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It has closed anew, however. Early in this century a restless Yankee, who wore the uninspiring name of Tompkinson, found his way into Carondelet or Vuide Poche, the French settlement on the Mississippi since absorbed by St. Louis and cast about for something to do. He had been in hard luck on his trip from New England to the great river.
This wooded region extends over a width of more than a mile. The arrangements made for the attack contemplated, after the capture of la Poche, the surrounding of the woods of the Trou Bricot. The junction was to be made at the road from Souain to Tahure, with the troops assigned for the attack on the eastern border of the hollow at Souain.
My good mother encourages him in this costly undertaking, and no one but you who believe in the infinity of human folly would credit me when I tell you that his eloquence has drawn from me all the argent de poche I get from our shop.
There is an old cattle trail that leads to La Poche, crossed now and then by overgrown paths, that wind up through a labyrinth of briers, rank ferns and matted growth to the plateau spreading back from the hillside. I use this path often as a short cut home. One evening I had shot late on the marshes and started for home by way of La Poche.
"You could not have chosen a better place to be lost in," I answered, smiling as discreetly as one should over the confession of another's love affair. "Moreover, in life I have found it the best policy to keep one's mouth shut. You have my word, monsieur it is as if we had never met as if La Poche did not exist."
He quite understood W.'s feelings in the matter, and was perfectly willing to make an arrangement about Tunis. The thing was neither understood nor approved at first by the French Government. W. returned to Paris, "les mains vides; seulement a chercher dans sa poche on y eut trouve les cles de la Tunisie" as one of his friends defined the situation some years ago.
Seem droll you goin' yondeh." Acadians. "'Tis the reason I go," said the other, without looking up. "Yes, seh." A short silence. "Dass nigh fifty year', now, dat place done been settle'. Ole 'Mian Roussel he was gret hunter. He know dat place. He see 'tis rich groun'. One day he come dare, cut some tree', buil' house, plant lil tobahcah. Nex' year come ole man Le Blanc; den Poché, den St.
He had been in New York one day. One child died at sea. "Les landes" he cried, towering over The Enormous Room suddenly one night in Autumn, "je les connais commes ma poche Bordeaux? Je sais ou que c'est. Madrid? Je sais ou que c'est. Tolede? Seville? Naples? Je sais ou que c'est. Je les connais comme ma poche." He could not read.
To consider the Poets after the Conjurers, I shall give you a Taste of the Italian, from the first Lines of his Preface. 'Eccoti, benigno Lettore, un Parto di poche Sere, che se ben nato di Notte, non e pero aborto di Tenebre, ma si fara conoscere Figlio d'Apollo con qualche Raggio di Parnasso.
Of course the cartwheel hats would not go into them, but ladies don't wear such things, only women who want to advertize themselves. Next," she continued, "comes the question of the looking-glass. I have made efforts to use a small miroir de poche, but it is far from adequate.
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