A CONFIDENTIAL AGENT:

BY JAMES PAYN, AUTHOR OV "Bx. Proxy," "Under One Roof," "Walter's Word," "High Spirits," Etc.

CHAPTER XLVIL

WITH rilffißE SIAYSOST. ] Having brought Mr Barlow to the door of No. _'A, the waiter discreetly left Mm there to proceed as ho thought fit, for which that •gentleman hardly knew whether to be grateful or otherwise, tbe business on linnd being such a very delicate oue. However, the more lie thought about it the less ho felt very -sure he was likely to like it, so ho knocked gently with his knuckles. There was no-answer, but he beard a rustic of silk as of someone rising from her chair; then he knocked again more sharply. " Come in," said a female voice in Eng lish. The next moment he stood in the same Cooin with the speaker, but not face to face with her. She had been sitting, as he con jectured, by the door, but had hastily moved away at bis summons and retired into a re cess'near the window, whero she stood in shadow. A tall, slight woman, but of shapely figure, with a great deal of fine brown 'hair—much lighter, it struck him, than Amy's—and a pair of beautiful eyes marred by tears. The tears wete not stand ing in, but had only just been swept away, and their traces, notwithstanding the pre caution she had taken, were distinct enough to Him. " Your business, sir J" she inquired sharply, in a tone of annoyance rather than alarm, though she looked frightened also. " It is with Mr Butt," said Mr Barlow. "My husband is not in. Did they not tell you so nt the gate ?" " Yes madam ; but they could givo no other information—such as when ho would be likely to return, for example—so I ven tured to como up," " I know nothing of Mr Butt's move ments." she said stolidly. "If you have any message for him, however, you can leave it" "Just so. That is what I wish to do. May I tako it for granted that you arc aware of his object in coming to Paris '!" She hesitated and changed colour; her eyes glanced round the little sitting-room, as if in search of something that might bo lying on chair or table ; then she answered ; '• JNo ; I know nothing of Mr Butt's busi ness matters." " You know nt least, however, that the name he now passes under is not his real name J" "That can scarcely bo your business, sir," she replied haughtily, and drawing her self up to her full height. She was cer tainly very beautiful; more so by far than hor picture made her out to bo though at that moment, being poisce and so far not herself, she resembled it moro than nt first. But its expression of gaiety and abandon was altogether absent from the original; she looked careworn, and wan and pale, ex cept for the Hush of anger that his question had called into her cheek. " Pray forgive me if I appear rude, ma dam," continued Mr Barlow. "My mis sion is co urgent" " Still it can hardly concern mc, sir," she put in. "Pardon me, but it docs, madam—nt least partly. lam come here on behalf of one whom both of you have wronged, though not indeed in proportion." " Ihave wronged no one." " Not wilfully, madam, let us bono ; though it ii difficult for ono to believe that you are unaware that Mr Butt, as he calls himself, is a married man." "Married! How dare you say so? It is false." She spoke with passion, but not, as Mr Baflow thought, with that indignation which a woman who had really been decei ved would have exhibited. Indeed, now he came to think of it, it was hardly possible that Phcabe Mayson, however, cut off by her own net from her former life and its sources of information, could have been ig norant of Matthew's marriage. "Unhappily, madam,-it is true. You have been tho cause, even though it be the unconscious cause, of tho desolation of a happy household, of the desertion of a loving and trustful wife." To his surprise she uttered a shrill scorn ful laugh. "That is too much," she said. '* You are exceeding your instructions—l know now from whom you come." "If you do so, madam, there is no need for bitterness, but for pity; and, I must add, for contrition. It is a poor triumph to exult over the pure and innocent; and, if I am mistaken, will bo a shortlived one." " Are you an actor?" she exclaimed con temptuously. "Or aro you a madman ?" "My name is Frank Barlow ; shall I tell you what was yours beforo you became Lucy Mortlock, or Mrs Butt? It was Phoebe Mayson." She had advanced a step or two in her exciteEic»t. but how shrank back into the recess again; her limbs trembled visibly and her voice shook as she replied, " What If it was ? What is that to you or any body?" The last word bad a pitiful touch in it which did not escape the other's ear. "To me, indeed, nothine," he replied, hut everything to her whom you have -wronged. "If you were anyone but Plimbe Mayson, who won his first love and cast it from you, neither your beauty nor any wiles at yonr-command would have sufficed to steal her husband from her. As it is, taking advantage of that treacherous wea pon, you have pierced her heart. with it. Nay, more, you have not only seduced him from his home and tho true hcart9that loved him, but you bave been the cause—is it pos sible you cannot know it ?—of his forsaking the path of honesty and disgracing bis name and nature. Yes, woman, it lies at your door, and no other's, that Matthew Hclston is a thief." " Mattthcw Helston !" She clasped her hands to her bosom and stared at him in amazement. "Matthew Helston?' she reiterated. " What do you know of him ? or rather what lies arc these you have heard about him and dare to repeat to me—to mc ? Matthew Helston a thief! Ho is an angel 1 He is a man without a fault, except that years ago he trusted to a woman's word. I thought myself debased aud shamed be yond all human creatures," she exclaimed with sudden vehemence, " but you, you slanderer aad blasphemer; you are viler yot," Mr Barlow answered nothing, but quietly took from his pocket a newspaper contain ing the offer- of the reward _ for Hclston's apprehension.and pointed to it with his fin ger. "It is a lie," she muttered between her -teeth ; "he never took those jewels." " How do you know that ?" inquired Mr Barlow.quietly. " Have you any evidence to prove the contrary." "I know it because I know him, she -answered. " Evidence! Do you think a

