A LEGEND.

«' Two turkeys stuffed with truffles, Gar rigou?' "Yes, your reverence, two great big turkeys crammed with truffles. I know something about it, for I helped to stuff them. You would have thought their skins would burst in roasting, they were so St" Holy Mary! and I am such a lover of truffles. Quick, give me my surplice, Garrison. And what else besides the tur key did you sec in the kitchen ? '• Oh ! all sorts of good things. Ever since noon we've been picking pheasants, hoopoes, fowls, and heathcocks; feathers flying everywhere. Then from the pond •-we got eels, golden carp, trout.' "How large the trout, Garngon? "Oh, great big things, your reverence. Enormous 1" '~,,._ T __. . ♦'Oh! gracious, I just tlunk 1 see them! Have you put the wine in the cruets ?" " Yes, your reverence, I've put the wine in the cruets. But I tell you, it urn t ike the wine you will drink after a while when you come from the midnight mass. If you could see that in the dining-room of the castle, all the decanters filled, and blazing with wine of all colours, and the silver, the carved cpergnes, the flowers, and the chan deliers 5 Never was seen such n midnight collation as this is to be. The Marquis has invited all the nobility of the neighbour hood. There will he at least forty at the table, not counting the Bailiff and Notary. Ah! you are in luck to be one of the com pany, your reverence. Only to smell those turkeys—the odour of truffles follows me everywhere. Mcuh!" •• "Come, come, child, let us beware of the sin of gluttony, abfive all, on the night of the Nativity. Run and light the taper.", and ring the first bell for mass, for it is nearly 12 o'clock, and we must not be late." This conversation was held Christmas ni<*ht of the year of grace 16—; between the Reverend Dom Bclaguerc, an ancient prior of the Barnahites, now chaplain of the lords of Trinqnelague, and his little clerk Garrigou, or at least what he believed was his little clerk, Garrigou, for you must know that the Devil, this evening, had assumed the round face and undecided features of the young sacristan, the better i to lead the Reverend Father into tempta tion and make him commit the frightful siu of gluttony. Then while the self styled Garrigou (hum! hum!), with a strong pull of his arms was calling forth a j peal from the bells of the Memorial Chapel, his reverence was donning his chasuble in the little vestry, and with his mind already confused by those gnstronomic descriptions, he was repeating to himsolf: "Roast turkeys—golden carp—trout as big as i " Out of doors the siglung night wind scat tered the musical chimes, and the lights began to gleam in the darkness along the 3ide of Mount Vcntoux, on whose summit arose the gray old towers of Trinquclague. The families of the tenant farmers were wending their way to the castle to hear the midnight mass. Singing, they toiled up the ascent, the father leading the way, lantern in hand, the women muffled in their mantles, pressing the children close in their ample, sheltering folds. Notwithstanding the hour and the cold, all these good people walked briskly, sustained by tho idea that after mass there would be, as wai the yearly custom, a table set for them in the kitchens. Now and then, along the rugged ascent, tho carriage of a lord, preceded by torch-bearers, would disclose its presence by windows gleaming in the moonlight, or a mule would come trotting up, the bells on his neck jingling, and, by the light of tallow-dips, the farmers would recognise their bailiff and salute him as he passed : "Good evening, good evening, Master Arnoton." . "Good evening, good evening, my chil dren." ... .... , The.night was clear; the stars glittered in the cold; the north wind was keen, and a fine sleet gliding upon their clothes with out wetting them, kept faithfully the tradition of snow-white Christmas On the very summit of the hill was the goal, the castle, with its enormous mass ot towers and gables. The bell-tower of the chapel rose into the blue-black sky, and a multitude of twinkling lights, going and coming, waved at the windows, looking against the dark background of the build ing like the running flashes in the ashes of burned paper. The drawbridge and postern passed, it was necessary, in order to reach tho chapel, to cross the first court, which was filled with carriages, footmen, sedan chairs—all distinctly outlined in the blaze of the torches and the glare from the kitchens. One could hear the ringing sound of the turnspits, the din of saucepans, the clashing of crystal, and silver, as in preparation for a feast, and a warm .vapor, redolent of roast meats and the frttgrant herbs of complicated sauces, made the farmers say, as well as the chaplain, the bailiff, and.everybody: "What a good mid night collation we are to have after mass!' ii.

