wood, and thus obtained the land for nothing. The election decided in favour of the immaculate Champion, Molsheim hastened away to his patron to inform him as to the tenor of advices received from Paris. Jeffs was so delighted, that he hastily concluded his purchase and hurried off to the metropolis. On arriving, he, in his impetuosity, even ordered a fly forthwith to Rue Bellechasse, No. 122, the address given by Frédégonde. The Hôtel Rue Louis le Grand was too well known to carry out the intended comedy. An old family house in the Faubourg Saint Germain had been selected for the purpose. Madelon, who had great regard for proprieties, dismissed her intended, however, forthwith to the Hôtel Meurice, and told him, if he came to pay his court, he must make a more formal call on the morrow. Then there was the notary to be seen. Matters, however, went on expeditiously—the rustic miser was stimulated by love, the lady by apprehensions of a catastrophe. Her marriage was the tenth and the most singular of all the incarnations of this female Vishnu, and the rumour of this alliance was spreading far and wide with perilous rapidity. At one moment Madelon's heart misgave her, and she appealed to Astolphe to make an honest woman of her. "It is too late," the prince contented himself with observing. "I would rather you should wed M. Jeffs." The ceremony was gone through, and it was followed by a déjeûner at the Moulin Rouge. Jeffs's relatives were there; Madelon had none, so they were represented by her friends, who knew how to keep their countenances, and to show due respect to the lady's orange-blossoms. The déjeûner was followed by the usual promenade in the Bois de Boulogne, and the happy Benedick was somewhat taken aback by the number of gentlemen who nodded familiarly to his young wife. "Oh! it is the custom in Paris," one of Madelon's friends explained; "pedestrians take off their hats to a funeral, cavaliers nod to a marriage.' Madame Jeffs was materially assisted in rehabilitating Krotten weyer by a myriad of knick-knacks and curiosities which she disentombed from the old cabinets and closets in that roomy château. Arms, bronzes, tapestry, sculptures, paintings, Florentine furniture, consols, pianos, all came to her hand from out of these accumulations of the two misers, who had for years consigned all these works of art to the spiders. Some months were thus passed in the not unpleasant occupation of setting her new house in order, and as her husband's devotion rather increased than diminished in her company, she accommodated herself so thoroughly to the new position in which she was placed as even to become perfectly pleased with it. Nay, she even took an interest in her husband's lations, and whilst he plotted the ruin of the Guernays' property, and of the Limited Liability Land Company, by cutting down the forests, digging up the peat, and inundating the low lands, she was amusing herself with the more humble occupation of selling the fish and toads that abounded in the pond of Krottenweyer. She had read somewhere that English horticulturists encouraged toads in their gardens to destroy snails. Unfortunately, twelve thousand interesting animals, despatched to that country viâ Havre, perished on the way, whilst the pond, having been overstocked with carp, became a piscine cemetery. Madelon became convinced that speculation was not her forte, so she left it to her husband. Decidedly," she said to her better half, "you were born to make money. I was born to spend it. Well! let us each retain his speciality!" 66 specu Unfortunately, the enmity existing between the Guernays and the Jeffs broke out in open hostility. The ladies were rival patronesses of the society of Bon Secours, the gentlemen in politics, in the municipality, and in business. The ladies, thrown involuntarily together in a good work, soon came to open war. The hostility of the gentlemen also became infinitely more inveterate when the quarrels of their respective ladies came to add to previously existing bitterness. M. de Guernay held a terrible weapon in his possession. He had the paper consigned to him by Astolphe, the police record of Madelon's antecedents, and he could at any moment irretrievably injure her reputation with her husband and every individual of Frauenbourg; but he kept his secret amid all the trials to which both himself and his wife were subjected by the brutal cupidity of the man, and the impudence and arrogance of the woman; for he knew the objects which the prince had in view when he had plotted the marriage, and he waited for time to bring about the anticipated dénouement. There is, however, no man so virtuous but that he has his weak point. Hostilities were carried on with so much impetuosity, that M. de Guernay was induced, in the excitement of the moment, to betray to Madelon the secret