And stepped at once into a cooler clime. ---- Cowper.
KEATS fell by a criticism. Who was it died of "The Andromache?"* Ignoble souls! --- De
L'Omelette perished of an ortolan. L'histoire en est brève. Assist me, Spirit of Apicius!
* Montfleury. The author of the Parnasse Reforme makes him thus speak in Hades: --- "L'homme donc qui
voudrait savoir ce dont Je suis morte, qu'il ne demande pas si'l fut de fievre ou de podagre ou d'autre
chose, mais qui'l entende que ce fut de 'L'Andromache.'"
A golden cage bore the little winged wanderer, enamored, melting, indolent, to the
Chaussee D'Antin, from its home in far Peru. From its queenly possessor La Bellissima,
to the Duc De L'Omelette, six peers of the empire conveyed the happy bird.
That night the Duc was to sup alone. In the privacy of his bureau he reclined languidly
on that ottoman for which he sacrificed his loyalty in outbidding his king --- the notorious
ottoman of Cadet.
He buries his face in the pillow. The clock strikes! Unable to restrain his feelings, his
Grace swallows an olive. At this moment the door gently opens to the sound of soft
music, and lo! the most delicate of birds is before the most enamored of men! But what
inexpressible dismay now overshadows the countenance of the Duc? --- "Horreur! ---
chien! --- Baptiste! --- l'oiseau! ah, bon Dieu! cet oiseau modeste que tu as deshabille de
ses plumes, et que tu as servi sans papier!" It is superfluous to say more: --- the Duc
expired in a paroxysm of disgust. * * *
"Ha! ha! ha!" said his Grace on the third day after his decease.
"He! he! he!" replied the Devil faintly, drawing himself up with an air of hauteur.
"Why, surely you are not serious," retorted De L'Omelette. "I have sinned --- c'est vrai
--- but, my good sir, consider! --- you have no actual intention of putting such --- such
barbarous threats into execution."
"No what?" said his majesty --- "come, sir, strip!"
"Strip, indeed! very pretty i' faith! no, sir, I shall not strip. Who are you, pray, that I,
Duc De L'Omelette, Prince de Foie-Gras, just come of age, author of the 'Mazurkiad,' and
Member of the Academy, should divest myself at your bidding of the sweetest pantaloons
ever made by Bourdon, the daintiest robe-de-chambre ever put together by Rombêrt --- to
say nothing of the taking my hair out of paper --- not to mention the trouble I should have
in drawing off my gloves?"