man who has been scorned aud cheated, and forgives " I '• One moment, madam," interposed the I lawyer earnestly. " You are altogether in crro'r in supposing that I wish aught but , good to Matthew Helston; nay, if it were possible, I would not think aught but good of him. lam here on *behalf of him and his, If you, too, wish him well " " Wish him well*!" she echoed, clasping her hands together. " Iwould give—though that, indeed, would be a worthless gift—my very life to serve him.' ---" I know not whether you can serve him, madam," returned tho lawyer gravely," but it is possible. There are passages in. his life, it appears, of which those who thought they knew him beat are ignorant. It you will, you can throw light upon them, and in so doing, it may be, cast a gleam on what is at present the profoundest mystery. He has be: n lost to wife and child and friends for many days : and with him, as you read, have disappeared these jewels. It was my own impression—now, 1 perceive, a false one — that he had fled with you to France." " With mc ? No, no, sir," she answered in a g'-ntlc, piteous voice. "He has been good and kind to me, but his loye for me is dead. How .should it be otherwise, since lam base and vile, and he of all men knows it best? It might have been at one time. Look you, a man thirsts-sees a fair and running brook, but cannot reach it; later on and lower down it becomes accessible er.ough, but, since it has run through muddy ways, he turns from it with loathing. So i it was with him and mc. I never loved him ! tut he should be loved, fori was never worthy, but for the sake of the old times, and though ! nil was soil and sin with mc, ho took com passion on me. There was a man, no matter who, for whom I forsook him. After a little this ninii grew tired of mc and cast me off— us I deserved. Then I fell lower and lower. Once, lately, Matthew Hclston saw me in the street and spoke tome—words that he meant for kindness, but which were coals of fire. H ejwasbut poor himself, yot he offered mo help—which I refused—to lift me from the mire. But I took my own way. This man who calls himself Mr. Butt offered mc marriage. To be the wife of even one like him (God help mc) was promotion. Why, you are asking yourself, should he have conferred it on me. I did not put that question to myself, but had I done so, I should have answered that I still had at tractions for eyes like hi-i; that no honest woman would have married him, and that to those of the baser sorS I was superior in many ways. Not a very exalted estimate, you will say, of my poor merits ; yet it Booms I had appraised them far too high. lie went through the form of murriage, in dcod ; but I have reason to know that it wns null aud void; and so far (I say it, though a woman—so you may judge what I have Rilffered) 1 am thankful to him." Her tone throughout was one of the deepest humiliation and despondency, save when she spoke of the man passing ns her husband, when the memory of recent cruelty and insult seemed to rouse a momentary bitterness. Mr. Barlow, though scandalised, w,is touched. Whatever sins this woman had comniitcd, he felt she had been punished lor them. "If this man is not your husband," he said gently, "you can escape from him. If my advice can be of my servico—or you require the means to return to England " •'I thank you, sir,' she said, with less of gratitude, however, iv her tone