The Montgomery advertiser., 1909-03-21
DI AIpnoNS[ OAUDET

Daudet show what French literature might be if French writers could rid themselves of the grotesque sense Of self-importance that makes each man hall himself, as well as every other boulevard pamphleteer, as a genius France has many surprisingly clever wrtters-more. probably. than either England or the United States. Some of them have decided talent. Almost all are so busy proving it to themselves and the world. at large that they have neither time nor mind left for real work. In the blaring vanity fair of Paris the small-keepers whose little trumpets are the noisest are the writ CTS.
 Daudet. with all his racial French seh-consciousness. did not make the error of squinting at the point of his own nose and calling the distorted and unimportant vision real life or art. He saw life as it was and realized that beauty of soul and nobility of thought are always more beautiful in real life than are the ignoble passions of mankind. And he knew that art is art only when 1t expresses the truth most perfectly.
 Victor" was his name he said But when they asked him "victor what?' he could only cry little harder and smear his tears over his thin little cheeks. His parents had been in the house only a month and had been too busy drinking and fighting to cultivate the higher arts of society. This morn- ing they had departed with all their possessions, leaving the little fellow on the street
 He was nearly dying with fear. He was afraid of the dogs proving wfio stared at him and asked him ques- tions. His little heart was beating violently in his bosom like that of an expiring bird.
 The police arrived and wrote things In book Then they took the child by the hand to take 1t away
 Stop minute!" said a loud, irnpor- tant voice. Every one turned around and saw great. ruddy. good -natured face wearing smile that extended from one-copper ringed ear to the other.
 Stop a minute!" safi the face. eff nobody wants him will take him my self"
 Good for you! good for youw cried the crowd; and the man smiled more proudly than before, while everybody hurried him to the Magistrates that his enthusiasm should not cool.
 1 am Francis Louveau, Your Honor" said he to the Magistrate. his tongue loosened by the admiration of everybody. not to mention the elevat- ing effects of a bottle of white wine that he had taken to himself before he chanoed on the child. 'Bargen1an, Your Honor master of La Belle Niver- pafse. rather a rough boat. but man. ned by smartfsh crew.. am mar Tied. and if I say so. Your Honor. we'll married to wife with head-piece. And that is lucky for me, for, you see. I am not so very clever myself Hai hal Francis is not an eagle,' my wife says"
 Thsre were enough people to youch for the man who was not an eagle and pe1ore he quite knew it. the boy was turned oyer to him with all the so1emnfty of law.
 When the bargeman emerged into the street and was deserted by the enthusiastic friends and strangers. he began to feel uncpmfortable. All his pride in his own Judgment faded. He lost even his elate joy over the bar gam that he had made when he sold his cargo of lumber that morning without the help of his wife.
 That unlucky cargo! If the bargain had not been so good. he would not have drunk whole bottle of that un- lucky white wine. And if that un- lucky white wine had not been so good he would not be taking a strange boy home to add to the family that was so large already for the income that the olu. oecreplt barge could earn.
 The boys feet dragged. The barge man wrapped his coat around him and lifted him on his arm: The twining of the little arms around his neck made him feel better.
 Still, his legs tremblef a bit when he reached the Seine and stepped timidly aboard his barge. With the suppiicating eyes of big dog. he fall tered forth his story. A storm burst on him. You are mad! Or drunk! Have we too much to eat? Have we too much money?"
 The man who was not an eagle con templated his shoes and did not answer with word
 Your boat is full of holes and will soon fall apart. Then we shall starve! And you must amuse yourself with picking up other peoples childrenr
 Y have made a mistake" said he at last "I will take him back. Must I take him back at once?"
 Mother Louveau looked at her own baby on the bed and at her little Clara, just Victor's age 1t seemed. She thought of them lost at night. holding out their hands to passers-by.
 Not tonight" she snapped 'But to- morrow-I vow tomorrow you shall rid me of him."
 She set the food on the table with furious motions. Furiously she helped the stranger child to 1t. With equal fury she bathed him and bundled him Into bed. The oucast felt a new and strange sensation just as sleep came. It was as If a hard but gentle hand had laid a caressing touch on him.
 Next morning Louveau had a great inspiration. He reused out the wood en-legged Crew and they began to un- load the lumber with immense haste. Francis picked up rafters as long as masts and thick as walls and tugged at them with a will never ceasing for even an jnstant's breath. lest Madame Louveau should cry: Come, now, as you have nothing to do take the little boy back"
 He would not stop even for a glass of wine, though the lumber buyer pro- posed it urgently more than once. Not stop for a glass of wine! Madame Louveau could not credit her ears. It was out of the question to disturb such heroism of labor with any scold- ings about that poor child.
 At last the lumber was off. Madame Louveau disappeared into the cabin. Now for it!" gasped poor Louveau to himself, wishing that he dared to run away.
 Just come here and looki It Is so funny" called Madame Louveau softly
 The master of La Belle Nivernaise obeyed hurrfedly. The two little mon- keys. Victor and Clara, were sitting on the bed They had possessed them selves of bowl of soup. As there was