Lippincotts Magazine, August 1873

Lippincott's Magazine of Popular
Literature and Science

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Title: Lippincott's Magazine of Popular Literature and Science, Vol.
XII, No. 29. August, 1873.
Author: Various
Release Date: October 22, 2004 [EBook #13828]
Language: English
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LIPPINCOTT'S MAGAZINE
OF
POPULAR LITERATURE AND SCIENCE.

Vol XII, No. 29.
AUGUST, 1873.
TABLE OF CONTENTS THE NEW HYPERION [Illustrated] By
EDWARD STRAHAN. II.--The Two Chickens. OUR HOME IN THE
TYROL [Illustrated] By MARGARET HOWITT.
CHAPTER VII
.
CHAPTER VIII
. ON THE CHURCH STEPS By SARAH C. HALLOWELL.
CHAPTER I
.
CHAPTER II
.
CHAPTER III
.
CHAPTER IV
.
CHAPTER V
. INSIDE JAPAN By W.E. GRIFFIS. JASON'S QUEST By
CHARLES WARREN STODDARD. I. II. III. IV. FOREBODINGS.
DEER-PARKS By REGINALD WYNFORD. RAMBLES AMONG
THE FRUITS AND FLOWERS OF THE TROPICS By FANNIE R.
FEUDGE. TWO PAPERS.--I. A PRINCESS OF THULE By
WILLIAM BLACK.

CHAPTER XII
.--Transformation.
CHAPTER XIII
.--By The Waters Of Babylon. GOLD By ITA ANIOL PROKOP.
GLIMPSES OF GHOST-LAND By LUCY H. HOOPER.
AFTERNOON By EMMA LAZARUS. OUR MONTHLY
GOSSIP. Washington's Birthplace In 1873 By R.B.E. Vicissitudes In
High Life. A Glass Of Old Madeira. At A Matinée: A Monologue. By

C.A.D. NOTES. LITERATURE OF THE DAY. Books Received.
ILLUSTRATIONS THE FLOWERS OF WAR. THE INVADERS OF
ROMIAINVILLE. STORY OF AN OLD MAN AND AN ELDER.
MERCHANDISE IN THE TEMPLE. FATHER JOLIET. THE TWO
CHICKENS. LOVE LEFT ALONE. "FOND OF CHICKEN." THE
WIFE. THE LONE CRUSADE. TENDER CHARITY. NECESSITY
KNOWING LAW. THE FERRY. JOVE'S THUNDER. SCHOOL. ON
WITH THE DANCE! ENDYMION. HOW THE MODERN DOG
TREATS LAZARUS. THE LAUGHING LACKEY. THE PRESENT.
THE CONVALESCENT. THE DIVIDED BURDEN. SHARE MY
CUP. BREAKING STONES. SICKNESS AND COURTSHIP. THE
WAGON. DINNER-TIME! FIDELITY. A LITTLE VISITOR.
FRANCINE. "DON'T WRING MY HEART!" VIEW OF TAUFERS
VALLEY. SCHLOSS TAUFERS. HAPPY SOULS IN PARADISE.
CROSSING THE TORRENT.

THE NEW HYPERION.
FROM PARIS TO MARLY BY WAY OF THE RHINE.
II.--THE TWO CHICKENS.
[Illustration: THE FLOWERS OF WAR.]
"Thou art no less a man because thou wearest no hauberk nor mail sark,
and goest not on horseback after foolish adventures."
So I said, reassuring myself, thirty years ago, when, as Paul Flemming
the Blond, I was meditating the courageous change of cutting off my
soap-locks, burning my edition of Bulwer and giving my satin stocks to
my shoemaker: I mean, when I was growing up--or, in the more
beauteous language of that day, when Flemming was passing into the
age of bronze, and the flowers of Paradise were turning to a sword in
his hands.
Well, I say it again, and I say it with boldness, you can wear a tin
botany-box as bravely as a hauberk, and foolish adventures can be
pursued equally well on foot.
Stout, grizzled and short winded, I am just as nimble as ever in the
pretty exercise of running down an illusion. Yet I must confess, as I
passed the abattoirs of La Villette, whence blue-smocked butcher-boys
were hauling loads of dirty sheepskins, I could not but compare myself
to the honest man mentioned in one of Sardou's comedies: "The good

soul escaped out of a novel of Paul de Kock's, lost in the throng on the
Boulevard Malesherbes, and asking the way to the woods of
Romainville."
[Illustration: THE INVADERS OF ROMIAINVILLE.]
Romainville! And hereabouts its tufts of chestnuts should be, or were
wont to be of old. I am in the grimy quarter of Belleville. Scene of
factories, of steam-works and tall bleak mansions as it is to-day,
Belleville was once a jolly country village, separated on its hilltop from
Paris, which basked at its feet like a city millionaire sprawling before
the check apron and leather shoes of a rustic beauty. Inhabited by its
little circle of a few thousand souls, it looked around itself on its
eminence, seeing the vast diorama of the city on one side, and on the
other the Près-Saint-Gervais, and the woods of Romainville waving off
to the horizon their diminishing crests of green. A jolly old tavern, the
Ile d'Amour, hung out its colored lamps among the trees, and the
orchestra sounded, and the feet of gay young lovers, who now are
skeletons, beat the floor. The street was a bower of lilacs, and opposite
the Ile d'Amour was the village church.
Then the