than *elf contempt, " but what becomes of in. is a small matter. Wc were speaking of Mat thew Hclston." "Truo ; T WOS in hop<*« that, yon could toll me how this Mr Butt was in possession of the fadt that Hclston was in Paris and endeavouring to dispose of the jewels. That it is so I bave reason to know, sinco I have just come from M. Monteur, a diamond merchant " "In the Hue de Bris?" interrupted the other. "Yes : how did you know that ?" "Mr Butt has been there on business, to my knowledge." "Indeed? On what business?" "I believe to sell some family diamonds. That is what I thought you eamo about. There is something amiss with them, I'm certain. I thought they might be lying about the room when you came in, which frightened mc." " Have you ever seen them ?" inquired the lawyer quickly. *' Yes ; Mr Butt showed them to mc quite recently." "Are they like these?" inquired Mr Barlow, producing the drawing of the parurc. Sho shook her head. " I cannnot tell," she said ; " they had been taken out of their setting; that is what first aroused my suspicions." " You say' first aroused.' Did anything afterwards confirm them." "Well, I cannot say that they wore con firmed before you put your questions. This man, however—my husband, as he is called —has been nervous, fidgety, and, I think alarmed of late. He receives many tele grams which seem to annoy him. He is out, as he says, on business, all day long, and returns dissatisfied and disappointed. He was particularly so after his visit to the Rue de Bris. I know he went there, for I waited for him in the cab outside." " I think I have it," exclaimed Mr Bar low eagerly. "Sec here, this is a full length portrait of Matthew Helston ; docs it bear any resemblance to Mr Butt? " Again she shook hor head. " Not iv the least," she said contemptuously. "It is Hyperion to a Satyr." Mr Barlow's countenance fell. " Please, however, to describe the man." "He is of middle height and rather stoutly built. His hair is brown ; his ex pression, as I havo said, dissatisfied and gloomy." Mr Barlow struck his palms together with a cry of triumph. "Itis as I suspected ; though unlike to the eye, the descriptions of these two men tally tolerably well. Helston never went to the Hue de Bris, but only Mr Butt. And Mr Butt is Captain Laugton." "It is possible," returned tho oilier coolly. "He told me but yesterday that he married me under a feigned name. Does that throw light on anything ?" "It does, it does; "said the lawyer thoughtfully ; " but not enough. The ques tion of what became of Hclston on that nicht in Moor Street, even if this Langton is the thief, remains as dark as ever." "Moor Street. Moor Street?" repeated the other; "where haye I seen that name beforo ?" "Think, madam, think," exclaimed tho lawyer earnestly. " Everything may hang upon your reply." " Wo, I remember now," she said after a moment's reflection ; " I have heard it spoken of." "By whom? By Butt?" " Yes. He has read a telegram in my presence with Moor Street in it. I feel certain of it." " How came he to do that?" "He did not know that he was doing it. _ These telegrams which are continually arriving seem to excite him strangely." " Can you let me see one of them ?" " I cannot; he destroys them directly he has read them. But stay— they some times come in his absence. I will open the next and let you have a copy of it. I will search his papers; no etone shall he

