fencer could not formerly run in attacking,
nor draw back the hand in thrusting, nor
stoop, nor bend over, nor engage body
with body, nor "take a stroke in rest."
That is, in the time of the " old school,"
it was in verity an art, having as its object
the harmonious and elegant. The "new
school" is a science, aiming rather to
produce a practical effect than an artistic
one. To hit is its great purpose. The
means were all in all in the old ; they are
insignificant in the new. The new proposes
a real combat rather than a gentlemanly
exhibition, and even uncouthness is not
tabooed. It permits lying down, putting the
head behind the knee, thumping or pounding
with the sword, taking aim at the belly,
giving strokes beneath ; it reduces the whole
art to one sole quality — quickness. The "old
school" is still professed by many
distinguished amateurs of fencing, and still holds
its own as the most aristocratic and
"gentlemanly" method. The " new school" is
resorted to by "young France," and by the
journalistic duellist, who usually either
means, or would have it appear that he
means, serious business. Between the two
schools is a third, which aims at a
compromise, and at uniting the excellences of
both. Of this school, the most renowned of
living French fencing masters, Bertrand,
was the inventor. He introduced a system
of fencing at once regular and rapid, elegant
and effective.

All the Paris fencing schools are divided
between these three systems. Bertrand,
twenty years ago, was facile princeps as
maître d'armes, and was perhaps the best
fencer whom France has produced within
the century. Having now grown too old
to conduct a public school, and having long
since acquired a substantial income, he has
retired from the more active business of his
art; but he still retains all his old
enthusiasm for it, is professor of arms at the
Ecole Polytechnique and at the Collége
Rollin, and still has a few pupils in town,
among his older friends. He is the Nestor
of fencing masters, and at his house in the
Route d'Orleans take place choice reunions of
amateurs, in which the maître himself does
not disdain to have a bout with the more
skilful of his guests. The most noted of the
present generation of maîtres d'armes are
Robert, Pons, Mimiague, and Gâtechair. Of
these, Robert is the successor of Bertrand
as the illustrator of the method of elegance
and rapidity; Gâtechair represents the
old school, being showily punctilious, and
rigid in rule; Mimiague and Pons represent
the new school, being perhaps more
rapid and dexterous than their rivals,
and having little regard for the graces :
Robert, however, probably holds the highest
place.

Some of the fencing halls are very
select; that of Pons is a sort of club, to
which no man can belong without the
assent of a committee. There is another
club in the Rue de Choiseul, presided over
by Robert, who has more than a hundred
scholars. This club is supplied with every
luxury and comfort, and its reunions are
famous.

         THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS.
            A YACHTING STORY.

   CHAPTER XXI. A FATAL MEETING.

HE was full of news. First, the perfect
recovery of Miss Panton, who was now
bright, sparkling, full of spirits, and happy.

"We all know the physician," he added,
significantly, " and I am glad of it now,
though I was opposed to it before. I own
I thought he was a trifler and philanderer,
but now we all see he was in earnest."

"A most proper match," said the doctor,
eagerly. " I had Lord Formanton here in
this room. Perfect nobleman."

"We won't see the future bridegroom at
dinner to-day, though. Conway has got a
telegram from home, and the yacht, they
say, will sail this very evening." She
did not start at this news, as Dudley seemed
to expect, though it made her blood run
swiftly. " They are going away," he went
on, " soon, and I suppose will all meet in
London."

"Most proper — most proper," said the
doctor. " St. George's, Hanover-square:
the right thing, of course."

"Then I have a piece of news that will
not please Miss Bailey. That unlucky
bridge is down at last, and actually sold
into the next county. So ends the great
bridge question, and when we look back on
all the warmth and excitement, how absurd
it seems! — all about an iron bridge. So I
said to Miss Panton this morning, but she
pointed to the pieces, and said: 'Another
victory for me!' '

"Let her take care," said Jessica; " acts
of oppression like this cry aloud for
judgment, which is sure to come."

"What, pulling down an old bridge?"
said Dudley.

"Is the girl mad or a fool?" said the
doctor, roughly.

"Oh!" said Dudley, slowly, "Miss Bailey