that was in his possession. The line of conduct which the lady adopted, under circumstances that would have crushed any other woman, were worthy of her reputation and experience. She declared herself to be in love with the baron-a perfect Nimrod, but a child in the ways of the world-and he had the folly to believe her. M. de Guernay actually ran away with his own and his wife's greatest enemy-Madame Jeffs! This, too, at the very moment that M. Honnoré was just gaining a long, tedious, and most expensive litigation that he had inaugurated against the Jeffs. The proprietor of Krottenweyer was half ruined and widowed the same day. Madelon, however, soon left Hubert at Venice, whence she fled to Naples, after robbing him of his last swanzig, in company of the tenor Antonio Pajaro, and Hubert returned a wiser and a better man to the bosom of his family, where he was received as if nothing had happened. On the 10th of June, 1853, Astolphe, who had succeeded to the title of Duc de Cambry, and the Baron de Guernay, were breakfasting in a little hotel in Paris. The baron had come to town to place out his sons, and had sought his old friend to assist him in obtaining the said places for them. They were talking over old times. "Poor woman!" muttered Astolphe, "I loved her very much. But, my dear friend, we were wrongly inspired that night of the famous ball! I said to you there are two bad characters, let us marry them in order to punish them. We did not foresee that their punishment would entail that of all the worthy people who were connected with them." "And Jeffs, too," remarked the baron; "he went distracted under the double blow, was admitted an inmate of an asylum, but recovered upon the sight of an old coin, resumed his usurious speculations, and is going on now as well as ever!" "The end of all true histories is the same," remarked the duke"virtue punished, vice recompensed. M. de Champion is a millionnaire and a 'rouge;' M. de Bonnevelle has changed his name to Estrangeville, the title of his wife's property; and as to Madelon, they say she poisoned herself when abandoned by her tenor for a rich and old English lady." Oct.-VOL. CXXIX. NO. DXIV. The conversation was interrupted here by a valet bringing in a card. "Countess Lena! Who the deuce is that? Well, show her in!" ex claimed the duke. The door opened; it was Madelon herself. "Ah, poor Astolphe!" she said, smiling, "you are petrified. But it is just myself, Madeleine, alias Madelon, alias Schottish, as is said in the prefect's song." "And where do you come from?" "From Germany. But, my dear baron, I did not notice you!" And she stretched forth her hand as if to a mere passing acquaintance. "You thought I was poisoned. I was certainly ill; the conduct of the tenor Pajaro disgusted me with life. But I was brought back to a sense of its enjoyments by the attentions of a German prince-Mathias XXIV.whose father Mathias XXIII.-had just been carried off by the gout. He would marry me if I were only a widow. What a pity! Failing that, he has constituted me Countess Lena, and has rehabilitated me in the world." "Poor Prince Teufelsschwantz!" said the two friends, with the same involuntary sigh. I THINK OF THEE WITH HAPPINESS. BY FREDERICK ENOCH. I THINK of thee with happiness, I know thy faithful heart will take And goodness with its being wake I think of thee with happiness, A happy course, that none the less While blessing blesses thee; A gentle stream I see it glide, And mirror'd in its love Are flowers that bloom on either side, And light that shines above. BAYARD: 66 THE FEARLESS AND IRREPROACHABLE KNIGHT." FROM THE GERMAN. PIERRE DU TERRAIL, commonly called the Chevalier Bayard, was the son of a nobleman, who possessed a castle and a moderate property in Dauphiny. Chivalric virtue seems to have been hereditary in this family, for the grandfather and great-grandfather of Bayard both ended their days on the battle-field. Bayard, a strong courageous boy, though thin and pale, cared for none but athletic pastimes. He loved to train wild horses, and his highest ambition was to be considered the bravest among his comrades. At fifteen, his uncle, the Bishop of Grenoble, took him under his care, and had him educated; but Bayard's hours of recreation were always spent either in fighting or riding. After a few years of study and industry, his uncle took him as page to the court of Savoy, at Chambery, and he had not long been there before he became celebrated for his horsemanship and dexterity in all feats of arms. It happened that Charles VIII. of France visited the Duke of Savoy soon after Bayard's appearance at that court, and being an admirer of athletic sports his attention was drawn to the youth, who had the honour on one occasion of being requested to tilt before the king for the space of two hours. Charles could not weary