they could move to the sweet city. "Oh! the theatre! Oh! Orleans Street!
Oh! the masquerade! the Place d'Armes! the ball!" and they would call
upon Heaven with French irreverence, and fall into each other's arms,
and whirl down the hall singing a waltz, end with a grand collision and
fall, and, their eyes streaming merriment, lay the blame on the slippery
floor, that would some day be the death of the whole seven.

Three times more the fond father, thus goaded, managed, by
accident,--business accident,--to see old Charlie and increase his
offer; but in vain. He finally went to him formally.

"Eh?" said the deaf and distant relative. "For what you want him, eh?
Why you don't stay where you halways be 'appy? Dis is a blame old
rat-hole,--good for old Injin Charlie,--da's all. Why you don't stay
where you be halways 'appy? Why you don't buy somewheres else?"

"That's none of yonr business," snapped the planter. Truth was, his
reasons were unsatisfactory even to himself.

A sullen silence followed. Then Charlie spoke:

"Well, now, look here; I sell you old Charlie's house."

"_Bien!_ and the whole block," said the Colonel.

"Hold on," said Charlie. "I sell you de 'ouse and de block. Den I go and
git drunk, and go to sleep de dev' comes along and says, 'Charlie! old
Charlie, you blame low-down old dog, wake up! What you doin' here?
Where's de 'ouse what Monsieur le Compte give your grace-gran-muzzer?
Don't you see dat fine gentyman, De Charleu, done gone and tore him down
and make him over new, you blame old fool, Charlie, you low-down old
Injin dog!'"

"I'll give you forty thousand dollars," said the Colonel.

"For de 'ouse?"

"For all."

The deaf man shook his head.

"Forty-five!" said the Colonel.

"What a lie? For what you tell me 'What a lie?' I don't tell you no
lie."

"_Non, non!_ I give you _forty-five!_" shouted the Colonel.

Charlie shook his head again.

"Fifty!"

He shook it again.

The figures rose and rose to--

"Seventy-five!"

The answer was an invitation to go away and let the owner alone, as he
was, in certain specified respects, the vilest of living creatures, and
no company for a fine gentyman.

The "fine gentyman" longed to blaspheme--but before old Charlie!--in the
name of pride, how could he? He mounted and started away.

"Tell you what I'll make wid you," said Charlie.

The other, guessing aright, turned back without dismounting, smiling.

"How much Belles Demoiselles