A CONFIDENTIAL AGENT:

BY JAMES PAYN,

AUTnOR OF "'By Proxy," "Under One Roof," "Walter's Word," "High Spirits," Etc.

CHAPTER XLVII.

WITH niCEBE JIAYSON.

TIAYINO biought Mr Barlow to the door of No. 53, the waiter discreetly left him there to proceed as he thought fit, for which that gentleman hardly knew whether to be grateful or otherwise, the business on hand being such a very delicate one. However, the more he thought about it the less he felt very sure he was likely to like it, so he knocked gently with his knuckles. There was no answer, but he beard a rustle 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 iv the same loom with the speaker, but not face to face with her. She had been sitting, as lie con jectured, by the door, but had hastily moved away at his summons and retired into a re cess near the window, where 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 were not stand ing in, but had only just beon swept away, and their traces, notwithstanding the pre caution she had taken, were distinct enough to him.

'"Your business, sir?" she inquired sbarply, in a tone of annoyance rather than alarm, though she looked frightened also. " It is with Mr Butt," said Mr Barlow. "My husband it; not in. Did they not tell you so at the gate 1" "Yes madam; but they could give no other information— .such as when ho would be likely to return, for example—so I ven tured to come 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 take it for granted that you are aware of his object in coming to Pan« ?" She hesitated and changed colour; her eyes glanced round the little sitting-room, as if in search of something that .might be lying on chair or table ; then she answered ; '■ No ; 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 ?"

"That can scarcely be your business, sir," she replied haughtily, and drawing her self up toner full height, She was cer tainly very beautiful; more so by far than her picture made her out to bo though at that moment, being possce and so far not herself, she resembled it more than at 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 liad called into her check.

*' Pray forgive mc if I appear rndo, ma dam," continued Mr Barlow. "My mis sion is so urgent." "Still it can hardly concern mc, sir," she put in. "Pardon me, but it does, madam—at least partly. lam come here on behalf of one whom both of you have wronged, though sot indeed in proportion." "I have wronged no ono." " Not wilfully, madam, let us bono; though it iv difficult for one to believe that you are unaware that Mr Butt, as he calls himself, is a married man,"

" Married I How dare you say so? Ii is false."

She spoke with passion, but not, as Mr Barlow thought, with that indignation which a woman who had really been decei ved would have exhibited-! Indeed, now he came to thiuk of it, it wasdiardly possible that Phcebe Mayson, hoVVevcr, cut off by her own act from her former life and its sources of information, could have been ig norant of Matthew's marriage. "Unhappily, madam, it is true. Yon Lave been tho cause, even though it bo tho unconscious cause, of the 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 are you a madman ?" "My name is Frank Barlow; shall I toll you what was yours before you became Lucy Mortlock, or Mrs Bntt? It was Phicbc Mayson."

She had advanced a step or two in her excitement, but now 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 had a pitiful touch in it which did not escape the other's ear.

"To me, indeed, nothin.," he replied, but everything to her whom you have wronged. "If you were anyone but Phoebe Miyson, who won his first love and cast it from you, neither your beauty nor any wiles at your 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 notonly seduced him from his home and the true hcartsthat loved him, but you have been tho cause—is it pos sible you cannot know it ?—of his forsaking the path of honesty and disgracing his name and nature. Yes, woman, it lies at your door, and no other's, that Matthew Helston is a thief."

