THE SEVERED RING.

MATTHIEU Montebello Coconas was a concierge, or rather a portier, for in Chaillot it would be reckoned now-a-days best to call the Cerberus who guards a dwelling, by the more dignified name, and Matthieu Montebello Coconas lived in Chaillot. Paris has many beautiful suburbs and delightful quarters, but it has also many dirty and disagreeable ones, and Chaillot, with its narrow semi-paved streets, its queer old houses, its convents and public buildings, its huge factories, its low wine-shops, its mixture of good houses with those of rag and bone pickers, is not one of the most fascinating. But then it is near the Champs-Elysées, the most charming part of Paris, and many very good families select it for this very reason, it being cheap and advantageously situated. I have said that Coconas was a concierge, for let us adopt the more emphatic name, and to say the truth he was a hard-worked

one.

The house in which he did duty contained no less than one hundred and thirty lodgings, varying from those of five rooms each, to those only containing one. The denizens of this bee-hive were in general not very particular about hours, they came home as of en after midnight as before; so that poor Matthie could never have slept ten minutes together but for his wife, who in general did duty from midnight until six in the morning. For all their labours they were not overpaid, the proprietor, M. Pelissier, being a perfect Jew in money ma ters. M. Coconas was in the habit of confidentially stating this fact to his friend the barber over the way.

My life is a misery," he would cry, "and I shall look out for another place. A man might as well be a steam-engine as a concierge, it's all work, little pay, and no thanks. Up at six, accounts to make out, lodgers to bully when behind-hand with their money, yard to sweep, visitors to answer, explanations here, explanations there. But make haste, Monsieur Hebert, you see there's somebody waiting in the lodge."

"But I have not shaved your left side, M. Coconas," replied the little gossiping barber; "it's only some one to look at a room, your wife is speaking to her. It's another jeunesse, and very pretty, too, I must say."

"Oh! oh!" cried M. Coconas with a groan, "some more trouble for me. There's no end of the worry with these young girls. Late hours, coming away from balls, men calling to ask their names,- it's true one gets a franc now and then,and leaving letters, for mademoiselle with the turn-up nose, with the blue eyes; it's one of the curses of our position."

"Monsieur Coconas! Monsieur Coconas!" cried a shrill voice on the other side, emanating from an odd-looking woman in a dirty turban, and with a ragged birch broom in her hand, "you're wanted."

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Coming! coming!" replied that worthy, with considerable alacrity, wiping his face hastily with a towel; "6 Fome worry

I suppose. What a world this is, Monsieur Hebert."

On entering his lodge, M. Coconas found a pretty girl, neatly and plainly dressed, who, his wife informed him, wanted a cheap little room. The concierge, who was very polite, took off his cap and marched before the young girl. She was about twenty, genteel in appearance, and looked rather sorrowful; her clothes also showing that she was in deep mourning. She at once accepted the humble apartments offered her by the old man, at sixteen francs a month. It was not a nice room, it was dark and gloomy, but she did not seem to care for that. "Have you any boxes to fetch ?" asked M. Coconas, politely.

"I have one box, but I shall bring it with me. What do I pay ?"

"A month or a week in advance, just as you please; there is no fixed rule. People pay as they like, so they don't get in debt. M. Pelissier is very particular."

"I will pay a month in advance," said the young girl, giving him twenty francs. "If you will be pleased to buy me a hundred of wood, you will oblige me much."