of watching him, but kept calling out, "Piquez, piquez encore une fois!" (Tilt again!) The Count of Ligny, thinking to please his sovereign, engaged Bayard as his page, and they accordingly proceeded to Lyons with the king. During Charles's sojourn there, a nobleman from Burgundy craved permission to show his strength and skill with lance, sword, and battle-axe, before his majesty. The request was granted, and the nobleman erected his shield in the open square, as a challenge to any knight who might choose to compete with him. Many a practised knight came forward, and amongst the most eager was the pale Bayard, a stripling scarce eighteen years of age. There was some hesitation whether he could be allowed to enrol his name on the list or not; but the king, who admired a daring spirit, encouraged him to try his skill. Accordingly, when the tournament took place, and one by one the ablest and strongest had been beaten by the powerful Burgundian, the slim Bayard entered the ring, and combated the giant so successfully that he called forth loud applause. The surprise of the assembled company was great when, at the close of the day, the knights rode before the ladies with their visors raised, and the young and apparently sickly face of the conqueror was disclosed. Charles now took Bayard formally into his service, presented him with a horse out of his stables, gave him money to travel, and an appointment in a company of gendarmes, who were at Aire, in Artois. Here also his bravery won for him much celebrity, and time after time he was declared victor at the little tournaments arranged by him with the nobleman of Aire and with the neighbouring garrisons. His first cam paign was in Italy, when Charles VIII. set out to conquer Naples. In one encounter the dauntless Bayard had two horses killed under him. He fought in company with the excellent knight Von Ars, whose generalship and bravery were the theme of every tongue. Bayard was with him likewise in the campaign against Milan, in 1499. The year following, when the Milanese again threw off the French yoke, and recalled their duke, Ludovico Moro, Marshal la Trémouille was sent to retake the town, and Bayard accompanied him. It chanced that three hundred of Moro's men, under the command of the brave Captain Cajazzo, were at Binasco, a place about a league and a half from Milan. Bayard heard of this, and lost no time in requesting to be allowed to attack them with fifty of his comrades, men whom he knew he could depend on. Permission was granted, and the knights set out on their adventure without a leader. Cajazzo, informed of their approach, went to meet them, and a fierce battle ensued. Seeing that his men were weary, and getting worsted, Cajazzo called them off in orderly retreat. Bayard perceived the advantage they had gained, and shouted out, "Holloa, my friends and comrades, the victory is ours!" With this, they all rushed again upon the Italians, who formed into line to meet them. Cajazzo's men gave way after a short resistance, and the disorder became general, every man taking flight for Milan whose horse had strength to carry him. In vain did the gallant Cajazzo strive to keep them together; the confusion was beyond his control, and Italians and Frenchmen galloped madly towards the gates of the city; nor was it till they were close upon the drawbridge that the latter halted in their hot pursuit. Bayard, however, maddened by victory and the chase, followed on, and never gave a thought to where he was going till he found himself in front of the duke's palace. Here he drew rein and stared about him, as if labouring under some enchantment. The danger of his position seemed to burst upon him at once, and, indeed, he ran great risk of being stoned to death by the citizens, soldiers, and women, who had collected in great crowds around him. Retreat was out of the question, and the only course open to him was to surrender at once to Cajazzo. This he did, and his noble enemy placed his own house respectfully at the disposal of so brave a knight. The duke, who had seen the unequal battle from the town, sent to invite Bayard to supper, and when he arrived at the palace asked him what brought him to Milan. "The desire to conquer," was Bayard's reply. "Did you think to take Milan single handed?" No, I thought my comrades were with me." "You would have found such a thing impossible, even with them to back you." "That may be. At all events, they were wiser than I," Bayard added, modestly; "and they are free, whilst I am a captive, though in the hands of most generous and brave men." The duke went on to inquire, in a somewhat disdainful tone, of what number the French army consisted. "We do not count our army," said Bayard; "but, I can assure you, it is composed of picked soldiers, and your men will not be able to stand against them." |