cial sally, in which twelve
of them were killed. He was _bon compagnon_, very pleasant, and gifted
with a very original, quaint humour.

If our ungrateful temporary stepmother, France, did not know it, at least
the waiters in the cafes, shopkeepers, and other people in the Latin
Quarter were aware that Field and I were among the extremely small and
select number of gentlemen who had operated at the barricades for the
health of Freedom, and for some time we never entered a restaurant
without hearing admiring exclamations from the respectful waiters of
"_Ces sont les Americains_!" or "_Les Anglais_." And indeed, to a small
degree, I even made a legendary local impression; for a friend of mine
who went from Philadelphia to Paris two years later, reported that I was
still in the memory of the Quarter as associated with the Revolution and
life in general. One incident was indeed of a character which French
students would not forget. I had among my many friends, reputable and
demi-reputable, a rather remarkable _lorette_ named Maria, whose face was
the very replica of that of the Laughing Faun of the Louvre--or, if one
can conceive it, of a very pretty "white nigger." This young lady being
either _ennuyee_ or frightened by the roar of musketry--probably the
former--and knowing that I was a Revolutionist and at work, conceived the
eccentric idea of hiring a coach, just when the fighting was at the
worst, and driving over from the Rue Helder to visit me. Which she
actually did. When she came to a barricade, she gave five francs to the
champions of liberty, and told them she was bearing important political
orders to one of their leaders. Then the warriors would unharness the
horses, lift the carriage and beasts somehow over the barricade,
re-harness, hurrah, and "_Adieu_, _madame_! _Vive la liberte_!" And so,
amid bullets and cheers, and death-stroke, and powder-smoke--_hinc et
inde mors et luctus_--Maria came to my door in a carriage, and found me
out with a vengeance--for I was revelling at the time in the royal halls
of the Bourbons, or at least drinking wine out of a tin pail in the guard-
house, whereby I escaped the expense of a truffled champagne dinner at
Magny's--while the young lady was about fifty francs out of pocket by her
little drive, probably the only one taken that day in Paris. But she had
a fearfully jolly time of it, and saw the way that guns were fired to
perfection. This, too, became one of the p