past eight o'clock the Duke of Guise went
towards the council-chamber. There was a
company of soldiers at the foot of the grand
staircase. The duke, astonished at their
appearance, asked the cause, and was put off
with some frivolous excuse. He passed on.
Larchant instantly planted soldiers on the
steps; he then sent twenty more to the stair
of the old cabinet. And at that moment
Crillon ordered every door in the château
to be closed. The bird was caught. On
entering the chamber he found the cardinals of
Vendôme and Guise; marshals d'Aumont,
de Retz, and other gentlemen. The duke
complained of the cold, and sat down near
the fire; but the door immediately opened,
and he was told the king was waiting for
him in the cabinet. He rose at once, and
saluting the meeting, gracefully drew his
cloak round him, and disappeared. The
door was instantly shut behind him. In the
ante-room he found, to his surprise, the
Forty-five. But he saluted them and passed
on. He was just about to lift the curtain of
the cabinet-door, when a soldier of the name
of Montsery seized him by the arm and
stabbed him with a poignard in the throat.
"Help! treason!" cried the duke. Treason
enough there was, but no help. The others
assailed him with swords and daggers. The
duke "gathering life's whole energy to die,"
resisted though unarmed. He knocked down
one of his murderers and dragged the others
after him in his effort to escape. For a
moment he shook them off, and staggered—
bleeding, blind, and weak—whither? to the
chamber of the king! Here, with outstretched
arms, open-mouthed, sunken-
eyed, he fell at the feet of the bed, and
exclaiming "Mon Dieu!—Misericorde!" lay
stark and motionless.

The door of the cabinet at this moment
opens. The king steals noiselessly out, and
gazes, calm and unmoved, on the corpse. He
orders all the papers to be secured, and slips
back into the cabinet.

But there was another personage resident
in the château to whom the news of this
great event must be communicated. This
was Catherine de Medicis; old, feeble, and
confined to her bed with gout, but retaining
all her taste for blood and treachery. The
king goes into her room. "'Tis a noble
stroke, my son," said the ancient tigress;
"but have you foreseen the effects?" "Yes,"
replied the king. "I have provided for all."

"The cloth's well cut," said the queen with
a grim smile, "we must look to the sewing
now."

The sewing was admirably strong. The
adherents of the Guises were murdered in
cold blood. The cardinal fell beneath the
hands of common assassins, for the Forty-five
were men of strong religious feelings, and
would not stain their hands with the slaughter
of a priest. The other enemies of the king
were kept in dungeons in different parts of
the kingdom. It was a reign of terror, and
all men looked only for safety to Henry of
Navarre.

With kings and princes Blois had little to
do after this. The Bourbons had no
hereditary attachment to the place; and, having
had a royal birth to boast of, and a royal
murder, what more could a town expect?
But its situation still continued as beautiful
as ever; its hill as green, its skies as pure,
its river as clear and winding. With a little
alteration of a line of Horace, in praise of
Baiæ, a native poet exclaims,

      Nullus in orbe locus Blesis prælucet amÅ“nis.

A less classical enthusiast dwells upon the
charm of its site, the Loire encircling it with
a silver band; the towers of Chambord, on
the left, rising majestically above the trees of
the Forest of Boulogne; opposite, the eye
rests on the dark tops of the woods of Russy;
then, turning to the right, you see gentle
elevations covered with vineyards and country-
houses; and might still dream of pomp and
chivalry if it were not for the long straight
line you perceive running through the valley.
Alas! it is the railway from Orleans to
Bourdeaux—and pomp and chivalry are no
more.

If I had time I could dwell on the later
history of Blois; how it suffered during the
revolution, and how it furnished its quota of
heroes to build up the glory of Napoleon.
Also how, when the return from Elba was
first talked of, a corps of gallant loyalists was
raised in defence of altar and crown; and
how, on the day appointed for the first drill, a
report was spread that Napoleon was already
in Paris, and not a soul made his appearance
on parade. Of these and many other things
I might tell; but of what use to ransack the
records of a town which even the railway
can't restore; which rests on old recollections
instead of present deeds; but has the best
climate, the richest woods, and the sweetest
grapes in France? If you are ever in Paris
in the summer, take a return ticket by the
Orleans line, and spend three days in old
Blois.

CHIP.
THE LEGEND OF ARGIS.

ONE of the most curious and pathetic
legends of Wallachia, tells of the foundation
of the great metropolitan church of
Argis.

In the middle of the fifteenth century,
the Prince Niagoë, warring against the
Turks, was on the eve of fighting a great
battle, and went to the hermitage of a pious
anchorite, before whom he made a vow that,
if victorious, he would build on that very
spot the most splendid temple that ever
sought the rays of the sun. Consequently, it
is supposed, his triumph was complete. The
Ottomans were dispersed; and he had nothing