Tingleling-ling! Tingleling-ling! Midnight mass is beginning. In the chapel of the castle, a-catfiedral in minia ture, with interlaced arches, oaken wain scoting extending the height of tbe walls, all the tapestries are hung, all the tapers lichted. And what company 1 What toilets! First, seated in the sculptured stalls in the choir, is the Lord of Trinque lague, in coat of salmon taffeta, and near are his noble guests. Opposite, on kneeling stools covered with velvet, the old dowager marchioness, in a flame-coloured brocade gown, and the young lady of. Trinquelague, coifed in a high tower of lace honeycombed in the latest French mode, have taken their places. Lower down, dressed in black, with vast pointed wigs and shaven faces, are the bailiff, Thomas Arnoton, and the notary, Master Ambroy, two grave notes among the gaudy silks and figured damasks.' Tliencomq the fat major domos, the pages, the outriders, the stewards, Dame Barbara, with her keys on a fine silver rinfj fastened to her side. At the lower end, on the benches, are the pantry servants, the maids, the-tenants with their families ; and away do \vna«ainst the door, which they partially open and shut cautiously, those rogues, the scullions, come between sauces to get a little air of mass, bringing an odour of the feast into the church, all in festal array and warm with the numerous waxlights. Is it the. sight of these little white caps that causes the distractions of the cele brant? Is it not rather Garrigou's bell, hPt crazy little bell shaking at the foot of -altar, with unseemly precipitation, as tying i "Let's make haste ; let's make t >; the sooner wo finish the sooner we 'l be at table." The fact is, every time n ?ngs,'that impish bell, the chaplain for gets ins mass and thinks only of the colla tio l. He sees, iv fancy, the clamorous kitchen, the furnaces, with their for«e-fires. Sic steam issuing from under half-lifted lid, and in that steam two big turkeys, stutred, stretched to bursting, marbled with truffles. Or, perchance, he sees files of little pa^es carrying dishes enveloped in vapors, and he accompanies them into the great dining-hall, already arranged for the feast. Oh, delightful 1 there is the immense table loaded and blazing, the peacocks dressed in their feathers, tho pheasants

spreading out their gold-brown wings, the ruby-coloured bottles, pyramids of fruits flashing among the.green branches, aud those marvellous fishes Garrigou had talked about (ah! well, yes, Garrigou !) spread upon a bed of fennel, the pearly shells, as as if emerging from the water, bearing in their monstrous nostrils a bunch of fragrant herbs. So lively is the wondrous vision, it seems to Dom Balaguere that all these ar tistic dishes are served before him on the embroideries of the altar-cloth, and two or three times instead of Domtnus Vobisenm, he catches himself saying the Benedicite. With the exception of those slight mistakes, the worthy man recites his office very con scientiously, not omitting a line or a genu flexion, and everything proceeds well enough to the end of the first mass; for you must know that on Christmas Day the same celebrant says three consecutive masses.

"That's one 1" says the chaplain to him self with a sigh of relief : then, without losing a minute, he makes a sign to his clerk, or what he believes to be his clerk, and—

