n honour of Jasmin. A banquet was organised by the
journalists of the Deux Mondes, at the instance of Meissonier, Lireux,
Lalandelle, C. Reynaud, L. Pichat, and others. M. Jules Janin presided,
and complimented Jasmin in the name of the Parisian press. The people
of Agen, resident in Paris, also gave him a banquet, at which Jasmin
recited a poem composed for the occasion.

One of his evenings was spent at the house of Madame la Marquise
de Barthelemy. An interesting account of the soiree is given by a
correspondent of Chambers's Edinburgh Journal, who was present on
the occasion.{2} The salons of Madame la Marquise were filled to
overflowing. Many of the old nobility of France were present.

"It was a St. Germain's night," as she herself expressed it.
High-sounding names were there--much intellect and beauty; all were
assembled to do honour to the coiffeur from the banks of the Garonne.
France honours intellect, no matter to what class of society it belongs:
it is an affectionate kind of social democracy. Indeed, among many
virtues in French society, none is so delightful, none so cheering,
none so mutually improving, and none more Christian, than the kindly
intercourse, almost the equality, of all ranks of society, and the
comparatively small importance attached to wealth or condition, wherever
there is intellect and power.

At half-past nine. Jasmin made his appearance--a short, stout,
dark-haired man, with large bright eyes, and a mobile animated face, his
button-hole decorated with the red ribbon of the Legion of Honour. He
made his way through the richly attired ladies sparkling with jewels, to
a small table at the upper end of the salon, whereon were books, his
own "Curl-papers," two candles, a carafe of fresh water, and a vase of
flowers.

The ladies arranged themselves in a series of brilliant semicircles
before him. The men blocked up the doorway, peering over each other's
shoulders. Jasmin waved his hand like the leader of an orchestra, and
a general silence sealed all the fresh noisy lips. One haughty little
brunette, not long emancipated from her convent, giggled audibly; but
Jasmin's eye transfixed her, and the poor child sat thereafter rebuked
and dumb. The hero of the evening again waved his hands, tossed back his
hair, struck an attitude, and began his poem. The first he recited was
"The Priest without a Church" (Le Preste sans gleyzo). He pleaded for
the church as if it were about to be built. He cl