The National tribune. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1877-1917, 1892-09-01

Fresh and charming verses they were, with
the perfume of the first lilacs and the forest
things about them, and the title of that collec-
ton of poems will retain place among the
volume of belles-lettr by the side of those
poets of single book-of the Daudets, of the
Amoureuses, for example.
Five years passed, and met him one day In
the Office of journal for which / worked.
"What is that you? Is that you 2" we cried,
and stood shaking hands, and exposing in q
laugh of cordial delight our teeth, which in
old, old times We used to exercise on the same
crust of poverty.
he led me out into the April sun. did not
know that he married the woman whom he
adored and that he had . charming little
daughter.
"Come and see them; you shall dine with
me; and he carried me down to the Enclos des
Ternes, where he lived in cottage among the
trees.
At the sound of the bell, Mime. Miraz ap-
cared with her little daughter in her arms.
An imposing and superb blonde, her we'll
nodded figure wrapped in q pale-blue gown.
While Iluxuriated under poisoning Judas
tree in the garden, Miraz, at ease in his home,
had put on his working coat and slippers
and had caught little Helen in his arms and
was tossing her in the air. "Houpls, houpla!"
We took our coffee in the study-they In
tended to furnish the salon with the proceeds
from story to be published by Levy-and
while we smoked Miraz and / recalled old
memories.
We saw each other again, often at first, and
then less frequently.
Then later I saw the name of Louis Miraz
but rarely in the periodicals. Happy man,
he is resting" said to myself, and then ]
heard that he was seriously i'll.
hurried to see him, and found him huddled
in an easy char in the corner of the fire. place,
wrapped in q sort of bed gown, with his long
hair streaked with gray, and by the feeling Of
the cold hand which he stretched out to me,
aud by the pallid face which he raised to mine.
I knew that he was lost.
Look" he said, pointing to tho table; "see
my work. bench. For six months have not
been able to write"
/ made an attempt to revive him, but he
stopped me, putting his hand on my arm.
"Listen," he said, sravely. It is rare in our
profession to gain even the poor hoard which
have gathered, and have been obliged. .
poetic initiate the unsociable virtues OF the
bourgeois and deny jewel to my wife and 3
dress to my daughter.
"At last have the money and say to my
self that IL should die their bread is assured
and here is Q little marriage portion for Helen
and am content, for know them, the stories
of our widows and our orphans the four.penny
u6lp u tu6 0OFoEumcubt buO IL VIC uduSub0k
il pretty and intelligent, like mine, the dra-
matte author an old friend of the father who
advises her to enter the Conservatoire and who
makes her-mercy of God that shall never be
"But for all that, my boy, 1t is necessary
that should not finger. Sickness costs, and
already one or two bonds from that drawer are
gone. To seek the sunlight, to bask like .
lizard at Cannes, one more bond must CO. and
if should wait for seven or eight years more
there would not be enough to last to the end.
No; if you still pray to God, ask him to send
me speedily to the undertaker's"
Fifteen days later some 30 of Us followed tho
hearse which carried Louis Miraz to the Mont
martre Cemetery.
DR.. Armour, the old frequenter of tho paint
ers' studios, the friend and physician OF the
dead man, as the priest began his Latin prayers,
seized me by the arm and whispered:
"You know that he killed himself"
looked at him In establishment.
He pointed TO Nine. Miraz and her daughter,
who were sohbing under their walls. Foe
them," no said. "Yes, for six months he threw
all his medicines into the FIRE and designediy
committed all sorts of imprudences.
"The cure does not dream that he Is bless
ing q suicide. But what Of itf Miraz ia In
the paradise Of the brave"