a gay but rather
reprehensible life at court, where she was terribly talked about, though
she is said not to have cared a cent.
She developed into a marvelous politician, and early seeing that the
French people were largely governed by the literary lights of that time,
she began to cultivate the acquaintance of the magazine writers, and
tried to join the Authors' Club.
She then became prominent by originating a method of doing up the
hair, which has since grown popular among people whose hair has not,
like my own, been already "done up."
This style of Mme. Pompadour's was at once popular with the young
men who ran the throttles of the soda fountains of that time, and is still
well spoken of. A young friend of mine trained his hair up from his
forehead in that way once and could not get it down again. During his
funeral his hair, which had been glued down by the undertaker, became
surprised at something said by the clergyman and pushed out the end of
his casket.
The king tired in a few years of Mme. Pompadour and wished that he
had not encouraged her to run away from her husband. She, however,
retained her hold upon the blasé and alcoholic monarch by her
wonderful versatility and genius.
When all her talents as an artiste and politician palled upon his old
rum-soaked and emaciated brain, and ennui, like a mighty canker, ate
away large corners of his moth-eaten soul, she would sit in the
gloaming and sing to him, "Hard Times, Hard Times, Come Again No
More," meantime accompanying herself on the harpsichord or the
sackbut or whatever they played in those days. Then she instituted
theatricals, giving, through the aid of the nobility, a very good version
of "Peck's Bad Boy" and "Lend Me Five Centimes."
She finally lost her influence over Looey the XV, and as he got to be an
old man the thought suddenly occurred to him to reform, and so he had
Mme. Pompadour beheaded at the age of forty-two years. This little
story should teach us that no matter how gifted we are, or how high we
may wear our hair, our ambitions must be tempered by honor and
integrity; also that pride goeth before destruction and a haughty spirit
before a plunk.
CHAD'S STORY OF THE GOOSE
BY F. HOPKINSON SMITH
I nodded my head, and Chad closed the door softly, taking with him a
small cup and saucer, and returning in a few minutes followed by that
most delicious of all aromas, the savory steam of boiling coffee.
"My Marsa John," he continued, filling the cup with the smoking
beverage, "never drank nuffin' but tea, eben at de big dinners when all
de gemmen had coffee in de little cups--dat's one ob 'em you's drinkin'
out ob now; dey ain't mo' dan fo' on 'em left. Old marsa would have his
pot ob tea: Henny use' ter make it for him; makes it now for Miss
Nancy.
"Henny was a young gal den, long 'fo' we was married. Henny b'longed
to Colonel Lloyd Barbour, on de next plantation to ourn.
"Mo' coffee, Major?" I handed Chad the empty cup. He refilled it, and
went straight on without drawing breath.
"Wust scrape I eber got into wid old Marsa John was ober Henny. I tell
ye she was a harricane in dem days. She come into de kitchen one time
where I was helpin' git de dinner ready, an' de cook had gone to de
spring house, an' she says:
"'Chad, what ye cookin' dat smells so nice?'
"'Dat's a goose,' I says, 'cookin' for Marsa John's dinner. We got
quality,' says I, pointin' to de dinin'-room do'.
"'Quality!' she says. 'Spec' I know what de quality is. Dat's for you an'
de cook.'
"Wid dat she grabs a caarvin' knife from de table, opens de do' ob de
big oven, cuts off a leg ob de goose, an' dis'pears round de kitchen
corner wid de leg in her mouf.
"'Fo' I knowed whar I was Marsa John come to de kitchen do' an' says,
'Gittin' late, Chad; bring in de dinner.' You see, Major, dey ain't no up
an' down stairs in de big house, like it is yer; kitchen an' dinin'-room all
on de same flo'.
"Well, sah, I was scared to def, but I tuk dat goose an' laid him wid de
cut side down on de bottom of de pan 'fo' de cook got back, put some
dressin' an' stuffin' ober him, an' shet de stove do'. Den I tuk de sweet
potatoes an' de hominy an' put 'em on de table, an' den I went back in
de kitchen to git de baked ham. I put on de ham
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