Tingleling-ling 1 Tingleling-ling! The second mass begins, and with it begins Dom Balagnere's sin, "Quick, quick, let's make haste," cries Garrigou's sharp little bell with its imperative voice, alid this time the Unhappy celebrant quite aban-> doned to the'demon of gluttony, rushes upon the missal and-devours its pages with the avidity of his over-excited appe tite. Frantically he stoops, ho rises, sketches the sign of the cross, shortens all the ceremonies that hc-.may get through the more expeditiously. Ho hardly reaches out his hand to the Gospel till he strikes upon his breast in the conliteor. Between the clerk and him it is who shall jabber fastest. Verses and responses hurry along topsy. turvy. The words, half articulated -without opening the month, which would consume too much time, die away in meaningless murmurs. Qrenvus—or—or—or— Mea culpa— pa—pa — pa — Like hurried vintagers treading the grapes in a vat, both paddle in the Latin of the mass, sending slashes all abqut. " Dom—scum I" says Balaguere. " Statuo," responds Garrigou, and all the time there is the wicked little bell ringing in their ears like the hells on post horses to make them gallop at full speed. You may suppose that at such rate a low mass is soon dispatched. " And this is two !" says the chaplain, all out of breath ; then without pausing, red, perspiring, he pitches down the altar steps, and—tingleling-ling ! tingleling-ling ! The third mass is beginning The dining room is only a few steps distant; but, alas ! as the midnight feast draws near, the unfor tunate Balaguere is seized with a madness of impatience and gluttony. His vision is sharpened, the golden carps, the roast tur key* are there, there. He touches thorn, the dishes smoke ; he smells the perfumed wines, and jingling his outrageous bell, the impatient clapper cries: "Quick, quick, quicker still I But how can he go faster? His lips scarcely move. He no longer pronounces the words. It- is nothing less than cheating the Good God and juggling away his mass. * * * And this is what the wretched man is doing. From temptation to tempta tion :he skips one verse, then two; then the Epistle is too long; he does not finish it, skims over the Gospel, passes by the Creed, leans over the pater, salutes the preface afar, and by bound* and jumps pre cipitates himself into evcrlastingdamnatian, stiil followed by the infamous Garrigou (vade retro Satanus), who seconds him .with astonishing dexterity, removes his chasuble, turns the leaves by two, hustles the desks, overturns the cruets, and forever shakes the little bell more and more strongly, more and more quickly. You should have seen the frightened looks of the assembled company. Obliged to follow the mimicry of tho priest in this mass, of which they near not a word, some rise while others kneel, some sit while others stand, and. all the phases of this singular office are confounded on the benches in a multitude of diverse atti tudes. The Christmas star journeying along the heavenly way to the lowly stable iv Judea grew pale with consternation witnessing the irreverent confusion. "The abbe goes too fast; cpe cannot follow," mutters the old dowager, shaking her head-dress distractedly. Master Arno ton, his large steel spectacles on nose, rum mages in his prayer-book where in the dickens they can be. But all those good folks at the' bottom of the chapel, whose mouths are also watering at thought of the feasf, are not sorry the mass proceeds post haste ; and when Dom Balaguere, _ with radiant visage, turns to the audience, crying out with all his might: "Itc missa est," with one voice the response is a Deo gratias so joyous, so'animated, that one might have fancied himself already at table, drinking the first toast of the midnight col lation. 111.

Five minutes later the crowd or noble guests were seated inthe grand dining-hall, the chaplain in their midst. The castle, lighted from top to bottom, resounded with songs, shouts, laughter, ciamour, and the venerable Dom Balaguere planted his fork ia the wing of a fat fowl, drowning remorse for the sin in draughts of the Pope's wine of rare vintage. So much did he eat and drink, poor holy man, that he expired in the night of a terrible attack, having no time even to repent, and in the morning he arrived in the world of spirits fresh from confusion of the night's revelry, and you may judge how he was received. " Ont of my sight, bad Christian," said the Sovereign Judge, *our Master; "thy sin is great enough to efface a whole life of virtue. Ah! Thou hast robbed me of a midnight mass. Well! Thou shalt repay me three hundred in place of it, and thou shalt not go into Paradise until thou hast celebrated, in thyowu chapel three hun dred Christmas masses, in presence of all those who sinned with thee and through thy fault." And this is the legend of Dom Balaguere, as told in the Land of Olives.; The castle of Trinquelague no longer exists, but the chapel still stands on the top of Mount Ventoux, in a clump of green oaks. The wind shakes its rickety door, weeds ob struct the threshold ; there are nests in the angles of the altar, and in the embrasures of the tall casements from which the stained glass long since disappeared. Yet it seems that every year going to midnight mass and midnight collations the peasants see this spectre of a chapel illuminated with invisible tapers burning in the open air, even under the snow and storm. You may laugh if you will, but a vine-dresser of the place named Garrigue, doubtless a de scendant of Garrigou, declared to mc that one Christmas night, being somewhat tipsy, he lost his Way on the .mount, on the side of Trinquelague ; and this is what he Until eleven o'clock nothing. All was silent, dark, motionless. Suddenly at midnio-ht a chime rung out from the bell tower,°an old, old chime, which seemed ten leagues away. , Soon in the rising path Garrigue perceived uncertain lights trem bling in the darkness. Under the chapel porch there was walking, whispering : "Good evening, Master Arnoton." "Good evening, good evening, my chil dren."

