“My ole mistis dead and gone,
    She lef to me her ole jawbone. 
    Says she, ’Charge up in dem yaller pines,
    And slay dem Yankee Philistines!’”—­

ending with the invariable "Bon jour,” or “Bienvenu, compatriote" and demoniac “Ha! ha! ha!”

“The memory of the creature is perfectly wonderful,” I said.  “Many parrots have I seen, but never one like this before.  It must have sprung out of the Arabian Nights.”

“I can teach any thing to every thing,” digressed Major Favraud, “and without severity; it is my specialty.  I was meant for a trainer of beasts, probably.  I will get up an entertainment, I believe, in opposition to the industrious fleas, called the ‘Desperate Doves,’ and teach pigeons to muster, drill, and go through all the military motions.  I could do it easily, and so repair my broken fortunes.  I have one already at home that feigns death at the word of command.  I have amused myself for hours at a time with this bird.—­Don’t say a word, Miss Harz,” speaking low, “I see what you think of it all, but I have had to cheat misery some way or other.  It was a wretched device and waste of existence, though.  And when I see that great, distinguished man, who had such hopes of me as a boy, I feel that I could creep into an auger-hole for sheer shame of my extinguished promise.”

“Not extinguished!” I murmured, “only under a cloud, still destined to be fulfilled.”

“Only in the grave,” he said, sadly, “with the promise common to all mankind;” and thus by gloomy glimpses I caught the truth.

We staid that night at the house of an aunt of Madame La Vigne’s, who received us cordially, entertained us sumptuously, and dismissed us graciously.

The next morning at sunrise we again set out for Savannah, into which city we entered before the noonday heat, finding cool shelter and warm welcome at once under the roof of General Curzon, the South’s most polished gentleman and finished man of letters, of whom it may be truly said that, “Take him for all in all, we ne’er shall look upon his like again.”

FOOTNOTES: 

[Footnote 2:  It need not for one moment be supposed that the opinions of the author are represented through the extremist Favraud.  To her Mr. Bryant stands forth as the high-priest of American poetry.]

[Footnote 3:  The tariff.]

[Footnote 4:  Since writing the above, the admirable picture of Mr. Healey has filled this void; and those who have seen good copies of this work, executed for and by the order of Louis Philippe, may have a clear idea of that glorious countenance, the like of which we shall not see again.

Perhaps it was from this very personal magnetism of which I have spoken that Healey succeeded better with the portrait of Mr. Calhoun than any of the others he was sent to this country to paint.]

[Footnote 5:  It was about this time that Mr. Calhoun made his famous anti-tariff crusade throughout the land, it may be remembered by some of my readers.]