me among us to fasten the lie direct upon a late
author, who writes of us that 'the air of this region is deadly to
the Muses.'"

"He didn't say that?" asked one of the debaters, with pretended
indignation.

"He did, sir, after eating our bread!"

"And sucking our sugar-cane, too, no doubt!" said the wag; but the old
man took no notice.

Frowenfeld, naturally, was not anxious to reply, and was greatly
relieved to be touched on the elbow by a child with a picayune in one
hand and a tumbler in the other. He escaped behind the counter and
gladly remained there.

"Citizen Fusilier," asked one of the gossips, "what has the new
government to do with the health of the Muses?"

"It introduces the English tongue," said the old man, scowling.

"Oh, well," replied the questioner, "the Creoles will soon learn the
language."

"English is not a language, sir; it is a jargon! And when this young
simpleton, Claiborne, attempts to cram it down the public windpipe in
the courts, as I understand he intends, he will fail! Hah! sir, I know
men in this city who would rather eat a dog than speak English! I speak
it, but I also speak Choctaw."

"The new land titles will be in English."

"They will spurn his rotten titles. And if he attempts to invalidate
their old ones, why, let him do it! Napoleon Buonaparte" (Italian
pronounciation) "will make good every arpent within the next two years.
_Think so?_ I know it! _How?_ H-I perceive it! H-I hope the yellow fever
may spare you to witness it."

A sullen grunt from the circle showed the "citizen" that he had presumed
too much upon the license commonly accorded his advanced age, and by way
of a diversion he looked around for Frowenfeld to pour new flatteries
upon. But Joseph, behind his counter, unaware of either the offense or
the resentment, was blushing with pleasure before a visitor who had
entered by the side door farthest from the company.

"Gentlemen," said Agricola, "h-my dear friends, you must not expect an
old Creole to like anything in comparison with _la belle langue_."

"Which language do you call _la belle?_" asked Doctor Keene, with
pretended simplicity.

The old man bent upon him a look of unspeakable contempt, which nobody
noticed. The gossips were one by one stealing a glance toward that which
ever was, is and must be an irresistible lodestone to the eyes of all
the sons of Adam, to wit, a chaste and graceful complement of--skirts.
Then in a lower tone they resu