Wheu all had entered, my vine-dresser, who was very courageous, approached softly, and peering through the broken door beheld a strange spectacle. All those people whom lie had seen passing were arranged round the cboir, as if the ancient benches were still in place. Fine ladies in brocade and lace coifs; lords bedizened from top to toe; peasants in short jackets flowered like those worn by our grandfathers, all having an old, tarnished, dusty, fatigued air. Now and then night birds, habitual occupants of the chapel, awakened by so many lights, came prowling round the tapers whose flame rose straight and vague, as if burning behind gauze, and_ what f reatly amused Garrigue was a certain per onagc with large steel spectacles shaking constantly his tall black peruke, upon which one of those birds stood erect and tangled, silently flapping his wings. In the midst, a little old man, of infantine stature, kneeling in the choir, was desper ately shaking a bell, without clapper and without voice, while a priest, dressed out in old gold, went and came before the alter, reciting orisons, of which not a word was audible. This was, as you may surmise, Dom Balaguere making ready to any his third low mass.— Cincinnati Commercial.

A Remarkable Wound of the Brain.

An instance of singular tolerance of a severe wound of the brain was recently communicated by M. Dttbrisay to the Socidtd do Mddccine de Paris. A man, aged forty-four, iv an attempt at suicide, sent a small dagger through his skull into the brain. The weapon was ten centi metres long and one wide. He'had held the dagger in his left hand, and given it with the right several blows with a mallet, believing that he would fall dead at the first blow. To his profound surprise he folt no pain, and observed no particular phenomenon. He struck the dagger in ail about a dozen times. The man was a drunkard, but was sober at the moment of the attempt. When seen, about two hours later, the handle of the dagger was pro jecting from the skull at the junction of the posterior and middle third, a little to the right of the middle line, and in a trans verse position. Tlie whole blade was em bedded except a part one centimetre in length. For half an hour unsuccessful attempts were made to get the dagger out. The patient was placed on the ground, two vigorous persons fixed his shoulders, and, aided by a strong pair of carpenter's pin cers, repeated attempts were made, out without success. The patient and assist ants were raised oil the ground, but the dagger was immovable. These attempts caused no pain. More powerful mechanical instruments were then employed. The patient, who walked well, and complained of no headache, was taken to a copper smith's, and by strong pincers the handle of the dagger was fastened to a chain, which was passed over a cylinder turned by steam power. The pincers, used for drawing out tubes of copper, were so made that the more they were pulled the tighter they grasped. The man. was then fastened to rings fixed in the ground, and the cylinder was gently set in motion. At the second turn the dagger came out. The blade measured ten centimetres in length, of which nine had entered the interior of the skull. The patient, who had sub mitted with the greatest coolness to these manoeuvres, suffered no pain or inconve nience. Some drops of blood escaped, and in a few minutes afterwards the man was able to walk away to a hospital, where he remained in bed "for ten days, but without fever or pain. He then returned to his work, and the wound gradually healed. M. Dubrisay endeavoured by a post mortem experiment to ascertain what parts of the brain had been injured. He drove the dagger into the head of a cadaver in the same situation, and to the same depth, and found that, without injuring the superior longitudinal sinus, i^ had passed into the cerebral substance, just behind the ascending parietal convolution, and thus behind tne motor zone ; tho point had not reached the base, 'lite difficulty in extraction had been due solely to the fixation of the instrument by the edges of the wound in the bone.— The Laved.