"Mademoiselle, I am at your service," continued M. Coconas, eagerly grasping the money; "it shall be registered at once." The young girl smiled and went down stairs, giving her

name as she passed as Eugenie Rouget. About an hour later she returned, a country-looking boy carrying her box, and she at once went up stairs. From the very first day she was much remarked in the neighbourhood. She was very pretty, she scarcely ever went out, she received no visitors, she did no work. When she did go out, she took a walk in the ChampsElysées in the morning. She made no acquaintance; this decided her unpopularity. She was decidedly proud; so said the grocer of whom she bought her little supplies, so said the milk woman, and even the butcher, whom she rarely troubled. The circulating library keeper, however, had a different opinion; for Eugenie went there every day, and she being a chatty woman, they sat down together and talked of the books in the shop. Eugenie was prodigiously fond of reading. She had just enough to live upon and dress respectably, that is, one hundred francs a month, in English coinage, four pounds; which for a prudent woman will amply suffice, though few men above the working class would succeed in making it go so far. I have said that M. Hebert, the barber, was a gossiping little man. I omitted to mention that he was young and good-looking, that is, in the eyes of the many for whom rosy cheeks and a plump round face in general are ample compensation for non-intellectuality. If M. Hebert was vulgar-looking, he scemed to have a very high opinion of himself, an idea which most of the bonnes and work-girls of the place took care to keep alive in him, by their undisguised admiration, and the eagerness with which they accepted his offer of a dance on a Sunday evening at the well-known Bal de Dourlans, which is the favourite resort of the merry juvenile population of Chaillot. It is pretty well attended also by middle-aged and elderly people, as few young girls go there without their parents.

About the end of the first month, after closing his shop and dressing himself in his best, M. Hebert walked across to the great house opposite, and requested the concierge's wife, Madame Natalie Coconas, to take up a message to Mademoiselle Eugenie, saying that M. Hebert, the leading coiffeur of Chaillot, would consider himself highly honoured to be allowed to conduct her to a ball; that he observed she was lonely and not troubled with many acquaintances, and thercfore supposed it would be a change. Madame Coconas readily went up, being rather a patron of the barber. Mademoiselle Eugenie, however, laughed, and said that she never went to public balls; she was very much obliged to the gentleman, but she desired to make no acquaintances. Madame Coconas, with a look of stolid wonder, that increased the hilarity of Mademoiselle Rouget, moved away and went down stairs. M. Hebert could scarcely believe his ears. It was an unheardof rebuff-he, the ladies' pet-it was etonnant. He went to the ball alone; was dignifiedly reserved; did not dance for an hour, and when he did, was particularly ungracious to his partners. But he did not abandon his design. The barber had long made up his mind that a wife was an absolutely necessary adjunct to his business; that during his many forced absences to wait upon his customers, she would necessarily look better after his interest than his boy.

He waited a fortnight, however, before he made any other attempt. He spent this time in thinking, in turning over in his mind all the possible plans which might conduce to his success, and at last he decided on a formal written declaration. This to him was not an easy task, for he was more remarkable for his facility of speaking than for his capability of using the pen. Still he determined to make the experiment. Every night when he returned home to bed, he sat down and concocted a paragraph. It took a week to prepare the whole affair, which he regarded, however, when finished, as a masterpiece. We regret not being able to give it to our readers, but the manuscript has been lost, and we cannot supply its place. Suffice it to say, that it showed in glowing colours his strong affection, his undying love, his wish for a wife to cheer his solitude, his contempt for the giddy creatures around him, with much else that needs no recording in this history. He then folded and directed it, and gave it to Madame Coconas to deliver.

About ten minutes later, he was standing at the window of his shop, watching the effect of his missive, when he saw the old concierge coming rapidly across to him, with his own letter in her hand open. Mademoiselle Eugenie Rouget had cast her eyes over the first few lines, and had returned it with the observation, that she thought the writer very impertinent, and begged Madame Coconas to abstain for the future from bringing her communications from persons she did not know. "But she's a regular dragon," exclaimed M. Hebert, who was very red in the face; "does she receive no visitors of an evening?"

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'Never," replied Madame Coconas, with much of the emphatic energy of the celebrated Madame Pipelet," she is a model for all my single-young-lady lodgers. She never wakes me up at undue hours to be let in."

"Never mind," exclaimed M. Hebert, majestically, 66 we must conquer this farouche beauty. Time, patience, and my experience of life will do wonders."

"Don't think so," said Madame Coconas. "I think she's too much of a great lady for you. Though she lives in a small room, at four francs a week, she has to me the air of a duchess."

