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I found, the other day, that some of my literary friends had never heard of him, though I suppose few educated Frenchmen do not know the lines which he wrote, a week before his death, upon a mean bed in the great hospital of Paris. "Au banquet de la vie, infortune convive, J'apparus un jour, et je meurs; Je meurs, et sur ma tombe, ou lentement j'arrive, Nul ne viendra verser des pleurs."
A few hours, and those lips, now smiling with happiness, will be forever silenced by our blows!" These thoughts made the field-marshal unusually gay and talkative, and the regent protested that Munnich had never been a more agreeable convive than precisely to-day.
The chairs could not be put any closer than they were. It was impossible, unless the convive sat as a centre-piece in the middle, to put another guest at that table. "Look at that lady movin' round, sir. You see now the difficklty. If my men wasn't thinner, they couldn't hoperate at all," Mr. Truncheon observed, who seemed to have a spite to Mrs. Gashleigh.
I don't know why I chose to give my bread rather to Ginevra than to another; nor why, if two had to share the convenience of one drinking-vessel, as sometimes happened for instance, when we took a long walk into the country, and halted for refreshment at a farm I always contrived that she should be my convive, and rather liked to let her take the lion's share, whether of the white beer, the sweet wine, or the new milk: so it was, however, and she knew it; and, therefore, while we wrangled daily, we were never alienated.
He resembled Gilbert, and he might have written those lines of his, which will live as long as the lamentations of Job, in the language of men: Au banquet de la vie, infortuné convive, J'apparus un jour et je meurs; Je meurs, et sur ma tombe, où lentement j'arrive, Nul ne viendra verser des pleurs!
It is true the conversation was carried on in rather a wild jargon, made up of six different languages Icelandic, English, German, Latin, Danish, French but in spite of the difficulty with which he expressed himself, it was impossible not to be struck with the simple earnest character of my German convive.
I found, the other day, that some of my literary friends had never heard of him, though I suppose few educated Frenchmen do not know the lines which he wrote, a week before his death, upon a mean bed in the great hospital of Paris. "Au banquet de la vie, infortune convive, J'apparus un jour, et je meurs; Je meurs, et sur ma tombe, ou lentement j'arrive, Nul ne viendra verser des pleurs."
The clatter of some late convive seating himself also caused him to turn his head. "Hello, Anstruther! You are a long way from staff headquarters here!" quietly said Hawke, as the new arrival gazed at him in a mute surprise. Captain the Honorable Anson Anstruther put up his monocle and duly answered: "I thought that you were still in Calcutta, Hawke."
I should have remembered that seldom did an evening pass but Dubkoff would first have, an argument about something, and then read in a sententious voice either some verses beginning "Au banquet de la vie, infortune convive" or extracts from The Demon. In short, I should have remembered what nonsense they used to chatter for hours at a time.
As to the worthy convive of the preceding evening, he was carefully gathered up from the hunter's couch on which he lay, repentant and supine, and, being packed upon one of the horses, was hurried forward with the convoy, groaning and ejaculating at every jolt. In the course of the day, Wyeth, being lightly mounted, rode ahead of his party, and overtook Captain Bonneville.
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