That was his verse-making.It was all very well in courtship,but was it worth while in business?She saw him scribbling upon curl-papers instead of attending to his periwigs.She sometimes interrupted him while he was writing;and on one occasion,while Jasmin was absent on business,she went so far as to burn his pens and throw his ink into the fire!

Jasmin was a good-natured man,but he did not like this treatment.It was not likely to end in a quiet domestic life.

He expostulated,but it was of little use.He would not give up his hobby.He went on rhyming,and in order to write down his verses he bought new pens and a new bottle of ink.Perhaps he felt the germs of poetic thought moving within him.His wife resented his conduct.Why could he not attend to the shaving and hair-dressing,which brought in money,instead of wasting his time in scribbling verses on his curl-papers?

M.Charles Nodier,member of the French Academy,paid a visit to Agen in 1832.Jasmin was then thirty-four years old.He had been married fourteen years,but his name was quite unknown,save to the people of Agen.It was well known in the town that he had a talent for versification,for he was accustomed to recite and chaunt his verses to his customers.

One quiet morning M.Nodier was taking a leisurely walk along the promenade of the Gravier,when he was attracted by a loud altercation going on between a man and a woman in the barber's shop.The woman was declaiming with the fury of a Xantippe,while the man was answering her with Homeric laughter.Nodier entered the shop,and found himself in the presence of Jasmin and his wife.He politely bowed to the pair,and said that he had taken the liberty of entering to see whether he could not establish some domestic concord between them.

"Is that all you came for?"asked the wife,at the same time somewhat calmed by the entrance of a stranger.Jasmin interposed--"Yes,my dear--certainly;but--""Your wife is right,sir,"said Nodier,thinking that the quarrel was about some debts he had incurred.

"Truly,sir,"rejoined Jasmin;"if you were a lover of poetry,you would not find it so easy to renounce it.""Poetry?"said Nodier;"I know a little about that myself.""What!"replied Jasmin,"so much the better.You will be able to help me out of my difficulties.""You must not expect any help from me,for I presume you are oppressed with debts.""Ha,ha!"cried Jasmin,"it isn't debts,it's verses,Sir.""Yes,indeed,"said the wife,"it's verses,always verses!

Isn't it horrible?"

"Will you let me see what you have written?"asked Nodier,turning to Jasmin.

"By all means,sir.Here is a specimen."The verses began:

"Femme ou demon,ange ou sylphide,Oh!par pitie,fuis,laisse-moi!

Doux miel d'amour n'est que poison perfide,Mon coeur a trop souffert,il dort,eloigne-toi.

"Je te l'ai dit,mon coeur sommeille;

Laisse-le,de ses maux a peine il est gueri,Et j'ai peur que ta voix si douce a mon oreille Par un chant d'amour ne l'eveille,Lui,que l'amour a taut meurtri!"This was only about a fourth part of the verses which Jasmin had composed.[2]Nodier confessed that he was greatly pleased with them.Turning round to the wife he said,"Madame,poetry knocks at your door;open it.That which inspires it is usually a noble heart and a distinguished spirit,incapable of mean actions.