiment. l an
Obliged to say that my admiration fol
Meurtrier 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.
At this time was great wanderel
in the suburbs. and / occupied the leis.
ure of my summer evenings by solitary
walks i'm those distant regions. as un.
known to the Parisians of the boulevard.
as the country of the Caribbees, and OF
whose somber charm l 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. child
carrying home a four-pound loaf larger
than himself, or a young girl hurrying
on in hat and cloak with a 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 asphalt is an unknown luxury
in these places. l went down the street,
tasting all the charms Of 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 CHM
neys thrown against greenish sky.
Sometimes through an open window
on the ground floor l 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.
sang something about liberty, accom-
panying himself on an old guitar.
Suddenly l 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
frock coat and lowered 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 3 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 a la grecque,
she played the airs of Romagnesi. Ger
tainlv loved and only daughter, re-
naming unmarried through her affce-
ton for her mother. piously watched
over the last years of the widow. 1t
was she, was sure. who had so tender
" 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. I 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, l
standing some steps from the
open window. sure of not being no.
ticed in the dusky street, when saw
door open and there appeared-oh.
how far he was from my thoughts at
that moment my friend Meurtrier
the formidable hero of tilts on
the river and trays in unknown places.
A sudden doubt crossed me. / felt that
[ was on the point of discoveringa a mvs-
tery. 1t was he. indeed. His terrible
hairy hand held tiny silver coffee-pot.
and he was followed by poodle, which
embarrassed his steps-av valiant
and classic poodle, the poodle of blind
clarinette players, poor beggar's poo
die. poodle clipped IKE lion, with
hairy ruffies on his four paws and a
white mustache like q General of the
Gymnase.
Mamma" said the giant, in a tone
of ineffable tenderness. "here is Your
coffee. l am sure that you will find
It nice tonight. The water was boil
ing well. and poured it on drop by
drop"
Thank you,'' said the old lady, roll
ing her easy chair to the table with an
air: ..thank you, my little Achille. |
our dear father said many time that
here was not my equal at making cof-
fee-he was so kind and indulgent. the
lear, good man-but begin to believe
hat YOU are even better than me"
At that moment, and while Meurtrier |
vas pouring out the coffee with all the
ielicacy Of a young girl. the poodle. ex-
,ited no doubt by the uncovered sugar,
placed his forepaws on the lap of his
mistress.
Down, Medor." she cried, with a
Indignation, did any one |
,vcr see such troublesome animal!
.ook here. sir! you know very well that
-our ma Star never fails IN give Won the |