" Mattthew Helston I" She clasped her hands to her bosom nnd stared at him in amazement. "Matthew Helston?' she reiterated. " What do you know of him ? or rather what lies are these you have heard about him nnd dare to repeat to me—to mc? Matthew Helston a thief I He is an angel I He is a man without a fault, except that years ago he trusted to a woman's word. I thought myself debased and shamed be yond all human creatures," she exclaimed with sudden vehemence, " but you, you slanderer and blasphemer; you a*rc viler yet," Mr Barlow answered nothing, but quietly took from his pocket a newspaper contain ing the qffer of the reward for Helston's apprehcnsion,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 1" inquired Mr Barlow.quietly. " Have you any evidence to prove the contrary." ''I know it because I know tot," she answered,' " Evidence! Do you think a

man who hus, bceu scorned and cheated, and

forgives " '• One moment, madam," interposed the lawyer earnestly "You are altogether in i error iv supposing that I wish aught but good to Matttrcw 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. "I would 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 tbe lawyer gravely," but it is pos«ible. There are passages in his life, it appears, of whioh those who thought they knew him best are ignorant. It you will, you can throw lightnpon them, and in so doing, it may be, cost a gleam on what is at present the profoundest mystery^ He lias be>n lost to wife and child nnd 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 lied with you to France."

"With me? No, no, sir," she answered in a genile, piteous voice. "He has been good and kind to mc, but his loye for me is dead. How should it be otherwise, since l am 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 enough, but, since it has run through muddy ways, ho turns from it with loathing. So it was with him and me. I never loved him as he should be lovod, fori was never worthy, but for the sake of the old times, and though all was soil and sin with mo, he took com passion on mc. There was a man, no matter who, for whom I forsook him. After a little this man grew tired of mo and cast me oil'— as I deserved. Then I fell lower and lower. Once, lately, Matthew Hclston saw me in the street and spoke to me—words that he meant for kindness, but which were coals of lire. Hejwasbut poor himself, yot be ollcrcd mc help—which 1 refused—to lift mo from the mire. But I took my own way. This man who calls himself Mr. Butt oil'ered me marriage. To be the wife of even one liko him (Ood help mc) was promotion. Why, you arc asking yourself, should ho have conferred it on mc. 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 hii; that no honest woman would have married him, and that to those of the baser sort 1 was superior in many ways. Not a very exalted estimate, you will say, of my poor merits ; yet it seems I had appraised them far too high. He went through the form of marriage, in deed ; but I have reason to know that it was null and void; and so far (I say it, though a woman—so you may judge what I have suffered) I am thankful to him."

Her tone throughout was ono of the deepest humiliation and despondency, save whon she spoke of the man passing as her husband, when the memory of recent cruelty and insult seemed to rouse a momentary bitterness.

Mr, Barlow, though • scandalised, was touched. Whatever r-ins this woman had comniited, he felt she had been punished lor them. W

"If this man is not your husband," ho said gently, "you can escape from him. If my advice can be of my service—or you require the means to return to England •'I thank you, sir," she said, with less, of gratitude, however, in her tone than self contempt, " but what becomes of me is a small matter. Wc were speaking of Mat thew Helston."

"True; I was in hopes that you could tell me how this Mr Butt was in possctsion of the fadt that Helston was in Paris and endeavouring to dispose of the jewels. That it is so I have reason to know, since I hive just come from M. Montour, a diamond merchant "

"In the Rue dc Bris ?" interrupted tho other.

" Yes : bow 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 camo about. There is something amiss wi»h them, I'm certain. I thought thoy might be lying about the room when you came in, which frightened mc."

" Have you ever seen them t" inquired the lawyer quickly. •'Yes; Mr Bntt showed them to me quito recently." "Arc they like these?" inquired Mr Barlow, producing the drawing of the parure. She sliook 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 were con firmed before you put your questions. This man, however—my husband, as he is called —haa 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. "See here, this is a full length portrait of Matthew Helston ; does it bear any resemblance to Mr Butt?"

Again she shook her head. " Not in 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 have said, dissatisfied and gloomy." Mr Barlow struck his palms together with a cry of triumph.

" It is as I suspected ; though unlike to the eye, the descriptions of thee two men tally tolerably well. Helston never went to the Rue de Bris, but only Mr Butt. And Mr Butt is Captain Langton." "It.is possible," returned the other coolly. "He told mc but yesterday thai 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 Helston on that night in Moor Street, even if this Langton is the thief, remains as dark as ever."

