an to be careless in his dress, and the fashion of
serenading had passed away, the commoner people dared to shorten the
title to "'Sieur George."

Many seasons came and went. The city changed like a growing boy;
gentility and fashion went uptown, but 'Sieur George still retained his
rooms. Every one knew him slightly, and bowed, but no one seemed to know
him well, unless it were a brace or so of those convivial fellows in
regulation-blue at little Fort St. Charles. He often came home late,
with one of these on either arm, all singing different tunes and
stopping at every twenty steps to tell secrets. But by and by the fort
was demolished, church and goverment property melted down under the warm
demand for building-lots, the city spread like a ringworm,--and one day
'Sieur George steps out of the old house in full regimentals!

The Creole neighbors rush bareheaded into the middle of the street, as
though there were an earthquake or a chimney on fire. What to do or say
or think they do not know; they are at their wits' ends, therefore
well-nigh happy. However, there is a German blacksmith's shop near by,
and they watch to see what _Jacob_ will do. Jacob steps into the street
with every eye upon him; he approaches Monsieur--he addresses to him a
few remarks--they shake hands--they engage in some conversation--Monsieur
places his hand on his sword!--now Monsieur passes.

The populace crowd around the blacksmith, children clap their hands
softly and jump up and down on tiptoes of expectation--'Sieur George is
going to the war in Mexico!

"Ah!" says a little girl in the throng, '"Sieur George's two rooms will
be empty; I find that very droll."

The landlord,--this same Kookoo,--is in the group. He hurls himself into
the house and up the stairs. "Fifteen years pass since he have been in
those room!" He arrives at the door--it is shut--"It is lock!"

In short, further investigation revealed that a youngish lady in black,
who had been seen by several neighbors to enter the house, but had not,
of course, been suspected of such remarkable intentions, had, in company
with a middle-aged slave-woman, taken these two rooms, and now, at the
slightly-opened door, proffered a month's rent in advance. What could a
landlord do but smile? Yet there was a pretext left "the rooms must need
repairs?"--"No, sir; he could look in and see." Joy! he looked in. All
was neatness. The floor unbroken, the walls cracked but a little, and
the crac