every religion; he certainly believed in every superstition. He attached importance to lots, and spells, and omens; he had faith in magic and in dreams; he avoided crossed knives; he fled from an overturned salt-cellar; he grew pale with terror before three lighted candles. He greatly admired Offenbach, but he would not speak his name nor even put it on paper, for Offenbach was possessed of the evil eye. Another journalist had to write for the Moniteur the criticisms on the Grande Duchesse and Belle Hélène. Gautier broke his arm during his journey in Egypt, and he said that was because he must needs play the esprit fort, and begin his trip on a Friday. He thrilled his auditors as he told of his listening in Paris to the fateful croaking of a mysterious crow, and how the same bird met his friend Gérard de Nerval on the plains of Syria, and cast a terrible enchantment over his mind.

Superstition is out of vogue among sound modern thinkers, and that fact, perhaps, strengthened the superstitious beliefs of one who regarded rational views as bourgeois modes of thought. Voltaire had sneered at superstitions, and though the romanticists discarded Christianity they disdained Voltairism, and Gautier himself regarded its disciples as mere imbeciles.

Gautier's appetite, like that of Dr. Johnson, was a thing long to be remembered. He traveled in Spain, where the people practice the abstinence common among southern nations. His gastronomic feats were viewed there, he tells us, with wonder mingled with respectful admiration. His appetite was prodigious and even gigantic, ever fresh and never weary. The quality as well as the amount of his fare was to him a subject of careful thought. He invented rare and curious dishes, and pointed with pride to his spinach flavored with pounded apricot stones. Bread he declared to be a stupid and dangerous invention, unfit for a carnivorous animal, and which

served only as a rallying word for rioters and communists.

His talents for æsthetic gourmandizing commanded the respect of the greatest masters in Europe. The chef of the Emperor of Russia was among his admirers, and was conquered by a stroke of genius. A favorite dish of the Czar, which was usually flavored with pounded almonds, was served at the imperial table. The other guests were loud in their admiration, but Gautier remained stern and silent. The chef at last asked

for his opinion. great poet to the

66

'My friend," said the great cook, "I looked for a flavor of almonds, and I find a flavor of macaroons. Sir, you abuse the confidence of the Czar."

The fear of death haunted Gautier as it did Dr. Johnson. There was always about him, he said, an odor of dissolution, and death, and nothingness. But Johnson's fear was largely a religious fear, a shrinking from the dreadful problems of the future life, from the mystery that lies beyond the grave. Gautier's dread was that of the child who plays in the sunlight, and is afraid to be taken away to a dark chamber. He dreaded the hour when he should no longer walk the Boulevard des Italiens, when the door of the Français should no longer open to him, when the pages of the Moniteur should no longer be filled with his wit. He clung to the sensuous things of life, and beyond them there was nothing that he desired. He lived for the day that was. In literature and the theatre, in the sculptures of the Louvre and the paintings of the Salon, in the familiar sights of Paris streets and the strange sights of foreign lands, in light and color, in beauty of face and form, by pyramids and sphinxes resting forever under a cloudless sky, or by medieval towers and cathedrals rich in the endless variety of the Middle Ages, he found the bliss of life. He wished for no other existence, he sighed for no mysterious future, he harbored no spiritual longings for

something that could not be found in French boulevards or Spanish piazzas.

The ugliness of death, also, offended him. He had for beauty in the human form a love which exceeded that of the Greeks. It was horrible to think of himself as an object hideous to the eye and revolting to his fellow-men, and the terror of this idea clung about his mind.

We have suggested that, with all the eccentricities of Gautier's character and the artistic devotion of his nature, he had many qualities which might have been found in a disciple of Philistinism. Among these, perhaps, should be classed his great desire to be chosen a member of the Academy. If that body wished to include the chief names of literature, Gautier would certainly have been numbered among the Immortals. But he was left, with Dumas and Balzac, outside of the sacred circle. It is said that Mademoiselle de Maupin was the cause of his rejection, and that, though the French are not prudish, the Academicians would not admit its author into their midst. Its youthful faults might well have been overlooked in one who had so enriched French prose and verse, and who ranked among the great masters of style in this century.

Many of the immortal names of of French literature are not found on the official list, but Gautier lamented his rejection in a manner one would expect in a bourgeois, rather than in a romanticist. He sought consolation in attributing his misfortune to the decrees of fate. Men were predestined to be Academicians, he said; they were born Academicians, as they were born poets, archbishops, or cooks. Thirty-nine ballots, he felt certain, bore his name when they were dropped into the box, but when they were opened his rival was found to have been unanimously elected.