left untuttred to aid you in your disco very." "•:But. that may gel yon into trouble; '.'he man is, by your our showing, a ruffian, and as we have now reason to believe, in desperate case." "I told you that for MaLthew Ilelston's sake I would lay down my lite," she inter rupted vehemently. "But \ou need not fear on my account. !am *i match for him in wits, and will be careful. That re minds me that he maj return at any moment. He must notfiud you here. Give me your address, aud truat to me. To morrow morning, at falo.st—perhaps to night—you will have n. lim: fmai mc." "But money may bo wanting," urged Mr Barlow, producing his rmr.-.'. "No, no," she cried imploringly; "I have a few shillings of lay own, which will be sufficient; let me do him,what good I can at my own cost. Go, j.__o, and trust to me." Mr Barlow did tiu-i imp icitlv in her goodwill to help him. He understood, if he did not wholly appreciate, the woman's desire to show her gratitude to Matthew, and her devotiou to his interests; but of the result he was fat '.from sanguine. That Langton was at ..■!! ■,-v-iits a parti cipator in the robbery In Moo. Street he had little donbt; that the diamonds in his possession were Lady Pui'giter'shc was al most certain, since M. Monteur bad recog nised thciij; but the proof 01 this, lie felt, would be far from easy, (f the girl had still possessed any hold upon Langton's affections she might, perhaps, Irivo wormed out of him something of great importance; but it was plain tli.-t the ill-n.'Sorted pair had quarrelled. The man must know that, every niomeut during which the jewels remained undisposed oi', his position was growing more perilous :be was al ready, she had said, suspicions aud alarm ed; how was it possible, then, tbat she could throw him off hi- guard, sons to obtain from liini any information ? She bad promised to search ',;■ cll'ucts, but it was very improbable tha!. li■• would suffer anything of a comproniisiii;. character to bo in existence. If even In; •.-.uldbe seized (which he could Apt, siin.e- Inure was no warrant for his apprehem ion . and the dia monds found upon him, ihal would only affect the man himself t« . old not bring him (Mr Barlowjono hail nearer to the object of his mission, He went back to li*s liolel, locked him self into his room and set !■> work to think the nic'.tter over; but it surprised himself, considering the streuglh of the impressions and suspicions which crowded his mind, how very liuJe lie could make of them aa regarded Mauhew. That Langton, indeed, had an obji ct in repre senting Helston as the thiol' was evident; hut there was no sort of clue '" his having any real knowledge eit! ;i <.■:" him or his whereabouts. In the cud he wrote a loiy.and minute account of all that had come to his know ledge since his arrival in IV is to Mr Brail; and bade him hold himself in leadinessto act at once on tho receipt of utiy telegram. Up to midnight, at whip}) hnrhe retired to seek the rest he so mm 1; needed, no message had arrived for liim from Phicbc Mayson. CHAPTER Xi.YHI. THE VICTT.I. Notwithstanding his anxieties and the eider-down quilt, Mr Barlow slept soundly for some hours, and would .iimbtless have continued to sleep, but for,a very curious circumstance. He had been dreamiog, of course, of Amy. _ Xlicty Were some obstacles to his union with her (quite different to those which really existed), and he had overcome them by running away with her (which in reai life he would certainly never have dream I of), only he had no money to