"Why not of a princess in disguise?" sneered M. Hebert. Madame Coconas did not reply, but haughtily turned round, and re-entered her lodge.

Next morning M. Hebert was himself standing in the lodge conversing with M. Matthieu, when a servant in livery opened the door.

"Does Mademoiselle Eugenie Rouget live here?" said the

servant.

"Yes, sir;" replied the astonished porter.

"Will you take her up this letter, and say I wait for an answer?"

The concierge bowed very low, took the highly scented missive and carried it up. In two minutes he returned, saying that Mademoiselle would bring down the answer in a short time. She soon appeared, with a little neat finely directed note in her hand.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle," said the servant, taking off his hat respectfully; "I hope your health is good."

"Excellent, Edward, and how is Monsieur the Count and Madame the Countess ?" replied Eugenie.

"Quite well, Mademoiselle."

"And my dear Emilie-?"

"Madame, the Marquise is florissante," replied the servant. "I am very happy to hear all this. I shall be with you at six, that is your dinner hour."

"As usual, Mademoiselle."

Eugenie smiled at him, and then, after bidding Madame Coconas send her coiffeur at half-past four, and requiring the use of her lodge for the operation, retired. The two remained confounded. M. Hebert was thunderstruck. The liveried servant of a count, who treated her with such respect-her going to dinner-her calling a Marchioness her dear Emiliewas monstrous-incredible-stupendous. The lodge was the scene of an hour's conversation, in which all exhausted their imaginations in conjecture, in suppositions and contradictory explanations. It was decided, however, that M. Hebert should do the young lady's hair, Madame Coconas first extracting a promise that he should be scrupulously polite, and not attempt to renew by word of mouth his epistolary propositions.

At half-past four, M. Hebert was in the lodge, better dressed than usual, scented and perfumed as if for some grand ceremony. He bowed to Eugenie very politely, and after receiving directions from her, began his work. He did it very slowly, making up his mind to surpass himself. He really did her hair very nicely, and was rewarded by a thank you, and a condescending smile, which with a man's usual vanity he interpreted very favourably. But what was his surprise and alarm, when, a quarter of an hour later, a private carriage with two horses, and a powdered footman, stopped before the porte-cochère, and the servants intimated that they waited the pleasure of Mademoiselle Rouget. Down she came in a few minutes, elegantly and even fashionably dressed, walked un

concerned to the carriage, as if she had never gone out in any less aristocratic conveyance, and then drove off.

"It's inexplicable," exclaimed M. Hebert, with an air of concentrated rage at not being able to understand the affair. "It's very mysterious," replied Madame Coconas. That night M. Hebert did not go out, but remained in his shop alone, smoking, without his gas, which he extinguished. to watch the better. Twelve o'clock, one, two, three passed, and no Eugenie, when, a little before four, another carriage, this time a close one, drew up to No. Rue de Chaillot, and when the door of the house opened, out stepped Mademoiselle Rouget, well wrapped and rather sleepy, for she moved up to her room without a word, and did not make her appear. ance again until two o'clock next day. Her manner of life now changed entirely; she went out nearly every day, sometimes on foot, at other times in the same carriage. But not a word did she let fall which could give any clue to the secret of her movements; she ceased even her gossip with the good woman of the circulating library.

Once or twice, after the first three months, a young man called in a carriage, a gentleman of aristocratic mien and remarkably handsome. But he merely left some books and music (Eugenie had received a piano very mysteriously one day), and his card, on which was engraved, "M. le Vicomte de Salençay." All this was very dreadful, and caused a prodigious amount of misery. Monsieur and Madame Coconas, M. Hebert, the neighbours, the gossips, the lodgers, were interminably occupied by the mysterious movements of the quiet young lady, by her aristocratic visitors, and by the number of balls and parties to which she went,

But perhaps my reader is in the same state of anxiety. I hope so. Eugenie Rouget had been left by her father to the care of her mother at six months old. He had been called to India by the tempting offer of a confidential and lucrative post under one of the native princes. His salary was to be high, and his opportunities of making money great. Very fond of his wife, he had promised himself a speedy return to Europe, and in the meantime promised to send ample remittances for her maintenance and that of his daughter. At parting he took one of those rings, formed of two parts, which, connected, form a whole, the division being imperceptible to the eye of a stranger. But no news, no remittance, no letters of any kind ever came from Monsieur Saturnin Rouget to his poor wife. He was generally supposed to have perished at sea, or from sickness immediately on his arrival.

