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black doublet open to the elbows, showing underneath a flame colored lining; while his head gear consisted of a black cap, or toque, as it was then called, with a large red feather stuck in it, whose graceful undulations gave a peculiar air to its wearer. His shoes anticipated the fashion of that day, for it was not until a century later, that they became the mode; they were rounded at the toes. His heels were furnished with spurs, like those of a cock; it is to be presumed they were made use of when he took the pleasure of riding on horseback.

The compliments of the day being exchanged, the Seneschal put himself into one arm chair, and the Devil into another. The Seneschal put his feet on the bars of the grate; the Devil put his, unceremoniously, into the fire.

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Well, my fine fellow," said Satan, "what do you want with me?"

"I confess, my Lord," answered the Seneschal, “that we stand much in need of your help."

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"Just so."

"Then this bridge is of great importance to you?"

"We cannot do without it."

"Ah! ah!" was Satan's only reply.

"Listen, now, and be a good devil," resumed the Seneschal after a moment's silence," and build us one.”

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"I came on purpose to make the proposal." Well, we have only to agree-upon hesitated.

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"Upon the terms," continued Satan, giving his interlocutor an indescribable look.

"Yes," replied the Seneschal, suspecting that the affair was likely to take a serious turn."

"Ah!" in the first place," proceeded Satan, rocking himself on the hind legs of his chair, and paring his claws with the Seneschal's penknife, “I shall not be difficult on that point."

This, at least, is satisfactory," said the Seneschal; "the last bridge cost us sixty marks of gold; for the new one you shall have double that sum, which is all we can do."

"Bah! what do I care about your money," replied Satan; " I make as much as I want. Here," he continued, taking a red hot coal from the fire, just as if he were taking a sugar plumb from a comfit box, "hold your hand."

The Seneschal demurred.

"Have no fear," said Satan, putting an ingot of the purest gold, and as cold as if it came from the mine, into his hand. The Seneschal turned it in all directions, and was going to give it back, when Satan, with a self-important air, throwing one leg over the other, said "No, no! keep it. I intend it as a present for you."

"I perceive," said the Seneschal, putting the gold into his leathern pouch, "that if it costs you no more trouble to make gold than it has now, you will prefer being paid in some other

kind of value; but as I do not know what that value is, be so obliging as to name your own conditions."

Satan reflected for a moment.

"I require the soul of the first being that shall pass over the bridge to be given to me," said he.

"With all my heart," said the Seneschal.

"Let the conditions be put in writing," said Satan.

"You may dictate them yourself."

The Seneschal took pen, ink, and paper, and set about drawing up the conditions. In five minutes an agreement, in good form and in duplicate, was signed, sealed, and delivered, by Satan, in his own name, and by the Seneschal, in that of his constituents.

By this bond, the Devil formally undertook to build, in one night, a bridge over the Reuss, which was to last five hundred years; and the magistrate, on his side, granted in payment thereof the soul of the first individual that chance or necessity should oblige to cross it.

The next day at dawn the bridge was built.

The Seneschal was early on his road to Goschenen, to ascertain whether the Devil kept his word; he saw the bridge which which was every thing he could desire; and on the opposite side he saw the Devil seated on the curbstone, awaiting the price of his nocturnal labour.

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"You see," said Satan, "I am a man of my word."

"And I also," rejoined the Seneschal.

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'Why, my dear Curtius," answered the astonished Devil, why should you devote yourself for the benefit of your constituents?"

"Not that exactly," replied the Seneschal, laying down at the entrance of the bridge a bag he carried on his shoulder, and beginning to untie the strings

"What is that?" said Satan, endeavouring to guess what was going to take place.

"Halloo! halloo! halloo !" shouted the Seneschal; and out flew a dog, frantic with fear, with a canister tied to his tail, and taking the bridge in his flight, passed by the feet of the Devil, bawling and yelling.

Satan was furious; he reckoned on having the soul of a man, and was obliged to be satified with that of a dog.

The bridge lasted 500 years as the Devil promised; but a new one has been constructed since, under the old name, whilst that of his Satanic Majesty still exists close by it.

NOTES FROM THE PORTFOLIO OF A FRENCH LADY OF THE COURT OF LOUIS THE SIXTEENTH.

(Continued from page 127.)

If I have spoken, perhaps, a little too irreverently of the gay and mundane life, formerly held in the palace of a prince of the Church, my memory shall not be less faithful in recalling an anecdote highly honorable to the Duchess de Laval, who, on that occasion, gave an example of that elevation, and generosity of character, since so eminently followed up by one of the members of her family, the Duke Mathieu de Montmorency, whose death was so much deplored by all who knew him.

The Duchess de Laval, at that time staying at Frescati, brought with her a waiting maid, called Adelaide. She was tall, not handsome, with a countenance that indicated a foreign descent, but which was both intelligent and modest. She was sometime in the service of the Duchess before any attention was paid to those circumstances, as there was no familiarity between persons of such disproportioned ranks.

Adelaide requested a favor that was granted without difficulty: it was, to have her meals served in her own chamber. She never associated with the other servants, and this sufficed to make them all her enemies; they watched her movements with the purpose of doing her some injury, and they soon ascertained, that every evening, when the Duchess no longer required her services, she received a young man into her chamber, with whom she passed one or two hours; he was supposed, but for what reason I do not know, to be in the army-at least, so it was represented in the scandalous report that was made to the duchess.