pay the coachman, who was (naturally enough) vovj impatient. " I.am the coachman," the man was say ing. "Remember the coachman, coach man, coachman." When lie * ent en far as to poke Mr Barlow in the nhs with his whip-handle that gentleman awoke, and found himself in the preset ice of two soldiers in uniform, one of whom was bringing tke rays of a dark lanteru to hear directly upon his half closed eyes, and the other was ad drepsing him as " CochonA' " Who the deuce are you ." <■ Mr. Barlow with all aiiEiigiisiiin.r-'s indignation nt this intrusion in his apai tun nt, and espe cially at a military occupation of it. " Wc arc here iv the name of the law," was the reply in French, '' Jou must come along with us immediately." One word of this only, " lot," was intelli gible to Mr. Barlow, but ii helped him to understand that, in spite of their swords and their furious aspect, these men were police men and not soldiers. His hand dived under his j-iilow and pro duceda phrase-book and a pi irk oi •dictionary, which never left the neighbourhood of liis person, and by the aid of the Conner ho in quired what they wanted, and what was the matter. By the aid of the latter he It arnt that he was wanted at the Hotel dc In Fontaine, and that the cause was Muudek. " Great Heavens ! it must oe poor Pluebe Mayson," cried he, with a start of horror; " and that villain Langton imist have done it." His excitement and indignation were so extreme that the manifestation of them, had hi) been accused of tho crime, would in all probability—duly manipulated by the Judge of Instruction—have brought him to the guillotine; but fortunately the suspicions of the police had not taken this direction. He sprang out of bed and huddled on his clothes with fingers that trembled with passion, and even with rcmos -c. It flashed upon him in an instant that tho poor girl had como to her death at tho hands of her paramour in the performance of the service that he (Barlow) had himself suggested. For the first time in his life- lir at all events since he had served his articles—ho burst into expressions which wore certainly not to bo found in his Fiench dictionary, Tho beauty of the woman, the wretchedness of her situation, her tenderness, her resolution (alas !so snlf-sacrificing) toobiain at all risks some tidings of her lost love, recurred to him With terrible force and distinctness, and stirred his nature to its depths. "The wild beast of forco that lives within the sinews of man" was aroused within him. For the moment the one wish of this peace-loving, law abiding man was to find himself face to face with her assassin, As he passed out of the gate between the two gendarmes, and got into tho fiacre await ing them there, the porter exclaimed to him self, " There goes a murderer. Who would have thought it to have seen him yesterday ? Bah; why should one wonder ? He is English." But even if he had understood him Mr, Barlow would have cared nothing. " Est-il mart f inquired the poor fellow oi his companions piteoutly, at which they shrugged their shoulders, smiled, and (thinking, of course, from his use of the masculine, tha tho referred to the criminal), replied, " Well, not at present. The little knife " (their euphemism for the guillotine) " does not work quite so quick." But as it happened poor Phoibe was rot dead—only dying and speechless, as the Commissary of Police, who was in waiting at the door of the hotel, informed Mr Bar low in broken English. Tlie criminal was in custody elsewhere, but pawn Madame

