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Gymnase de l'Hôpital des Enfans Malades,' in the French department. It is intended to represent the internal arrangements of the exercise room of the Hospital for Sick Children at Paris, with the swings, bars, poles, trapèzes, and other gymnastic apparatus. All is very nicely arranged, and it is impossible to avoid seeing how peculiarly French the little damsels are, in their neatly cut grey frocks and trousers: they are little women every one of them, let their ages be what they may. There is, in one of the English departments, a model of an English school-room with its pupils, and of a school-fête under some trees; the children, whether well modelled or not, are children; whereas 'enfans de Paris' are men and women on a small scale before they are well out of the nursery.

Pity the sorrows of the wedding cake! Here it is, with some of the pinnacles distorted, some of the fairies and Cupids broken, the wreaths of sugar, orange, and other blossoms displaced, the Temple of Hymen in a state of dilapidation grievous to behold, and the frosted adornments sadly broken up. The exhibitor declares, in a tone of grief, that the cake was worth one hundred pounds sterling, and it came to sorrow on account of the carelessness of some of the persons employed about the building. Another little history is associated with the two beautiful globes of rock crystal in the Japanese department. One fine day, the first fine day perhaps, in the present wet summer, an attendant policeman saw smoke rising from the mahogany stand on which these globes are placed. In an

official fright at the ominous appearance he called for aid, and would, if necessary, have called out a whole brigade of fire-engines. The affair, however, proved to be very innocent, and, in a scientific point of view, rather interesting. Each globe had acted as a burning-glass, conveying the sun's rays to a focus at a particular point on the mahogany stand, and there producing so intense a heat as to char the wood. The globes have been more carefully housed since that time. Another contribution to the Exhibition has, if we remember rightly, been removed from its original place, not for the crime of burning holes in wood, but for the possible burning of holes in the feelings of any Southerners who may be among us. It was the newspaper trophy. The title-headings of about a hundred American newspapers were cut off and pasted edge to edge on a monster board; a queer collection they formed, but among them were only seven or eight southern journals; and the exhibitor had painted a serpent wreathing his coils around those seven or eight -a bit of symbolical politics which was deemed a little out of place in such a building.

One final word of praise for the French popgun boy. He is a genius. He sits all day long popping his guns, as a means of showing young gentlemen that the said guns must necessarily be cheap at sixpence a piece; and while he pops, he reads; his popping does not require the aid of eye-sight, and therefore he can proceed steadily with his book, while the tremendous shots go off at the rate of about three per minute.

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THE STORY OF A WIFE'S SECRET, A HUSBAND'S TRUST, AND A FRIEND'S STRATEGY.

BY THE AUTHOR OF THE HOUSE IN PICCADILLY.'

CHAPTER VIII.

IN WHICH SIR ULRIC LYSTER IS RELIEVED OF MUCH ANXIETY.

'ON the whole then, you don't think much of the place, Flora?' said Philip, disappointedly, the next morning, as, after having made the tour of the house under Horace Greville's auspices, they were left alone in a pale-blue frayed satin saloon.

'Yes, I do, Philip; at least, not much, perhaps; but I should like it very well if we had it all to ourselves

to alter and improve inside and out.'

All to ourselves, what are you driving at, Flo? you surely wouldn't have me, when a fellow has been so kind as Greville has, hint at such a thing as his going; here he has given up his chambers and come down here, where he must have been precious dull, by-the-by, to superintend

affairs for me; and now, because I don't absolutely want him any longer, you would have me turn him out.'

Mr. Morton stirred the fire vehemently, and Mrs. Morton had a 'great mind' to tell her husband the real secret of her dislike to Horace Greville, whom she doubted more than ever now; but she remembered the pretty Spanish cousin, and-dared not.

'I don't want you to turn him out, Philip, only I think we shall find it unpleasant if he means to take up his abode with us altogether.' 'Nonsense.'

'I am sure his manner was unpleasant to me, at least, when he spoke just now of Charles's marriage (though Charlie has behaved abominably), and of its being reported that Kate Elton is going to marry that odious Sir Ulric-a thing I do not believe.'