"Moor Street. Moor Street?" repeated the other; "where have I seen that name before ?"

"Think, madam, think," exclaimed the lawyer earnestly. " Everything may hang upon your reply." " No, I remember now," she said after a moment's reflection ; " I havo heard it spoken of." ' "Bywhom? 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 atone shall be

left unturned to aid you in your disco- TOl'V." "But that may get you into trouble; the man is, by your own showing, a ruffian, and as we have now reason to believe, in desperate case." "I told you that for Matthew Hclstons sake I would lay down my life," sho inter rupted vehemently. " But you nocd not fear on my account. I am a match for him iv wits, and will be careful. That re minds me that he may return at any moment. He must not find you here. Give me your address, and trust to me. To morrow morning, at latest—perhaps to night—you will have a line from me." "But money may ho wanting," urged Mr Barlow, producing his pursc_ "No, no," she cried imploringly; "I have a few shillings of my own, which will be sufficient; let me do him what good I can at my own cost. Go, go, and trust to me." . ..... Mr Barlow did trust imp lcitlv 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 intercsis; but of tbe result he was far ffrom sanguine. That Langtmi was at all events a parti cipator in the robbery m Moo. Street he had little doubt; that the diamonds in his possession were Lady Pargiter's he was al most certain, since M. Montour had recog nised then. ; but the jrroof of this, ho felt, would be far from easy. If the girl had still possessed any bold upon Langton's affections She might, perhaps, have wormed out of him something of groat importance; but it was plain that the ill-.ifsorted pair had quarrelled. The man must know that, every moment during which the jewels remained undisposed or, bis position was growing more perilous; he was al ready, she bad said, suspicious and alarm ed ; how was it possible, then, that she could throw him off his guard, so as to obtain from him any information? She had promised to search his effects, but it was very improbable that ho would suffer anything of a compromising character to be in existence. If even he couldbc seized (which he could not, since there was no warrant for his apprehension), and the dia monds found upon him, that would only affect the man himself—it wonld not bring him (Mr Barlowjonc hair's-brcadth nearer to the object of his mission. He went back to his hotel, locked him self into his room, and set to work to think the matter over; but it surprised himself, considering the strength of tho impressions and suspicions which crowded his mind, how very little he could make of them as regarded Matthew. That Lnngton, indeed, had an object in repre senting Helston as the thief was evident; but there was no sort of clue to bis having any real knowledge either of him or his whereabouts.

In the cud he wrote a long and minute account of all that had come to his know ledge since his arrival in Paris to Mr Brail; and bade him hold himself in readiness to act at once on the receipt of any telegram.

Up to midnight, at which hour ho retired to seek the rest he so much needed, no message had arrived for him from Phoebe Mayson.

CHAPTER XLVIIL THE VICTIM.

Notwithstanding .his anxieties and the eider-down quilt, Mr Barlow slept soundly for some hours, and would doubtless have continued to sleep, but for a very curious circumstance. He had been dreaming, of course, of Amy, There were some obstacles to his union with her (quite different to those which really existed), and ho had overcome them by running away with her (which in real life he would certainly never have dreamt of), only he had no money to pay the coachman, who was (naturally enough) ver} impatient.

" I am the coachman," the man was say ing. "Remember the coachman, coach man, coachman." When he wont so far as to poke Mr Barlow in the ribs with his whip-handle tbnt gentleman awoke, and found himself in the presence of two soldiers in uniform, one of whom was bringing tke rays of a dark lantern to beaj directly upon his half closed eyes, and the other was ad dressing him as " Cochon,"

" Who the deuce are you ?" exclaimed Mr. Barlow with all aiiEnglishnian'sindignation at this intrusion in his apartment, and espe cially at a military occupation of it. " We arc hero in the name of the law," was the reply in French, "You must come along with us immediately."