was upstairs, and wished to sec him. He win conducted to the same room in which he had seen her a few hours ago.but which was now occupied by certain official per son*. One of them, ajugedepaix.into.mcd him in English that he had been taking the declaration of Madame, who lay in the inner apartment. A doctor was with her, who would presently summon Monsieur to her bedside. " Is there no hope ?" inquired Mr Barlow, deeply affected. Tlie magistrate shook his head. " She has received half a dozen stabs, any one. of which, says the doctor, would be enough to kill her. The bleedinghas been arrested for the moment, but not before she swooned away. Ma foil what carnage— and what beauty! But monsieur knows her?" - Twenty-four hours ago Mr Barlow would not, perhaps, have felt complimented at such knowledge being imputed to him ; but all that was changed now. To his inward eye the unhappy girl appeared not a saint io deed, but a martyr. He bowed his head in grave acquiescence, and psked it it was known why the crime had been committed. The judge dc pair, a bright little old man, who applied himself to bis snuff-box every other minute in a manner that sug- \ gested the pecking of a bird, here shrugged \ his shoulders and held his head and hand sideways, as though he were clasping an invisible Punch's baton. "Ah, well, 1 suppose it was the old story. There was an open desk and letters strewn about; Madame had been imprudent, and her hus band was transported with jealousy." " Permit me to say that your supposition is entirely incorrect," said Mr Barlow quickly. It was offensive to him that this unhappy woman should be thus misrepre sented in the very last— and perhaps the best—action of her life. "The cause of quarrel was, I have reason to believe, some thing entirely different. The desk and letters, it will be found, were the man's, not hers • she was seeking for information on a friend's account, not her own, which, as I apprehended, this fellow resented." "Resented! Ma foil There is no doubt that he killed her for it. He was a powerful man, and one stab, as I have said, would bave been her deathblow; but in his passion he struck again and again." " Great Heavens ! How frightful I" ex claimed Mr Barlow. "How was it, if this happened as you say, that the poor woman could cry out ? " She did not cry out, or at least no one heard her. The murderer, having done his work, thought himself quite secure. He had packed liis carpet bag, and would have got clean off but for the police, who in Paris are inteUi^ent, prompt, and vigilant to a degree that is astonishing." It was curious, and struck Mr Barlow with some disgust, that in this anteroom of death his companion should thus dis course so lightly, even to the extent of praising the local constabulary. " But, whatever the intelligence of your police," he answered grimly, "they could scarcely have foreseen the murder before its commission." " True ; but it was not on account of the murder that they were here at all; that was merely a fortunate coincidence ; they came to-arrcßt the man for another crime." "Indeed I" " Yes ; for trying to extract money— what is your legal phrase ?—well, to extract money under false pretences. He had been endeavouring to palm off upon certain jewellers sham diamonds in place of real ones. Only, instead of catching a swindler we caught a murderer." This tidings, so wholly unexpected, would, under any other circumstances, havo both astonished and interested Mr Barlow ; but just now more serious affairs were pressing upon him. "How was it," he inquired, "tbat you came to send for me?" "Well, after the assassin had been se cured Madame recovered a little; she gasped out a few words in English which it was my duty to take down and they ex pressed a wish to see you. Moreover, there was a memorandum found upon Madame, addressed to you, which presently " Herc € the door of the inner apartment opened, and out came the doctor with a grave face, followed by a female servant of the hotel in tears. " The gentleman is too late," he said, with a glance at the Englishman; " the poor lady is dead." For one moment the young lawyer's heart had no room for aught but sorrow and pity ; but the next tlie fate of the dead was forgotten in the interests of the living, " Has she, then, died in vain," thought he, " as respects Matthew ?" " Would monsieur like to step in ?" in quired the magistrate, pointing to the other apartment. Monsieur did not like it; was, indeed, very far from liking it; but he somehow felt it to be his duty to see the last of Phecbe, so followed the other into the room. She was lying on one of the two little beds with which the room was furnished, with her eyes closed, and but for the ex treme pallor of her face she might have been taken to be asleep. The doctor, from reverence or sentiment, had crossed her hands upon her bosom, and the housemaid had placed in them a llittle waxen flower which had formed the ornament of the mantelpiece. She might have been a saint, poor soul, so far as looks went. " Things were very different when I first arrived here," observed the magistrate, after a long silence; " but you see we have put them straight." " In our country," answered Mr Bar'ow in his judicial tone (for his tender feelings had got the better of him, and of course he was ashamed of them), " everything would have been left as it was for official investi gation." "You forget that the poor young lady was alive, monsieur, and yet could not be removed. I made my notes and then we set things comfortable for her. We are a nation that cannot under any circumstances forgot our politeness." And the French man bowed, with the palms of his hands outwards, as if in illustration of his remark. "You have done every thing you could for my poor countrywoman, and I thank you," ! said Mr Barlow, warmly. "You spoke of some memorandum." " Yes ; I have it here. I can let you see it, but for the 'present, of course, it is the property of the Law; that must be our excuse, although it bears your address upon it, for our having possessed ourselves of its contents." He produced from his brca«t-pocket a little note, unsealed and folded hurriedly together in a trianugular form. Mr Barlow took it, not without a shudder (for it was covered with blood). "Yes, indeed,'' said the other iv answer to his look of horror, "it is tho saddest of billet-doux. The blood on it is madame's liparfcjs blood. It is torn, too. My imprcs. siou is that theie was a struggle for it during which she thrust it into her boson^ whore we found it. In his rage and fear the assassin, after he had stabbed her, must have forgotten it." With fingers that trembled as much with emotion as with anxiety Mr Barlow un folded the note, which was literally sodden with blood. The words were straggling, hardly legible, and had evidently been written in great haste or excitement. "M. H. is still in Moor No— —- starying, For Go4'|---haste l\ "'—

