Lazarre is a man of the hour, of the times; born a Frenchman, regenerated an American, with the strength and staunchness of his Indian foster-parent. He exhales the spirit of America--America at her highest--freedom, loyalty, courage, simplicity, highmindedness, and a reverence and a love for woman that passeth all understanding. --Philadelphia Public Register
th eyes which had seen the drollery of the French Revolution.
"I wish I knew the man who has played this clever trick, and whether honest men or the rabble are behind it."
"Let us find him and embrace him!"
"I would rather embrace his prospects when the house of Bourbon comes again to the throne of France. Who is that fellow at the gate? He looks as if he had some business here."
The man came on among the tombstones, showing a full presence and prosperous air, suggesting good vintages, such as were never set out in the Smithfield alehouse. Instead of being smooth shaven, he wore a very long mustache which dropped its ends below his chin.
A court painter, attached to his patrons, ought to have fallen into straits during the Revolution. Philippe exclaimed with astonishment--
"Why, it's Bellenger! Look at him!"
Bellenger took off his cap and made a deep reverence.
"My uncle is weeping over the dead English, Bellenger," said Philippe. "It always mov