“Both dead!” said the venerable man. “Then who shall divulge the secret? Methinks it glimmers to and fro in my mind like the light and shadow across the Old Maid’s face. And now ’tis gone!” HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW 1807–1882 The very large proportion of narrative poetry throughout Longfellow’s work suggests a native bent toward story. _Outre-Mer_ (begun in parts, 1833; published entire, 1835) at once reminded his reviewers of Irving’s _Tales of a Traveller_. The parallel is obvious; but _The Notary of Périgueux_, slight as is its substance, is superior to Irving’s typical form in narrative compactness. THE NOTARY OF PÉRIGUEUX [_From “Outre-Mer,” 1835_] Do not trust thy body with a physician. He’ll make thy foolish bones go without flesh in a fortnight, and thy soul walk without a body in a se’nnight after. SHIRLEY. You must know, gentlemen, that there lived some years ago, in the city of Périgueux, an honest notary public, the descendant of a very ancient and broken-down family, and the occupant of one of those old weather-beaten tenements which remind you of the times of your great-grandfather. He was a man of an unoffending, quiet disposition; the father of a family, though not the head of it--for in that family “the hen overcrowed the cock,” and the neighbors, when they spake of the notary, shrugged their shoulders, and exclaimed, “Poor fellow! his spurs want sharpening.” In fine--you understand me, gentlemen--he was henpecked. Well, finding no peace at home, he sought it elsewhere, as was very natural for him to do; and at length discovered a place of rest far beyond the cares and clamors of domestic life. This was a little _café estaminet_ a short way out of the city, whither he repaired every evening to smoke his pipe, drink sugar-water, and play his favorite game of domino. There he met the boon companions he most loved, heard all the floating chitchat of the day, laughed when he was in merry mood, found consolation when he was sad, and at all times gave vent to his opinions without fear of being snubbed short by a flat contradiction. Now the notary’s bosom friend was a dealer in claret and cognac, who lived about a league from the city, and always passed his evenings at the _estaminet_. He was a gross, corpulent fellow, raised from a full-blooded Gascon breed, and sired by a comic actor of some reputation in his way. He was remarkable for nothing but his good-humor, his love of cards, and a strong propensity to test the quality of his own liquors by comparing them with those sold at other places.