Wages and Taxation in Ger many.-

Lessons, not only in music, but in lan guage?, arts and science, cost Is. 6d. to 2s. an hour, and yet the teachers are professors of credit and respectable position in society; in fact their position is an acknowledged one, which can hardly be said of certifi cated teachers of both sexes iv England receiving three times as much. The pro fessorial fee in Germany is so low for the simple reason that no one can afford to pay a higher one ; but no otic dreams of looking down on the professor in consequence. Again, take the newspaper delivered at your dbor daily for sixpence a month, a respectable little paper too, containing the most important telegram* from all parts of the world, a good deal of local information, and a really excellent literary supplement on Sundays. Where is the profit in such a transaction? How can printing, paper, and manual, not to speak of editorial labour, be remunerated at such a rate ? 1 will here cite an incident I can vouch for, which would sceip to show that authors in Germany must have a bad time of it. An English writer of established reputation had undertaken to write a paper on George Eliot for one of the most popular and best conducted German, periodicals. At the eleventh hour, however, the arrangement fell through, the proprietors informing the English correspondent that in spite of a circulation of upwards of a hundred thou sand copies, the profits were too small to pay their authors—at least, all! When wo come to manual labour, we find the scale of payment extraordinarily low. The cost of day labour is two shillings, whereas in French agricultural districts it is four, with the addition of wine. Call in a carpenter to do repairs, send your trunk to be mended, your boots to be soled, you will find the scale of charges in each case about half what it is with us. Of course it is easy to understand why an economical styie of living should be obligatory on all cla.ses throughout Germany, and why so many workers in all fields seek their for tunes elsewhere. Work, ill-remunerated as it is, can often not be had ; large fami lies abound, and the excessive taxation presses on the poorest. Even the beggar who pays for a weekly lodging, and has a certain whereabouts, contributes his mite to the dreaded stciier or tax, no more to be escaped than the even more dreaded mili tary probation.— Pall Mall Gazette.

Many a man is open to conviction who ought to be, but never is convicted. . That horrid pest the black leech has again made its periodical appearance in Tauranga wardens and hedgegrows. The plum and pear trees in particular are showing evident signs of its ravages. What is the essential difference between a " lady help " and a general servant, asks a Melbourne contemporary? An advertise ment in Monday's "Argus" runs thus:— '*Lady help, £25, comfortable home, must cook. . . . Apply about 5 p.m."

STAR SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT, JANUARY -88, 1882.

