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THE PARTY OF PLEASURE.

“My love,” said M. Barbean to his wife, “it is but

right that you and the children should have a little amusement to-morrow. You scarcely ever zo out; and when you have spent a couple of hours at the Tuileries, you fancy that you and the children have had amusement enough for a whole week.”

“But, my dear”

“But, my love, first hear what I have to say. We must not think about ourselves alone. Leonora is now upwards of Vifieen, an age at which a girl wishes to see something ‘more than her mother’s petticoats, though certainly your petticoats are very respect- able”

“My dear, you know we expect some visiters to- morrow, and Leonora” e

“Yes, I know it, and also that M. Bellefeuille will be one of them;—that young artist, you know, who has adopted the romantic style because he thinks it is a fine thing to wear large whiskers and a tuft of hair under his mouth; but be he romantic or classic, it is all one to me, provided he succeeds. If he really loves Leonora, why, I'll consider of it. I don’t mean to say that I will refuse him for a son-in-law, nor that I will accept him. We have plenty of time to settle that. But about our intentions for to-morrow. We must go to so:ne fete out of town; a village fete is so pleasant!——. You have never yet seen one; you'll be delighted with it—you, who never go beyond the city walls. Surely the inhabitants of Paris ought to be acquainted with the neighboring villages. Why, they may almost be considered a part of Paris. The newspapers get there by twelve o'clock, and you pay a sous more for your letters by the petite poste—that is all the difference. Many persons of merit and telent live there—poets, painters, and even booksellers— that is to say, retired booksellers, who inhabit those places because living is less expensive than in town. Meat is a halfpenny a pound cheaper—and this is a great saving. On iwo hundred pounds of butchers’ meat, which each consumes in the year, there is a saving of ten francs. It is true, that they spend twen- ty-five in coming to town by the stage as they are obliged to do; but for all that it is a great saving to live in the country. We will take a jaunt to one of these places to-morrow.”

“You know I am a bad walker, and’

“Oh! we will go in an omnibus or a citadine. Are there not coaches every where now! We shall soon go round the world for sixpence. Look, the boy is jumping for joy. Poor Alexander, how you will be amused, won't you, boy ¢

“Oh! yes, papa.”

“Well, it is all settled. We must start at twelve; for it won't do to set out at four o'clock, if we mean tw dine there. I will inquire where the fete will be to- morrow, and you shall see it, my dear.”

M. Barbeau left his wife, not, as you might suppose, to inquire about the fete next day—for he had no sooner turned his back than it escaped his memory — At a short distance from his own house, he met a friend, laid hold of his arm, asked how he was, and followed this up by a thousand other questions, with- out giving him an opportunity of answering one.— Having thus begun the conversation—if you call it a conversation, when one party has all the talk to himself —XM. Barbeau related story after story, and recollected fact after fact, which rendered fresh explanations

necessary, and these explanations brought on new

.

THE PARTY OF PLEASURE.

—_——

or Lesage’s* pies. It was like “The Thousand and One Nights,” one tale leading to another;—and then if his friend tried to get in a sentence or an observa- tion, M. Barbeau would cut him short with “Permit me—lI have not yet finished.”

For all this, M. Barbean is a very good kiud of man; a round, f@, good-natured being, but who has the strongest antipathy to great talkers, because he is one himself. He is a retired bookseller, and has, therefore, been acquainted with many men of talent. He re- members a saying of one, a good story of another; and he loves to talk about these things. His conversation is entertaining to those who are content to be listeners. He made sundry good speculations in his business;— these alone he recollects, forgetting the bad ones. He is of a happy disposition; he never makes himself un- easy by anticipation, nor even in moments of difficulty, for he always finds a favorable side in the most un- toward events. When his business went on badly, and he had a thousand reasons for being uneasy about the present and the future, what cid he do? Why, he went from home, and spent the whole day in playing dominoes. But he has continued the friend of every body; and this is his high praise.

Madame Barbeau, his wife, is as calm as her hus- band is hasty and petulant; and as extremes meet this is a sign that they agree well together. Their daughter, just turned fifteen, is very timid and says but little. Their son has reached his tenth year, and is already as boisterous as his father. Thesecompese the whole family.

Next day, being Sunday, the mother and children were dressed at eleven o'clock, and ready to set out upon the promised excursion. But at twelve they were still waiting for M. Barbeau, who had gone out early, stating that he should not be absent five minutes. The artist had come to call on the ladies; he asked permission to join the party, and said he should take the opportunity of making some sketches. ~

But time, which never stops, moved slowly on, and M. Barbeau did not return. The young lady sighed as she looked at the clock, the artist sighed as he look- ed at the young lady, and the little boy sighed as he looked at his new trowsers. Madame Barbeau alone preserved the appearance of good temper; for, after twenty years of marriage, a wife has become accustomed to waiting for her husband.

At length, just as the clock struck two, M. Barbeau arrived, accompanied by a thin, pale, little man, who bowed gracefully to all the family, whilst the master of the house said, “Here I am at last! Only conceive, I had quite forgotten our intended jaunt! I meta friend, with whom I breakfasted. I had not seen him for twelve years, at least! He has met with many ad- ventures during that time which he related to me.-— You shall hear them on the road. After breakfast, we were taking a quiet walk in the Palais Royal, when I met Grigou here. He said, in the course of conversation, that as the weather was fine, he should like to take a jaunt into the country. Upon this striking my forehead, ‘Lord have mercy upon me,’ said I, ‘ they are all waiting for me at home to go toa village fete!’ I asked Grigou to go with us; he con- sented, and here we are—the more the merrier— My love, send for a coach, and tell the maid to choose a large one.”

The coach drew up to the door. Although large, the party found some difficulty in squeezing into it,.

stories, so that he could himself no longer T whence he had set out—as if, for instance, in a story about a theatre, he came at last to speak of Belgium

ham pies.—77.
 * Lesage, a pastry-cook, famous for his veal and