Ah! old General Villivicencio. The most martial-looking man in
Louisiana! But what would the people, the people who cheered in the
morning, have said, to see the fair Queen Delicieuse at the top of the
stair, sweetly bowing you down into the starlight,--humbled,
crestfallen, rejected!
The campaign opened. The Villivicencio ticket was read in French and
English with the very different sentiments already noted. In the
Exchange, about the courts, among the "banks," there was lively talking
concerning its intrinsic excellence and extrinsic chances. The young
gentlemen who stood about the doors of the so-called "coffee-houses"
talked with a frantic energy alarming to any stranger, and just when you
would have expected to see them jump and bite large mouthfuls out of
each other's face, they would turn and enter the door, talking on in the
same furious manner, and, walking up to the bar, click their glasses to
the success of the Villivicencio ticket. Sundry swarthy and wrinkled
remnants of an earlier generation were still more enthusiastic.
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