sunshine. Sometimes they open directly upon the banquette (sidewalk), but
often behind as much as a fathom of front-yard, as gay with flowers as a
girl's hat, and as fragrant of sweet-olive, citronelle, and heliotrope as
her garments. In the right-hand half of such a one, far down on the Creole
side of Canal street, and well out toward the swamp, lived our friend the
entomologist.

Just a glance at it was enough to intoxicate one's fancy. It seemed to
confess newness of life, joy, passion, temperance, refinement, aspiration,
modest wisdom, and serene courage. You would say there must live two
well-mated young lovers--but one can't always tell.



II


We first came to know the entomologist through our opposite neighbors, the
Fontenettes, when we lived in the street that still bears the romantic
name, Sixth. What a pity nothing rhymes to it. _Their_ ground-story
cottage was of a much better sort. It lay broadside to the street,
two-thirds across a lot of forty feet width, in the good old Creole
fashion, its front garden twelve feet deep, and its street fence, of white
palings, higher than the passer's head. The parlor and dining-room were on
the left, and the two main bedrooms on the right, next the garden; Mrs.
Fontenette's in front, opening into the parlor, Monsieur's behind, letting
into the dining-room. For there had been a broader garden on the parlor
and dining-room side, but that had been sold and built on. I fancy that if
Mrs. Fontenette--who was not a Creole, as her husband was, but had once
been a Miss Bangs, or something, and still called blackberries