Sad was the position of the poor wife, who, after two years of marriage, had lost the companion she loved. She felt the more that poor Saturnin was not only a handsome man, of whom she was proud, but a gentle, quiet, good husband, who had only aroused himself to depart for the Indies from devoted love to his wife and child. He had been promised the certainty of a large fortune if he would go, and he went. The young wife saw years pass, five, ten, fifteen, twenty, and Saturnin came not. In despair at the poor position into which they had fallen, Madame Rouget, who had a small fixed income, educated her daughter with great care. She had a prodigious taste for music and singing, and learned with ease and rapidity. At sixteen she was a perfect marvel, and obtained an engagement as a music governess in the family of the Count de Salençay. She had to teach a young girl, but one year younger than herself. Naturally clever, educated by a sensible and thoughtful mother, who had left not a single weed of ignorance or prejudice in her mind, skilled in music, and generally well informed, the young Countess Emilie found in Eugenie a companion and teacher of far higher order than usual. Of almost the same calibre of mind as the Consuelo of the great romancist, she found in Emilie a sensible, amiable girl, who soon loved her as a sister. The Count and Countess were equally charmed with their daughter, and from that hour Eugenie became a friend whom all liked. A little more than a year previous to her arrival in Chaillot, Eugenie's mother died. The young girl was now alone in the world, and her protectors surrounded her with every comfort which affection and respect could give. She was sad for a while, but time was beginning to heal the wound.

MARTIN SCHON GAUER, commonly known by the name of Martin Schön, and called by foreign writers on art, Le Beau Martin, or Hübsche Martin, was born at Colmar in Holstein, about the year 1445. According to Bryan, he was born at Culmbach, in Franconia, about the year 1420; but this is now generally believed to be incorrect, though the precise time and place of the artist's birth are not fully settled. In his youth he practised the trade of a goldsmith, and it was not until middle age that he distinguished himself by his extraordinary powers in the arts of painting and

conveyed into Italy, France, Spain, England, and other countries?" The churches of St. Martin and St. Francis, at Colmar, contain some of his pictures, which artists consider it a privilege to copy.

According to Sandrart, Martin was on a footing of intimate friendship with Perugini; as a mark of mutual esteem, they exchanged from time to time some of their drawings. Vasari relates that Michael Angelo, in his youth, had studied and copied one of Martin's plates, representing the Temptation of St. Anthony.

engraving. On the back of a portrait of him is a German inscription, of which we give the translation: -"Master Martin Schongauer, an artist, surnamed the Handsome, died at Colmar, on the 2nd of February, 1499. God be merciful to him. And I, Jean Sargkmaur, was a pupil of his, in the year 1488." Upon a drawing in the possession of Heinnekin, Albert Durer wrote:-"This piece was drawn by Martin Schön, in 1470, being then a young man. I, Albert Durer, having learnt the above, write this to his honour, in the year 1517." Schongauer was considered one of the greatest artists of his age. "What shall I say," writes Wimpheling, "what shall I say of Martin Schön of Colnar, who so excelled in the art of painting, that his pictures have been much sought after, and

Schongauer has considerable reputation as an engraver; he was one of the first who practised the art with a view to taking impressions on paper. There are 116 authentic pieces by his hand, and 100 others are attributed to him. He has engraved a large number of sacred and some ornamental subjects, among which is the beautiful censer which we reproduce. Besides being an excellent painter and engraver, he possessed much skill as a goldsmith. Some writers on art have asserted, that it was at his house that Albert Durer worked in his youth; but he does not mention this in the autobiography which he has left us.