Like all generous characters, the duchess began by doubting the truth of what was told to her, but an offer being made to convince her, it was arranged, that she should be informed the moment the young man had entered Adelaide's apartment. The very same day the duchess saw him go there, heard the door locked, and then withdrew, not to commit herself in the first expression of her indignation. She even deferred to the next day, to hear from the young woman herself the avowal of a conduct so much more reprehensible, as it was little suspected.

At the first word her mistress addressed to her, Adelaide became confused; overwhelmed with sorrow, she threw herself on her knees; then resuming courage, she implored the duchess to listen to her; she was desired to rise, and explain herself. “ Madame," said Adelaide, "I am not, what you have hitherto supposed me to be; misfortune alone has obliged me to go into service; my name is O'Connor; it is that of one of the most ancient Irish families which civil and religious discords have ruined, and driven from their country; of all my relations there remains only my younger brother, and that unhappy youth is yet but a private

soldier, having only his sister to support and console him in his fallen fortune; he has made use of a leave of absence for a few weeks to pass them in this neighbourhood, and he it is, whom I receive every evening. Madame," continued Adelaide,

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my brother on furlough has not the means of supporting himself. I share my dinner-and-”

"Say no more, say no more," interrupted the duchess, with visible emotion. "If what you say be true, I can never sufficiently atone for the pain I have caused you, and for the unjust suspicions I have too lightly indulged in. Adelaide, have you any documents, papers?" Adelaide flew to bring them. The duchess having looked over them, she pressed the excellent young woman to her heart, to whom the joy of the moment had nearly proved more fatal even than her grief. The news was instantaneously spread through the Cardinal's palace, that Adelaide, being recognised as Mademoiselle O'Connor, was to be replaced by another waiting maid, but was to remain attached as friend and companion to the duchess.

The satisfaction was general, as if every one felt an interest in the event. I have met Adelaide twenty times at the cardinal's and duchess's table, and if she afterwards separated from her, it was only to promote her happiness. I have forgotten, if I ever knew, what became of the young O'Connor. Doubtless, his noble friends did not forget him, for a person in misfortune-a soldier had everything to hope from a Montmorency.

I shall speak as rarely of myself as possible, and only when my presence is calculated to give greater weight to my words.

If we speak frankly of ourselves, are we permitted to speak favorably? No doubt, the fastidious public deems it bad taste to praise ourselves, and receives everything said in that sense, with suspicion or disgust. On the other hand, if we are forced to make painful avowals, we are then taken at our word, reserving, however, the right of surmising that all has not been told. Nothing can be less encouraging when we wish to write; but an effort must be made to find a just medium between caution and candour. For my part, I fear I shall much oftener be indiscreet than frank.

Although reared and educated in a beautiful" chateau," belonging to my family, I was not the less separated from my father and mother, whom I had never seen up to my fourteenth year.— A stupid old governess used to tell me in my infancy, when I was cross, "have patience, Miss, your Paris mamma will soon be here;" or else, "you shall be brought to her, and then you'll see how she will chastise you."

This was not the way to excite in my mind sentiments of filial affection, and, in consequence, I soon acquired the habit, without being aware of it, of never thinking of my parents.

I was but two years old when I left the place of my birth, and by a train of peculiar circumstances, I was thrown immediately into the world with all the billiant accompaniments of fortune

and pleasures. After a lapse of many years, my mother sent for me, and I was obliged to obey.

My mother was not as harsh as I had been led to suppose her from the threats of the old governess. It is true, she did not like children; their noise and gaiety fatigued her, for nature had not planted in her heart that tender and complying feeling, which teaches so many other women to bear with patience the importunities of childhood. Indeed, she had nothing of that kind to dread from me. My figure was quite formed: my carriage and education were such as the world is generally pleased with, where, too often, the exterior is everything.

I was, on this account, very well received by my mother, and, if possible, still better by my father, only it was some time before he could decide, in his own mind, that I was his child, and that respect was due by me to him; mechanically, he used to kiss my hand, to pick up my glove or handkerchief, with that “ antique galanterie," which both his rank and his age made him adopt in the society of ladies.

My first fifteen days were passed in seeing Paris, in amusements, at the theatres, public walks, in parties of ceremony of which my mother was one, and where I was condemned to play loo, for three or four hours in succession; which, even to this day, I think of with vexation.

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One morning, in a decided and severe tone, my mother made known her determination to me. "My child," said she to me, you have not fulfilled the first duties of your religion; the life you have led to the present moment has unfitted you for them it is in a convent you will receive the necessary instructions; and to-morrow, I shall take you to that of the Visitation."

I was petrified with anguish and fear! I entertained no favorable anticipations of a cloistered life; but, at the period in question, there was no resisting one's parents, and I did not even attempt it.

The convent of the Visitation, consisted, generally speaking, of nuns very well educated, and as distinguished by their high birth, as by the propriety of their conduct. The only return I could make to their affectionate reception, was a torrent of tears, they were not displeased, and promised my mother to make my stay among them much less disagreeable than I anticipated, that was a point on which my mother gave herself very little trouble.

I ask my reader's pardon, if I have any, for stopping one instant in talking of convent scenes, which can have scarcely any interest for them; but those recollections have a charm for me, and I expect some indulgence for the pleasure they hold out; besides, they will give some idea of the old system of education. At fourteen years of age, I had a very fine voice, of great compass, and the tones as sweet as the sounds from an harmonica, but I had no cause to be vain, for I had neither method nor ear; I knew, however, music, and was able to take a part in the operas of Gluck and Piccini, but to the great annoyance of the " Dilettanti”

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