3



3STEW 3ST O "VIE L FOR THE SUPPLEMENT. In Nest Saturday's "STAR SUPPLEMENT» Will be PUBLISHED the OPENING CHAPTERS of a very remarkable ,nd successful Novel by that King of Story Tellers, JAMES PAYN, Author of "By Proxy," "Lost Sir Massingberd," " Walters Won," "Under Ono Koof," " A Grape from a Thorn," " Less Black than we're Painted," "From Exile," and other Popular Novels, The TITLE of the NEW WORK is A CONFIDENTIAL AGENT Or, THE LOSS OF LADY PARGITER'S DIAMONDS! And it WILL RUN OVER SOME MONTHS IN THE "SUPPLEMENT." deals with the fortunes of a certain Matthew Helston, confidential assistant to a great firm of London jewellers. Oue of this gentleman's duties is to carry backwards and forwards between the shop and the residence of a baronet's wife—Lady Pargiter—a magnificent diamond^antre worth £30,000. One winter's night Helston receives the diamonds about 1 a.m. from Lady Pargiter, who has been out at a party, and—dis appears. The diamonds are missing, so is the assistant, and the rest of the story describes the frantic efforts of relatives, police and detectives to elucidate the mystery. The plot is one of the most extraordinary and exciting ever brought out by a skilled writer of fiction, and the interest is kept up even to the final chapter. OPINIONS OF THE PRESS. Mr.-Henry Labottchcrc, M.P., writing in Truth, says :— ' I hold Mr Payu's now novel far tho best, tho ablest, and Hie most ingenious of all bis works Mr Payn may bo said to have catered with success for everybody. . . . Take it how you"will,' indeed, his book is an uncommonly good book, and I shall bo surprised if it Is not one of tho most successful of the season.' The British Quarterly Review, the weightiest and most reliable of the English Literary Periodicals, says :— ' This is one ot the best stories Mr. Payn has written. . . . This novel is not only clover, hut is full of kindly insight and faithful representation. Wo can recommend It as a lively, sparkling picture, or rather series of pictures, of London lifo on various levels. . . . It is in all ways a clever and an entertaining novel.' Very few works of fiction satisfy the Saturday Review, and yet that most satirical of weeklies overflows with compliments re "The Confidential Agent." Listen to this :— ■Mr Pavn's fertility of Invention and freshness ot style are wonderful. . . . But perhaps what is most pleasing in his books is their sparkle. Ho iB continually making somebody say a' eood thing, and somebody else tell a good story. . . .. We can recall very few of Mr. Payn s books in which there aro happier sketches of character m more agreeable varioty. The Spectator's notice too is laudatory. It says :— 'Mir Payn has always been remarkable for ingonuity, and he has so carefully cultivated it during his career as a writer of Action, that ho is now without a rival in it. . . . Mr. Payn relieves tho arUflco of his stories with a good deal of human nature, generally of a genial kind, and is gifted with humour of the irrepressible order." FURTHER NOTICES. • Mr. Pavn's latest novel Is a very good example of his style. There is not a page in It that is duU The reader, once ho begins tho story, must go through it. . . . But there m another and a higher merit in " A Confidential Agent/ It has a plot which is so ingeniously developed that thereader doos not penetrate tho Becret of it until the author divulges that secret himself. Mr. Pam no doubt, sets himself to write a well-devised story in a brisk fashion .and ho has succeeded. No novel Is more likely to be read with pleasure by tho majority of tho readers of such literature as this.'— Scotsman •Wo can havo no hesitation in sayftg that this Is Mr. Pavn's best novel. Tho plot is perfect, tho characters admirably distinct, the handling characterised by rcmarkablo firmness. . . .The sitiiationTare admirably given, and one or two scenes are line specimens of dramatic writing. There is not a character ii the book that is not carefully drawn, and the novel has not a dull page in it.'— Nonconformist. ' A wonderful specimen of story-telling. Interest kept, up by a masterly narrator. English pure and unaffected; humour of the most lightsomo and kindly sort. — Vanity fiatr. • Mr. Payn will certainty add to his reputation by his latest work of fiction. . . . It is un nccessawtosaythatabook by. Mr. Payne is well written: ho thoroughly understands how to maklafflic, writ cs eminently .readable, and certainly few who take up '• A Confidential Agent will fail to go through all threo volumes with eagerness. -Manchester Examiner. • Tho rathetic passages of the book arc very touching, tho melodramatic really thrilling, and the ultimate discovery with respect to tins diamonds is a capital comic surpnso.'-i-xamincr. 'Air James Payn is one of the few novelists who improve. It is only recently that he has come So tZ front renk. and success has not made him careless. " A Confidential Agent tt a well contrived story, full of interest, and sufficiently intricate to mystify the reader. ... Mr. vZvn'l^rrewe .slblcf good humour carries the reader very easily through his volumes. Evon his ink?. Ire eSaUy good enough to raisfc a smile. One reads " A Confidential Agent with some .htae SfX same.sort"of Sure that ono feels in meeting an agreeabe person in society. Mr. IK does not put his bocSc into circulation to instruct or to attack, but to amuse and be pleasing to h* readcra • and he certainly possesses the art, which is as necessary in novel-writing as Lorcl BeaionsfielM just _^id™ is in conversation, of clothing grave matters in a motley garb.'- Athenceum, 'The nature which Mr. Payn displays in his works of fiction is of so uniformly gonial and olcasant a condition that one may be certain on taking one of them up to be amused and interested. plcasan A stoiy written throughout in Mr. Payn's brightest and most easy manner. . . .Amy has bcen^reated' in Mr. Payn's best manner and withTiis most sympathetic touch.*- Daily News. . 'A nersonago in Mr. Payn's book quotes with approval the statement that, "when ?no lef much failed, one henceforth wants nothing but a cup of good wine, a good bed, one s face toffitS table and n good deep dish." -The qUoter suggests tho addition of tobacco. Wo think- thai a, voltmcof MnPayncWn works would be by_no means a bad addition even to this ada.tlon,, In 1 that then the^proviso " when one is much failed " might bo omitted. Certainly " A Con fidential Aeont," with or without tobacco, makes a most pleasing intermeszo between the good \ bed and the other delights described in tho quotation. The race of modern novelists appears to . have suffered a kind of Aristophanic bisection. Some of thorn can tell interesting stones, and some of them can write their books in decent literary style; but tho two gifts meet In the same person but rarely. Mr. Payn fortunatoly found his other half at an early age, and is now quite. ', smooth and round and satisfactory.'— Academy.