The blanks occurred in the places where the paper had been torn off. ~ „ . "Docs' monsieur understand it? in quired the Frenchman with great interest. " Yes,- no—that is, but partially. It may be of the greatest importance.' "And it has also, of course, the very deepest, interest for monsieur. ' " Indeed, indeed it has," sighed Mr Bar low. " Then look, sir. In any other case it would have been my duty to retain it; but in such circumstances as these, when the assassin has, as it were, been taken in the very act, I think'the law may waive its right. The note is monsieur's." , "You are most kind," said Mr Barlow earnestly. "In return for such unexpected courtesy I can only say that I shall remain at my present address, at your service, in case my testimony in this unhappy matter -.. should be necessary." Then ho turned for a last look at poor Phoebe. As he gazed upon tho pale, sweet face, never more to know remorse or dis grace, he felt something cold placed gently "' in liis Band. It was a pair of scissors. The action would certainly never have occurred to himself, but, thus suggested, he cut off"' a lock of the dead woman's hair and placed it in \\'u pocket-book. "Madame is in heaven; monsieur will -.. consequently meet her again," said the jw/e de pair, consolingly, iv his own mind he had not the shadow Jof a doubt that the blameless Mr Barlow had been her lover.

(To be continued.)

Wit and Wisdom.

Love has the instinct of immortality; A lying tongue is bad enough, but false tenth are worse. Poverty is in want of inucb, but avarice oi everything. We »re no longer happy so soon as we wish to be happier. Life without love can be borne, but life without honour, never. Adversity links men together; prosperity is apt to scatter them. The winner is he who gives himself to his w>rk body and soul. You will seldom find an attorney at law. That business don't suit. A man is known by his works, If yoir would keep shady, don't work. Sensitive people wish to be loved; vaia. people wish only to he preferred. It is easy to look down upon others; to look down on ourselves is tho difficulty. If you want little, spend little, and if yoir only want little, you will have much. "Boys will be boys." Just so : what a pity it is though, men won't always be men ! Out in the world men show us two sides to their character—by their fireside only one. We polish marble, not clay. If one would' be a polished gentleman he must have solidity. No evil propensity of the human mind is so powerful that it may not he subdued by discipline. To enjoy the pleasures of wealth thoir sbouldst first experience the fatigue of. labour. Love is a queer thing, and so is happi ness. To enjoy either completely it has to be shared. That woman who neglects her husband's shirt front is no longer, the wife of his bosom. We gain much in avoiding the failings of' others as we do in imitating that in which they excel. If a boy gets on the wrong "track" it Bhowstbat liis father's " switch " hasnot had' a fair chance. ' Fix upon that course of life which is the mo<-t excellent, and habit will render it the most delightful. If a man reaUy wants to know of how little importance he islet him go with his wife to the dressmaker's. We have heard a great many reasons given for second marriages, but none so irrefutable as this : "It is a counter irrita tion." There is no doubt in the world thatevery* body ought to reform, and as f«r ourselves —well, we aro very busy in telling others what they ought to do. but we will attend to that matter by and by.

A Visit to a Manicure.

INTERESTING DISCLOSURES.

An American reporter has been interview^ ing a hand-doctor or manicure. In a case on one side of the room ho saw wax models* of hands of all shapes and sizes. Fat hands, thin, bony hands some with long lingers, some with short— hands as they should he and hands as they should not Be; Oppo site this a show-case contained an assort ment of soaps, salvei and lotions, and a lot of gloves, coarse and clumsy, that seemed strangely out of place in a locality devoted to hand boauty. They wero cosmetic glove?, prepared to whiten the hands. They are spread inside with a preparation of yolk of egg, oil of sweet almonds and tincture of benzion. The doublo lap at the wrist effec tually protects the cuff from being soiled. Other gloves were to soften the hands, and the lining was saturated with a mixture of honey, myrrh, and wax and rose water. Another kind was stßl more powerful. They contained as strong agents as can safely be applied to the hands, and cannot be used when the skin is'chapped, scratched oc broken in any place. They were lined with a preparation 'of tartaric oil, lemon juice, oil of bitter almonds, brown Windsor soap and some other ingredients, Some puffed-out bags, looking like box ing gloves, proved to be bran mittens, and the attendant explained the use of a box of curious looking silver thimbles about twe inches long. They were for shaping the ends of the iingers. Tapering fingers are not an impos sibility. Ladies are willing to undergo inconvenience and injury tor the sake of tapering waists, but make no effort to im prove the shape ef their hands. The reporter bad his hands treated, and" thus describes lhe process : The treatment was begun by scouring the hands with fine. white-flint sand, soap and hot water. Then followed a bran bath, which is merely rub bing the hands with bran until thoroughly dry. Stains and dark lines about, the knuckles were then touched with some acid on a bit of chamois skin, and tbe hands were anointed with cold cream and held ia warm towels until dry. This process being completed, the doctor requestcd'his patient to sit before a table near a window, and seating himself opposite aud opening a case of ivory instruments, he asked : "Are you superstitious about nail spots ?" " No. What do you mean ?" , " It is an old belief that white'spots upon • the nails bring good fortune, while black on es are considered unlucky. Both are ugly, ' however, and if you have no prejudices I willremovethcm?"andsosayiogheapplied l a black, pitchy substance tbat smelt of sulphur to each spot, and during the ten. minutes he allowed it there employed him self in pushing down, with a dull ivory in strument, the skin growing around the base of the nails. When the salve was removed from the nails the fingers were dipped into a powder and chamois-skin brush until each * nail shone like a conch shell, '

STAR SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT, JUNE 10, 1882.

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