Sacramento daily record-union. [volume] (Sacramento [Calif.]) 1875-1891, 1890-05-11
THE SOLDIER's SACRIFICE.
From the French of Maurice Sayde, for thu
SUNDAY UNION; by Mrs. N. 4. White.i

From the French of Maurice Sayde. for the
SUNDAY UNION; by Mrs. N. 4. White.l
Near the bridge of Sevres, on the left
bank of the Seine, coquettishly nesting
in wealth of verdure. stood pretty
little cottage, the walls and roof of which
were almost hidden by clambering vines
of ivy, clematis and honeysuckie.
In the garden, under the shade of the
large old chestnut trees, the larks and
bullfnches held their joyous reunions, and
their merry twittering made music for the
inmates of the little dwelling. These
were the worthy and honest mechanic,
Pierre Barlat, and his family. Pierre,
although hard worker, was a jolly COM
panion, who never frequented the village
wine-shops, and desired no other pleasures
than those to be found within the family
circle. His wife, Jeanne, was robust
peasant, whose full, red lips were ever
parted in a genial smile, disclosing teeth
of marvellous whiteress.
1t was delightful to see that happy
AhobA<CA SdhAhS xOl dCl tuICC fQtCDy oil
of whom were of tender age. Never an
impatient word escaped her lips, and yet
it was no easy task, three little ones to at
tend to-the clothes to make and mend,
| and all the other duties of the housewife
| to receive attention.
But the busy mother ever sang as she
labored, and in the evening when the little
brood were asleep, there was always good,
long hour to wander in the tiny garden
with Pierre.
That hour compensated for all the trials
of the day. They spent it in making
plans for the future. Three children to
rear-that was indeed heavy burden
but work was plentiful, and surely they did
not lack strength and willingness. In a
few years Pierre would be foreman, after
which his pay would be greater. The
| children would be no further trouble, and
while they were at school Jeanne could
work at her old trade of laundress. They
would, therefore, lay up money, and then
they could buy the cottage
And, indeed, where could they find a
lovelier spot to harbor their old age and
to spend their meager savings? To be
sure, they would not have their Hundreds
| and thousands" but the children would
follow in their footsteps, and their old pa
rents could live on what they had laid up
for a rainy day.
Such were the innocent dreams which
they crudely expressed, but which consti-
tuted the happiness of these simple people.
Years passed away in this way, and the
dream began to be realized. Pierre
worked without rest or relaxation. The
owner of the cottage had very exalted no.
lions of the value of his property, but his
exorbitant demands only augmented the
desire of the occupants to possess it. What
a pity it would be, thought Pierre and
Jeanne, to leave that house, to which they
were constantly making SO many improve
ments. And the little garden. Was an
other to pluck the fruit from all those
trees which they had planted? 1t seemed
as if that would be robbery.
So they came at length to an under
standing with the proprietor, and the bill
of sale was finally signed one Sunday.
| When Pierre Barlat stepped out of the
Notary's Office with the deed of the COW
eted property in his coat-pocket he would
not have called the King his cousin, as he
himself remarked, joyous smile iIlumi-
mating his honest face.
At first they had determined to cele-
brate the acquisition by bountiful dinner
at the inn-fresh fish from the Seine, fried
rabbit, with several bottles OF Suresnes-a
repast worthy of Lucullus.
But, as soon as Pierre became actually
proprietor, he no longer looked upon that
form of celebration as at all adequate.
"Let us dine at home!m said he to his
wife; and you should have heard the in
tonation with which he pronounced the
word "homer
He gave, however, numerous apparent
reasons for his sudden change of mind.
The cooking at the inn was so poor, always
the same sauces, with such a disagreeable,
rancid taste. They would be so much
more comfortable at home, under the
| shade of their arbor, with the Seine flow
ing by and in the distance the immense
panorama of Paris bathed in cheerful sun
light.
1t was in the midst of this happiness,
which seemed to satisfy every wish of his
heart, that the war of 1870 surprised
Pierre Barlat.
1t is at Mount Valerien that we again
meet our peasant. Pierre is now an ar
tilleryman. He was standing at his post,
when General Noel, commander of the
fort, came up, accompanied by the officers
of his staff. The General leaned against
the piece, his field glass in hand and
turned his glance toward the bridge of
| Sevres.
Gunner" said he briefly, lifting his
head.
General" replied Pierre, making the
| military salute.
you see the bridge of Sevres from
here?
every well, General"
"That little house, over yonder, in the
clump of trees, on the left ?"
u see it," said Pierre, turning pale.
THAT is nest of Prussians! Throw a
| she'll into it, my man.
Pierre is now deathly pale; notwith-
standing the bitter blast, which makes the
| officers shiver beneath their fur cloaks, it
seems to him that he is bathed in perspi-
| ration.
No one, however, notices the agony of
the gunner.
He steps up to his gun, aims it care
fully. while the officers watched the effect
| of the shot.
"Well donew exclaimed the General,
when the smoke had cleared away; "the
hut was not very solid, and there is moth
ing left but the ruins p
The big tears welled up in Pierre's eyes,
and the General observing them, said in
his usual bluff way:
"What is the matter with that fellow ?"
Pardon, General" replied Pierre, con-
trolling his emotions, that is my house.
my home-my ali !"
PROMINENT PEOPLE.
Mrs. John Drew is 60 years of age, and
has been on the stage sixty-three years.