Those early Bohemians
in recognition of his literary success, I could not fail to recollect
with emotion this amusing circumstance now enveloped, with other
scenes of youth, sometimes glad - sometimes sorrowful, in the shadowy
robe of past recollections. Another story just suggests itself to my
mind. Lusignan and I occupied the attic of an old house in Palace
street. Our room was heated by a stove-pipe, which reached from the
lower apartments. One day I had published in Le Canadien - Tempora
Mutantur - a little poem in which was the following line:
"Shivering in my attic poor."
The next day a surprise awaited us. A dumb stove had replaced the mere
stove-pipe, and while holding our sides from laughter we heard this
speech: "Gentlemen, we are very indulgent, considering your noisy
meetings - we are not very particular when rent-day arrives - and if you
so shivered in your room, it would have been better to have
said so privately, than to have complained of it in the newspapers."
(Laughter.) Poor Mrs. Tessier, our landlady - she was not well
acquainted with figures of speech, but she has been the Providence of
many of the destitute, and more than one who hears me now can say as I
do, that no better or more obliging heart ever beat in a more pitiful
bosom towards purseless youth.