One word of this only. " lot," was intelli gible to Mr. Barlow, but it 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 pillow and pro duced a phrase-book and a pocket.dictionary, which never left tho neighbourhood of his person, and by the aid of the former he in quired what they wanted, and what was the matter.

By the aid of the latter he learnt that ho was wanted at the Hotel de la Fontaine, and that the causo was Murder.

" Great Heavens I it must be poor Phoebe Mayson," cried ho, with a start of horror; " and that villain Langion must have done it."

His excitement and indignation were so extreme that the manifestation of them, bad he been accused of tho crime, would in all probability— duly manipulatedby the Judge of Instruction—liavc 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 remoivc. It flashed upon him in an instant that the poor girl had come to her death at the hands of Tier paramour in the performance of tho service that ho (Barlow) had himself suggested. For the first time in his life—or at all events since he hud served his articles—lie burst into expressions which were certainly not to be found in his French dictionary. The beauty of the woman, the wretchedness of her situation, hor tenderness, her resolution (alas I so sclf-saerilicing) to obtain at all risks sonic tidings of her lost iovc, recurred to him with terrible force \-ind distinctness, and stirred his nature to its depths. "The wild beast of force that lives within jibe sinews of man" was aroused within him. For the moment the one wish of this peace-loving, law abiding man was f o find himself face to face with her assassin.

As he passed out of the gate between tho two gendarmes, and got, into the^ocrc 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 1 He is English." But even if lie had understood liim Mr. Barlow would have cared nothing.

" Ed-il mart /"inquired the poor fellow of his companions piteously, at which they shrugged their shoulders, smiled, and (thinking, of course, from his use of the masculine, that he referred to the criminal), replied, " Well, not at present. The little knife" (their euphemism for tbe guillotine) " does not work quite so quick." But as it happened poor Pheebo was rot dead—only dying and speechless, as the Commissary of Police, who was in waitiDg at the door of the hotel, informed Mr Bar low in broken English. The criminal was in custody elsewhere, but pauvrc Madame

was upstairs, aud wished to see him. He wa« conducted to the same roomia which he had seen her a few hours ago,but which was now occupied by certain official per sons One of them, zjitge depaix,intoimed him in English that he had been taking the declaration of Madame, who lay in the inner apartment. A doctor was with her, vfho wouldipresently summon Monsieur to her bedside. ' " Is there no hope 2" inquired Mr Barlow, deeply affected. The 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 bleeding has been arrested ' for the moment, but not before she swooned away. Ma foil-what carnage— and what beauty 1 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 in deed, but a martyr. He bowed his head in grave acquiescence, and asked it it was known why the crime had been committed. The jitdge de paix, a bright little old man, who applied himself to his snuff-box every other minute in a manner that sug gested the pecking of a bird, here shrugged his shoulders and held bis bead and hand sideways, as though he were clasping an invisible Punch's baton. "Ah, well, 1 suppose it was the old stoiy. 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 riian's, not hers ; she was socking for information on a friend's account, not her own, which, as I apprehended, this fellow resented." "Resented! Ma foi! There is no doubt that he killed her for it. He was a powerful man, and one stab, as I have said, would have been her deathblow; but in bis passion he struck again and again." " Great Heavens I 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 jiacked his carpet bag, and would have got clean off but lor the police, who in Paris are intelligent, prompt, and vigilant to a degree that is astonishing," It was curious, and struck Sir 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 wao not on account of the murder that they were here at all; that was merely a fortunate coincidence ; they came to arrest the man for another crime." " Indeed 1"

" 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 wc caught a murderer." This tidings, so wholly unexpected, would, under any other circumstances, have both astonished and interested Mr Barlow ; but just now more serious affairs were pressing upon him. "Bow was it," he inquired, "that 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 " Here 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 the fate of the dead was lorgotten in the interests of the living. " Has she, then, died in vain,"thought he, 1' 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 poor Phaebe, 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 little 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 wc have put them straight." "In our country," answered Mr Barlow in his judicial tone (for his tender feelings had got the better of him, and of course lie was ashamed of them), " everything would havo 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 arc a nation that cannot under any circumstances forget our politeness." And the French man bowed, with the palms of his hands outwards, as if in illustration of his remark.

