The islander. [volume] (Friday Harbor, Wash.) 1891-1899, 1896-02-13
HE LOVES THE BIRDS.
FRANCOIS cOPPEE AND HIS FRIENDS
INTHE JARDlN DU LUXEMBOURG.

Master" to the Studentss
Francois Coppee, the author of "For
the King has a great many friends in
Paris, but none of them is more devoted
than the little birds that live in the JAR
din du Luxem bourg. They know him as
soon as they see him come in at one of
the wide gates, his shoulders dropping,
his head hanging forward, his face pale
from i'll health. They know in just
which one of his pockets he carries the
big piece of bread which he ID going to
divide into crumbs for their benefit, and
they probably say in their own special
language:
"Ah, here is Friend Coppee, bless
himl'
They are not the only ones that know
what Coppee has in his pocket. All the
Latin quarter people who come and go
through that corner of the Luxembourg
garden which faces the Odeon know that
the gentle author rarely misses day in
his devotion to the birds. And when he
appears with peculiar swollen appear
ance about one of his pockets they draw
quietly off to a respectful distance to
watch.
AS soon as the circle of spectators
workmen in blue blouses, students in
corduroy and SLOUGH hats, nursemaids
with barelegged children-as soon as
these elements, which might possibly
be disturbing, have taken themselves far
enough out of the way, the birds close
in around the poet until sometimes
hundred of them will be f1uttering about
his head or hopping about his feet.
Then he takes out his piece of bread,
and crumbling off one corner losses
morsel up in the air. Instantly there is
hutter of wings, and two or three OF
the birds dart upward, and the most for
tunate one catches the crumb in its flight
and settles down again to his place in
the flock
One crumb after another is thrown
out in this direction and that, and &C.
casionally few are scattered on the
Ground, SO that the less adventurous and
weaker spirits may have their share.
Finally good fat crumb is pinched off,
but not thrown. 1t is held invitingly
between the thumb and finger, while
the poet looks at his birds as much as to
say:
Come, come You know your friend
Coppee. Give me proof of your affec
ton, as l am giving you proof of
mine"
There is great flutter then among
the birds, great cooking Of pretty
heads, much sharp glancing of bright
eyes, Finally one particularly brave
little creature makes wide curve to-
ward the imprisoned crumb, but his
courage deserts him on the way, and he
circles back to his place without the
prize. Coppee rubs the crumb little,
SO that a tiny morsel Of it falls to the
ground, where it is quickly picked up.
Tt is as if he said to his small flock:
'See, my little friends, it is a good
crumb. Where is your confidence? Have
I ever betrayed your
AS if ashamed Of having hesitated so
long, bird makes dart toward the
outstretched hand, poises with futter-
ing wings above it, picks daintily at the
crumb and then bears it away triumph
antly in its bill. After that it all goes
merry as a marriage bell. Two or three
birds will be eating from his hand at
the same time They light on his shout
der, On his arm, on his hat.
The spectators meanwhile are full of
breathless interest. A child whose loud
cry Of delight startled the birds into
sudden flight is unceremoniously jerked
back by his nurse with an emphatic
"Tais-toi. The students talk in an I'M
dertone about the dear master, as they
call Coppee
Last winter, when there was an I'M
usual amount of snow in Paris, Coppee
was particularly attentive to the wants
of his birds, which in their turn were
more than ever appreciative of his good
offices, for the snow made pretty poor
picking for them. And on cold days it
was no uncommon sight to see the stu
dents rush up to the poet after he had
finished his dole and turn up his coat
collar or tighten his muff1er or button
his overcoat.
Dear MASTER" they would say affec-
tionately, "you must be more careful Of
yourself. You know you are not strong,
and it is cold, and we need you as much
as the birds do
To the birds and the students he is al
ways "the dear master. +" 1t was Coppee
who wrote and read the poem for the
unwilling of the bust Of Henri Murger
in that same Jardin du Luxembourg.
Murger's name is idolized by the whole
Latin quarter, and it is doubtful if the
students would have permitted any one
of whom they did not approve to take
part in the ceremonies at the unwilling
of his monument.
| Coppee is not married, although, in
French fashion, he has friend to whom
he makes mysterious references in his
writings as one who is dear to him and
in whose heart he knows he will leave
inconsolable regret when he dies How
ever that may be, he will be sure of
plenty of sincere mourners-the students
of the Latin quarter and the birds of the
Jardin du Luxembourg. New York
| Sun.
The Ore Trust.
| The next big trust on the carpet will
probably be an ore trust, engineered as
to its formation by the capable manipu-