Martin Schongauer died in the year 1499; the inscription on his portrait gives evidence of this, as well as the researches

mous in praising the grace of his compositions, and, in short, he was one of the first who introduced feeling and expression into painting. He had no rival among the German artists of his day, except, perhaps, Michael Wohlgemuth, or Herlim. In the collections of Spain, Italy, France, and England, more pictures are attributed to Martin Schön than one artist could have executed, especially one who divided his time between the brush and the graver. Not one of his paintings bears the monogram with which his engravings are stamped. The best

the last century. A very fine picture, by this brilliant master, representing the Madonna, the size of life, seated on a grassy bank, adorns the church of St. Martin at Colmar. At the Museum at Paris, a picture of the Israelites gathering Manna in the Desert is said to be the production of Martin Schongauer. Passarant speaks confidently of there being one of Martin Schön's pictures in Mr. Ader's collection in London; but so many are ascribed to him falsely, that we can only rely on the authenticity of those at Colmar.

THE LADY OF TOULOUSE.

THERE is, in the ancient city of Toulouse, a church, which, although not so old as the city itself, is still old enough to put many a mouldering cathedral to the blush, for it was founded by Ransahilda, the Queen of the Goths, called by the Romans pedauqua, or webfooted, because she was so fond of the baths. In the centre of the aisle the visitor may perceive a large round stone, to the centre of which a large iron ring is attached. If he lay hold of this ring, raise the stone, and peer down into the aperture, it is probable he will see nothing, inasmuch as the vault is pitch dark. But if he enter into conversation with any of the old hangers-on in the neighbourhood, he will be put in possession of a very curious occurrence, of which this vault was the scene. It took place about the year of grace 1770, when France was still divided into provinces, and when parliaments sat in the provincial capitals, and wrangled, and played at ecarté, and trictrac, and fought duels, at which the whole population "assisted." In the parliament of Toulouse, there was at this time a very worthy gentleman, who rejoiced in the possession of a wife of extraordinary beauty of person, singular excellence of disposition, and extraordinary vigour of mind. With one failing only, or rather weakness, was she afflicted, and this was a passionate fondness for fish. She mused upon it by day; she dreamed of it by night; the consumption of it was her beau ideal of enjoyment, and her love of it made her as famous in the neighbourhood as the sparkle of her eye, the grace of her vigour, or the raven tresses on her alabaster brow. She was one of those natures that seek either to love or be loved. She sought to love, and loved fish.

Did her husband, a councillor of the parliament by the by, love her the less for this singular taste? I trow not; on the contrary, this formed a new tie between them. To minister to her wants was the great aim of his ambition, and to keep up a regular and constant supply of the dainty so dear to her, was the object to which his whole energies were directed. But this was no easy matter. Special couriers daily went to and returned from the shores of the Mediterranean and the Atlantic with choice morsels. One day, however, not long after Easter, the councillor, all radiant with smiles, entered the apartment of his spouse, bearing on a plate a monstrous, magnificent carp, which Monsieur le Président de la Cour des Aides de Montauban had himself caught at Beausolert, and which he had forwarded as a present to Madame, with his respects. The lady put the note in her pocket without as much as opening it, but ordered the fish to be cooked instantly.

Tradition states that the carp was delicious, and that the lady ate of it so voraciously that she choked herself and died. Great was the lamentation of her lord. He sent forth with for the barber-surgeon, who lived at the corner of the street, and for the Regius Professor of medicine; but both these worthies felt her pulse, shook their perukes, and declared she was stone dead; but at the same time, in order to ease his mind, offered, if he liked, to open her body, and ascertain the cause of her sudden dissolution. Whereupon the enraged councillor kicked them both out, and buried his wife that same evening in the vault aforesaid.