"You have done everythhig you could for my poor countrywoman, aud I thank you," said Mr Barlow, warmly, "You spoke of some memorandum."

" Yes ; I have it hero. 1 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 breast-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 the saddest of billet-doux. The blood on it is madame's" heart's blood. It is torn, too. My impres sion is that there was a struggle for it, during which she thrust it into her bosom, where we found it. In his rage and fear the assassin, after he had stabbed her, must have forgotten it." With lingers that trembled as much with emotion as with anxiety Mr Barlow un folded the note, which was literally sodden with blood. Tho words were straggling, hardly legible, and bad evidently been written iv great haste or excitement. "M. H. is still in Moor No—— starving. For God's—haste l\

The blanks occurred in tho places where the paper had been torn oil". "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, ■ ... "Thenlook, sir. In any other case it would have been my duty to retain it; but in'such circumstances as these, when the assassin lias, 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 ouch 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 he turned for a last look at poor Phoebe. As be gazed upon the pale, sweet face, never more to know remorse or dis grace, be felt something cold placed gently in his hand. 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 his pocket-book, " Madame is in heaven ; monsieur will * consequently meet her again," said the jugc de pair, consolingly. In bis own mind ! he had not the shadow [of 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 teeth arc worse.

Poverty is in want of much, but avarice of everything.

Wc arc no longer happy so soon as we wish to be happier. Life without love can be bdrnc, but life without honour, never.

Adversity links men together; prosperity is apt to scatter them. The winner is he who gives himself to his work body and soul.

You will seldom find an attorney at law. That business don't suit.

A man is known by bis works, If yon would keep shady, don't work. Sensitive people wish to bo loved; vain people wish only to be preferred. It is easy to look down upoh others; to look down on ourselves is the difficulty.

If you want little, spend little, and if yon 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, I

Out in the world men show us two sides to their character—by their fireside only one.

We polish marble, not clay. If one wonld be a polished gentleman he must have solidity.

No evil propensity of the human mind is so powerful that' it may not be subdued by discipline.

To enjoy the pleasures of wealth thou; shouldst 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 bis bosom.

We gain much in avoiding the failings of others as we do in imitating that in which tbey excel.

■ If a boy gets on the wrong "track" it shows that hia father's " switch " hasnot had a fair chance.

Fix upon that course of life which is the most excellent, and habit will render it the mo9t delightful. If a man really wants to know ,of how little importance he is let 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 that every body ought to reform, and as for ourselves —well, we are 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 he saw wax models of hands of all shapes and sizes. Fat hands, thin, bony hands some with long fingers, some with short—hands as they should be and hands as they should not be. Oppo site this a show-case contained an assort ment of soaps, salves and lotions, and a lot of gloves, coarse and clumsy, that seemed strangely out of place in a locality devoted to hand beauty. They were cosmetic gloves, 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 still more powerful. They contained as strong agents as can safely be applied to the nanus, and cannot be used when the skin is'chapped, scratched or broken in any place. Thoy 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 fingers. Tapering fingers are not an impos sibility, ladies are willing to undergo inconvenience and injury lor the sake of tapering waists, but make no effort to im prove the shape cf their hands.' The reporter bad his hands treated, and thus describos the 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 touciicd with some acid on a bit _of chamois skin, and tbe hands were anointed with cold cream and hold in warm towels until dry. This process being completed, the doctor requested his patient to sit before a table near a window, and seating himself opposite and 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 ones are considered unlucky. Both are ugly, however, and if you havo no prejudices I will remove tbem ?" and so sayingbc applied a black, pitchy substance that 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 \f'a,s removed from the nails the fingers wore 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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