e with her;
and that Jasmin, because of the merits of his poetry, was their son.

Up flamed the old pair! "What, Catherine?" cried the old man, "is
it true that you have been a coquette? How! have I been only the
foster-father of thy little poet?" "No! No!" replied the enraged mother;
"he is all thine own! Console thyself, poor John; thou alone hast been
my mate. And who is this 'Pollo, the humbug who has deceived thee so?
Yes, I am lame, but when I was washing my linen, if any coxcomb had
approached me, I would have hit him on the mouth with a stroke of my
mallet!" "Mother," exclaimed the daughter, "'Pollo is only a fool, not
worth talking about; where does he live, Jacques?" Jasmin relished the
chaff, and explained that he only lived in the old mythology, and had
no part in human affairs. And thus was Apollo, the ancient god of poetry
and music, sent about his business.

Years passed on, the married pair settled down quietly, and their life
of happiness went on pleasantly. The honeymoon had long since passed.
Jasmin had married at twenty, and Mariette was a year younger.

When a couple live together for a time, they begin to detect some little
differences of opinion. It is well if they do not allow those little
differences to end in a quarrel. This is always a sad beginning of a
married life.

There was one thing about her husband that Mariette did not like. That
was his verse-making. It was all very well in courtship, but was it
worth while in business? She saw him scribbling upon curl-papers instead
of attending to his periwigs. She sometimes interrupted him while he was
writing; and on one occasion, while Jasmin was absent on business, she
went so far as to burn his pens and throw his ink into the fire!

Jasmin was a good-natured man, but he did not like this treatment. It
was not likely to end in a quiet domestic life. He expostulated, but it
was of little use. He would not give up his hobby. He went on rhyming,
and in order to write down his verses he bought new pens and a new
bottle of ink. Perhaps he felt the germs of poetic thought moving within
him. His wife resented his conduct. Why could he not attend to the
shaving and hair-dressing, which brought in money, instead of wasting
his time in scribbling verses on his curl-papers?

M. Charles Nodier, member of the French Academy, paid a visit to Agen
in 1832. Jasmin was then thirty-four years old. He had been married
fourteen years, but his name was quite