in the Corps Legislatif for the department of the Hautes-Pyrenees. He
was a self-made man, and thoroughly well made was he--witty, kind, just,
and learned in certain lines; and his warm Southern blood colored his
personality with a shade of materialism which his refined tastes never
allowed to sink to the level of coarseness.

He was to me the kindest of guardians and dearest of "chums," and made
my Sundays and vacations real holidays. He often took me
bric-a-brac-hunting to old shops unknown to all save the Parisian
curiosity-seeker, and happy hours were spent on the quays among the old
book-stands in that fascinating occupation for which the French bookworm
has coined the word bouquiner. And then the charming evenings spent at
the theaters and ended at Tortoni's with this truest of "boulevardiers,"
who knew every one and everything, and whose inexhaustible fund of
anecdote was enlivened by a spontaneous easy wit and verve that made his
companionship a delight.*

* Among my old papers I find the following invitation to go with him to
the Odeon to see a piece called "Les Pilules du Diable":
"Je viens rappeler a Sara
Une date encore lointaine,
Et lui dire que ce sera
Le jeudi de l'autre semaine
Que la-bas a l'Odeon,
Derriere les funambules,
Sans etre M. Purgon,
Je lui fais prendre 'Les Pilules.'
"A. J."

His wife was the daughter of the Comte Rousselin de St. Albin, a man of