It is not strange that one so devoid of political beliefs should have been well content with the era of imperialism. If the government was corrupt, it did not

concern him. The end of government was to furnish plenty of money for the encouragement of art, the support of authors, and the building of opera houses, and in these respects Napoleon III. did much better than could be expected from a republic controlled by bourgeois.

Gautier's private life was tranquil and free from incident. He lived in Paris, writing industriously, and surrounded by a circle whose tastes were like his, and whom he delighted by his brilliant and exuberant conversation. His little house at Neuilly was furnished with the objects which appealed to his sensibilities, and every phase of luxury was felt by him as are the chemical rays of light by a plant. His beauty as a young man, of which he delighted to boast, was not wholly destroyed by years. He lived with his sisters and daughters, and guests at his table found also the black cat, who had her chair at dinner, like any other member of the family. He delighted in cats. and praised their tender, silent, feminine caresses, their phosphorescent eyes, and their mysterious and cabalistic manners, which suggested meetings with phantoms and sorcerers, and companionship with Mephistopheles and the Evil One.

The siege of Paris made a terrible inroad into Gautier's peaceful life, and swept away much of the moderate property which he had slowly acquired; but he bore his misfortunes with philosophic equanimity, and displayed his powers of description in his vivid Pictures of the Siege. He did not long survive its calamities. His superstitious dread of death and its cold unloveliness haunted him to the last, and he was almost frightened out of a life which could not, however, have been long continued. His family wished to conceal from him the existence of a disease of the heart, and sought to remove the newspapers in which he might see any reference to his condition. But he stumbled upon one which told the nature of his malady, and from that day he resigned himself to

death. On the 23d of October, 1872, he died, at the age of sixty-one. His individuality was such that, though he had many disciples, he could have few

imitators; and while this century in France has been rich in literary genius, Gautier will be remembered as one of its rarest products.

James Breck Perkins.

II.

THE four-in-hand party returned only in time to dress for dinner. A hop was in order that night, and it was the custom on such occasions to dine in evening dress. Amy came down, cloud-like in white, wearing her diamonds, which were hardly more brilliant than her eyes. There was a wonderful radiance about her, altogether; she seemed moved by some strong excitement, which betrayed itself only in that mantling color and bright glance.

Balfour did not appear at dinner, but not long after nine o'clock (for our hops were unfashionably early affairs) I saw him enter the ball-room with Amy on his arm. The first waltz was in progress, and they made their way very slowly through the moving crowd to my side.

"I wished to sit by you, because you are so nice and comfortable, and will console me for not being able to waltz," she said gayly, dropping down beside me on the sofa.

“And do you not waltz?" said I. "Oh, yes, indeed; but Mr. Balfour does not. He belongs to the Aw-I-Don'tDawnce set. Have you ever heard of it? It is very, very elegant and exclusive."

As she spoke she looked up at him, and there was a laughing witchery in her face that would have taken the edge off the sharpest speech.

the cherished habit of years," said Balfour.

"But bad habits are best broken." "And the spirit of reform is on me tonight." He left the mantel, where he had been leaning, and offered her his arm. His face was not festal, and I should have thought some spirit other than that of reform possessed him.

I noticed that he did not waltz again, but throughout the evening his devotion to Amy was very marked. There was no lack of comment on his departure from a custom hitherto supposed to be invariable with him. It had been believed that the waltz was not numbered among his accomplishments. When it was found that he waltzed as well as he rode, there was a disposition to resent the discovery, as revealing also some ulterior motive for not having exhibited his proficiency before.

Had he followed up the first break by making another in favor of, say, Miss Bixbee, Miss De Land, or indeed any one of the many charming young ladies present, no exceptions might have been taken, but he had waltzed only once, and then with Miss Roberts. The offense was unpardonable. But it was Miss Roberts, not Mr. Balfour, who remained unpardoned.

considered it so, for her eyes and cheeks glowed still brighter, and her manner grew sprightlier yet, as the hours wore on to midnight.

Amy After

The train had brought down that day a large accession to our number. Noticeable among the new faces was that of a fast stock-broker, well if not favorably known in Wall Street. He had not been five minutes in the room when I saw him being presented by Mrs. Banks to Amy, who was smiling graciously as she looked up at him. No one but a Banks would have thought of introducing him to her. He was altogether outside the pale respectable people knew of him, - they did not know him; and the distinction was significant. waltzed with him three times. the third waltz I missed her, and some one told me, with a disagreeable smile, that she had probably gone to show Mr. Dacres the pavilion. When they appeared again in the ball-room people were going out to supper, and I hoped to see her claimed by some prëengaged admirer; but no! it was with Mr. Dacres she went away. Balfour was folding Mrs. Vincent's light wrap about her. I saw Amy only once in the diningroom that was just as I was leaving. She was standing up, laughing gayly. Gerald Banks was wiping off with a napkin something that had fallen on the front of her dress. Several gentlemen surrounded her, and Mr. Dacres was taking from her hand an empty wineglass.

