him to
true enjoyment of the humorous side of life. Have I not somewhere read:
"Beware of those who never laugh!"

Delsarte's piety--I speak of that of the letter--was seldom morose. It
did not forbid juvenile caprices; it overlooked _venial_ sins.

One Sunday he took his scholars to Nanterre, some to perform, others to
hear, a mass of his own composition. A few friends joined the party. The
mass over, they wandered into the country in groups. Some walked; some
sat upon the grassy turf. The air was pleasant, the conversation
animated; time passed quickly.

Suddenly the vesper bell was heard. Some one drew Delsarte's attention
to it--not without a tiny grain of malice.

"Master, what a pity--you must leave us."

He made no answer.

When the second summons sounded, the same voice continued:

"There's no help for it; for us poor sinners, it's no matter! But you,
master, you cannot miss the mass!"

He put his hand to his head and considered.

"Bah!" he cried boldly, "I'll send my children."

Let me give another trait in illustration of the nature which from time
to time pierced through and rent the flimsy fabric of his opinions. This
anecdote is a political one.

Despite the precedent of an ultra democratic grandfather, and all his
plebeian tendencies as a philanthropist and a Christian, his Catholic
friends had inclined him toward monarchical ideas--although he never
actually sided with the militant portion of the party.

On one occasion, it happened that the two wings of this
politico-religious fusion disagreed. As at Nanterre, Delsarte acted
independently, and on this occasion politics were the victim. It fell
out as follows:

A claimant of the throne of France, still young, finding himself in the
Eternal City, had not, to all appearance, fulfilled his duties to the
Vatican promptly.

The first time that Delsarte encountered certain of those zealous
legitimists, who are said to be "more royalist than the king," he
launched this apostrophe at their heads:

"I hear that _your young man_ was in no haste to pay his respects to His
Holiness."

Thus, always free--even when he seemed to have forged chains for
himself--he obeyed his impulse without counting the cost. Never mind!
This childish outburst must have gladdened the manes of the ancestor who
connected the syllables in the patronymic name of Delsarte!

I hope I shall not forget, as my pen moves along, any of these memories,
insignificant to many m