The L'Anse sentinel. (L'Anse, L.S., Mich.) 18??-current, 1891-10-31


glory.
He was writer. i soon found hi.
name in Sunday journals and reviews,
and then he began to- write those
short and exquisite sketches which
have made his reputation. Thus five
years passed, when met him one day
in the editors Office OF a journal for
which worked.
Each OF US was as much, pleased rs
the other at thus meeting again; and
after the FIRST "What, is it you? Is
that YOU" we stood facing each
other, shaking hands, and exposing,
in a laugh OF cordial delight our teeth,
which in old times we used to exercise
. on the same crust OF poverty, He
had not changed. He had not even
sacrificed his long hair, which he threw
back with the graceful movement of a
horse who losses his name. Only he
had the clear complexion and calm
eye OF q contented man, and his slim
figure was clad in most fashionable
costume.
"We won't drift apart again, will
WEI" said he affectionately, taking me
by the arm; and he led me out in the
boulevard, where the April sun gilded
the young leaves OF the plane
trees.
All, happy day! How we exhausted
the Don't you remembers" "Do
you remember the fried eggs which
tasted OF straw, and the dreadful
rice-milk, the melancholy air OF your
landlady and the German who used
to pawn his watch every three
months?"
Those days OF hardship for Louis
were finished. He had from afar ap-
plauded my success, as had
watched his. But one thing did not
know and that was that he had
married woman whom he adored,
and that he had a charming little
girl. &1
Come and see them; you shall dine
with me-"
let myself be persuaded. and he
carried me to a pretty surburb, where
he lived in cottage among the trees.
There everything made you welcome.
No sooner had we opened the door of
the garden than young dog frisked
about our feet.
Down, Dick He will soil your
clothes"
But at the sound OF the bell Mrs.
Miraz appeared at the steps with her
little daughter in her arms. An impos-
ing and beautiful blonde, her we'll
moulded figure wrapped in q blue
gown.
"Put on plate more. I've an old
comrade with me-"
And the happy father, keeping his
hat on his head and carrying his little
girl, showed me all over his establish
inent-the dining-room, frightened by
light bits OF faience; the study,
Astounding in books, with it's window
opening out on the green turf, 80 that
puff Of wind had strewn with rose
leaves the printers proofs which are
scattered on the table.
'This is only beginning, you know.
It wasn't so long ago that we were
working for three sous q line"
And while ! luxuriated under a
blossoming Judas-tree which saw in
thegarden, Mlraz, at ease in his home,
had slipped into his working vest, put
on his slippers, and, lying on his sofa,
caught little Helen in his arms to toss
her in the air-"Houp lal Houp la!'
l do not remember ever to have had
more perfect impression of content
ment. We dined pleasantly-two
good courses, that was all; dinner
without pretense, where we served
ourselves with the peppermint.
The charming wife presided with her
bright smile, having her child by her
side in high chair. She spoke but
little, but her sweet and intelligent at
tention followed our light and para
'doxical chat, the good-humored fool
ing OF men OF letters; and at the dessert
she took rose from O boquet which
ornamented the table, and placed it
in her hair near her ear with q SUI
preme grace. She was indeed that
lovely and silent friend whom dream
,er requires.
We took our coffee in the study
they intended to furnish the salon
very soon with the price OF a story to
be published by Levy-then, as the
evening was cool, q fire OF sticks and
UWiBo WAC uuHI, hHu Willie We bIiiOkcu,
Miraz and ], recalling old memories,
the mistress OF the house, holding on
her knees little Helen, now ready for
bed, made her repeat "Our Father"
and Hail Mary" which the little one
lisped, rubbing her little feet together
before the warm flame.
Wesaw each other again, often at first,
then less frequently, the difficult and
complicated life OF literary labor TAX
ing us each his own way. So the
years passed. Wemet, shook hands.
Everything going wellf" Splendid
ly." And that was all. Then later,
Hound the name OF Louis Miraz, but
rarely in the journals and periodicals.
Happy man; he is resting" /
said to myself, remembering
that he was spoken OF as hav-
ing made q small fortune. Finally,
last Autumn, l learned that he was
seriously i'll.
hurried to see him. He still lived
at the pretty suburb; but on this
sombre day OF the last OF November