Dancing was resumed. I saw Balfour moving through a quadrille with Mrs. Vincent in his usual impassive manner, and again I had a glimpse of Amy, archly holding out her hands to Dacres in some change of the cotillon, and with a more hilarious buoyance than I liked.

By and by some words of a conversation going on near me riveted my attention.

"They say she is a little the worse for champagne."

"Is it possible?"

"Oh, yes. Anything is possible with her. I have an idea she will not be tolerated much longer. She is running her course a little too fast. Mrs. De Land has her eye on her. You know her precious Jack is among the slain."

There was a pause in the music; the dance was ended, the voices ceased. Not long after, I was sitting with Balfour, when Amy approached, leaning on Dacres' arm. He seated her near us.

and withdrew. The first notes of Die Tausend und Eine Nächte were sound

ing.

66

'Amy," said I, speaking quickly, as she turned toward us, "I am going to the dressing-room. Will you come with me? Mr. Balfour will take us."

"Oh, certainly. I shall miss this waltz, but it does n't much matter. I'm engaged to Mr. Banks, with whom out of sight is out of mind."

"What's that you're saying?" said the gentleman in question, coming up. In truth, the remark had been designed for him; she was looking at him with a saucy smile.

"I said out of sight was out of mind with you."

"You 're a little wretch," replied Mr. Banks chastely. "If I did n't know you knew better than that, I'd make a fuss about it."

"I am going to ask you to excuse me from waltzing. I am very tired.” "Tired, are you? Then come and sit on the piazza.”

"By and by. I am going up-stairs with Miss Lecky to rest a little."

Mr. Banks glanced at me an instant with a pair of bold blue eyes, which unlimited potations had made even bolder and bluer than usual.

"It is always by and by' with you," he said, looking back to Amy. You 're always putting me off. By Jove! if I was n't the best natured fellah in the world"

There was more in this style. Then Mr. Banks walked away in assumed anger, taking her fan with him as hostage, he said, for her return; and we went upstairs. It happened that we did not go down again. I pleaded a headache as an excuse for remaining in my room, and Amy said she would stay with me. Her own head ached, and then it would be quite as well to disappoint Mr. Banks; he would only think the more of her.

"No sacrifice is too great, so that it deepens his regard; is that it?" said Balfour, with an unpleasant smile.

"Mr. Balfour!" said Amy; whereupon he bade us good-night, and went

I felt quite sure that I was expected to combat this statement, which was obviously untrue, but I did nothing of the kind. "Mr. Balfour is devoted to a great many ladies," I said. “It is hardly possible that he should be in love with them all."

"Nor any one of them?" She jumped up, laughing, and kissed me again. "Good-night, dear old wet-blanket! I'm sure I hope he is n't in love with anybody. It would be too bad.”

The next day an ominous thing happened. Mrs. De Land turned her back upon Amy Roberts. It was a direct cut, and so every one present understood it. Those who were not present soon heard of it. Amy Roberts had said, "Mrs. De Land, won't you testify in my behalf? Your son says I did not play that ball fairly." Then the elder lady had turned her back without speaking. This was before lunch. Before dinner there was a report that Jack and his mother had quarreled. When the august lady entered the dining-room, she entered it unescorted, save by her daughter. Her son came in a little later, attending Miss Roberts, who was smiling and waving a large feather fan.

In the evening some tableaux were ar

"Of course! And when a man is disagreeable he 's jealous, nine times out of ten."

"Mr. Balfour may be the exception that proves the rule.'

"Yes, he may be." With this she sank into an easy-chair, and began taking off her diamonds. All the while her lips and eyes were smiling.

four, who was to be a bandit, corsair, or something of the kind, with my red cashmere shawl, when Amy came up, saying breathlessly, "Oh, Miss Lecky, you're so good, supplying every one! Can I have your white mantle? Of course it's dreadfully hackneyed, but we're going to have the Sleeping Beauty, and I'm the Beauty."

"That will make a new thing of it,"

ty?" she said, after a little.

Rather. Her figure is good." “Do you think so?"

A pause.

Then, carelessly, "Do you think Mr. Balfour is in love with her?" "No."

"He is certainly devoted to her."

my two hands, three pins, and a knot of cashmere, all of which were under his chin at that moment.

The tableaux were a great success. Balfour, who had just emerged from an overwhelming triumph, which he shared. with Mrs. Vincent, came into the audi