It was a custom amongst the rich at that time to bury the dead in the gayest dress they had ever worn in life, with all their ornaments and jewellery. The lady was accordingly attired in her ball-dress. The gold chain was placed round her neck; her brow was decked with a wreath of diamonds, and on her arms hung bracelets of gold set with the costliest jewels. The servants were brought in to take a last look at their mistress, as she lay in this ghastly state. They all wept most piteously, but none so loudly as her own maid and the house steward. They not only cried, but bellowed.

Seven hours afterwards, just as the clock of St. Antony's was tolling the midnight hour, the said house steward and lady's maid entered the church, wrapped up in cloaks, and carrying a lantern and a crowbar. They were evidently shaking in every limb with fear. The time, the solemnity of

the place, the awful gloom of the cloisters, had a powerful effect upon their nerves. They stopped at the mouth of the vault. The woman laid down the lantern, and said in a very tremulous voice:

"Now you're sure you'll keep your promise."

"Ma foi, to be sure I will; when I'm rich I'll marry you." "Swear then!"

"What-now?"-said the man, looking very uncomfortable. "Yes-now, over this spot."

He swore. They raised the stone and entered the vault. The air was thick, heavy, and noisome. A bat flew against the light and nearly extinguished it, and they could hear the buzz of its wings in the church above while they stood endea. vouring to get a view of the place. The coffins were ranged around in the order of their interment: the coffins of the young and of the old, of maidens and wives, of young gal lants, and aged councillors, and magistrates; of soldiers who had fallen in fight, and priests who had died in prayer; of all the scions of the great family of La Calonne, from the day when their ancestor crossed the sea to spread confusion amongst the Saracens,-there they were, of all sizes, and the newest, most gorgeous, and glittering of them all, with the damp of the tomb yet fresh upon it, was that of the fish-loving mistress of the impious despoilers, who had now followed her to her last abode. They worked their courage up to the sticking point; tore off the lid, and dragged the body out on the floor; pulled off all the ornaments, the rings from the fingers, and the ear-rings from the ears, the costly lace from her dress, and tied them in a bag.

"Let us be off now," said the steward.

"Wait a minute," said the maid; "I must pay the wretch off for all she made me suffer while she was alive."

Whereupon she seized the lady by the hair, and gave her a few very hearty slaps on the face.

"There, take that!" said she. This example roused the ardour of the steward. He remembered all the indignities he had suffered at the hands of his mistress-how she used to scold him, and harass him whenever he had not a supply of fish in the house. So he gave her a smart blow on the nape of the neck, and to his horror and astonishment a hollow groan issued from the body. The maid dropped the light, and up the ladder they scrambled, in an agony of terror, and rushed out of the church. The blow had loosened the bone which was stuck in the lady's gullet, and she slowly revived from her trance. When she looked around her upon the vault and coffins, and her own disordered dress, the whole dimly lighted by the lantern which the fugitives had left behind, she swooned away, and three hours had elapsed before she summoned up sufficient strength to sally forth and make her escape from the scene of horrors. She found the church doors open. It was a fine clear starlight night. The streets were empty, and not a sound was to be heard except the longdrawn cry of the watchman, "Gentle and simple, pray for the souls of the dead!" He met the lady, and fainted with terror. She reached her own house, and knocked loudly. The maid looked out of the window, saw the white garments and the well-known face, and immediately went into fits, shrieking, "Madame, madame!"

Another knock, louder than before. The steward went down and opened the door, shouted "Madame!" and swooned away. The councillor left his room, where all night long he had been praying and weeping, and weeping and praying, and would not be comforted-in order to learn the cause of the tumult. He came into the hall, and there stood his wife, pale, indeed, and haggard, but alive and well. We must leave the joy and rejoicing attendant upon this unexpected meeting to the reader's imagination. The steward and the maid confessed their crime, but in consideration of their having been instrumental in dislodging the bone from the lady's throat, they were pardoned. As to their mistress, she renounced fish from that day forward and for ever, and within six months after her burial she presented her ford husband with a charming boy, who was baptized in the church of St. Antony à la Daurade.