'He only mentioned it as a report, Flo; besides, it is true enough, probably; all women are not like you; I dare say Kate Elton is quite capable of being in love with one man desperately, and a few weeks after marrying another; it is despicable, but possible enough. Do get rid of that sort of capricious, womanish jealousy against Greville, my darling. I owe the fellow a deeper debt of gratitude than you are aware of (Morton almost thought that Greville had first caused him to regard Flora now he was defending him), and I should be sorry if my wife rendered my house unpleasant to him.'

'Debt of gratitude! Why, what has he done, Philip? the place must have been a barn, a wilderness, if he has done much to improve it.'

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'It was all awfully out of repair, he says,' answered Philip; we are going out now to select a spot for a sort of Italian garden for you; he has drawn some splendid plans for it, and I am anxious to see them carried out. What are you going to do this morning, Flo?'

'Write to Kate Elton; you will not stay all the morning with Mr. Greville, will you, Philip?'

'No, no; I shall be back in half an hour.' But he was not; for Horace had a great deal to say to

him. So Morton had to listen to suggested improvements, and to hear how much they would cost. The sums seemed large, but then, of course, Greville knew best about such matters, and it must be all right.

Philip Morton was no match for subtle Horace Greville. In spite of the unfeigned desire the former had to please his lovely wife, he found himself, on the spur of a slight hint from Greville, relative to going away,' giving the last-named gentleman a warm invitation to remain where he was through all time, if he liked; and someway or other, in so doing, he felt himself the obliged party. It did occur to him once or twice that his new friend was blessed with very extravagant notions respecting the adornment of his new home; but then he immediately acknowledged that all these notions were strictly correct, and only pointed to making the place what it should be.

Time went on. Still the hitherto useless man of fashion appeared to be acting the part of indefatigable agent for his friend. Still Flora had to submit to his presence in her house and his growing influence with her husband without a word of remonstrance. And still no answer came from Kate Elton as to whether the report of her marriage with Sir Ulric was true or not.

Sir Ulric Lyster was alone in his bachelor quarters in Duke Street. A change had come o'er the spirit of his dream. He was beginning to look upon bachelor quarters, and all appertaining to bachelor and sporting life, with disgust, since he had learned to look on Saint Kevin as faulty, and on Kate Elton as fair. How he wished he had never owned and believed in that terrible horse on whom he had staked so much! How he wished he had abjured the turf before Saint Kevin's much vaunted excellences had tempted him! He was hopeless almost; for, in spite of the good name Saint Kevin still had before the world, his owner was constantly hearing, from the best authority, that both he and his horse would be nowhere. How he dreaded that fatal reckoning day in the not far distant month of June

that would surely come! Were it not for that wretched horse, a little ready money, three or four thousand pounds, would set him straight with the world; leave him his large income clear, and at liberty to claim the hand of Miss Elton. But now ruin stared him in the face. Sir Ulric Lyster was in very low spirits indeed; his breakfast was untasted; cigars were powerless to console him; so was the only light literature he had ever cared to peruse-his 'Book on the Derby.' For what would this hated book' bring him now but shame and confusion? He was unhappy, cross, and savagely expectant of some one coming whom he thought ought to have been with him earlier. George Berners used not to keep me waiting,' he murmured plaintively to himself, and then he wished he had not confided all his griefs and hopes so entirely to his friend, his pecuniary griefs and his hopes about pretty Kate Elton; for Berners sneered at the one and chaffed him unmercifully about the other. But even while he was indulging in vain retrospections the Honourable George Berners came into the room.

'Heard anything about Saint Kevin?' he asked, as he seated himself opposite to Sir Ulric.

Heard anything! Now, why on earth should you ask me that, Berners? you know I hear about the brute through you alone; what is there to hear now; something pleasant, I suppose?'

'I should call it pleasant were I in your place, I know that; wouldn't you be glad to get rid of him and everything connected with him, now?'

Sir Ulric made a gesture of utter despair at the improbability of so much happiness.

'Oh, nonsense, look here now; I have heard to-day that you can sell him and his liabilities to a man who is flat enough to believe him a good horse and a winning one for-how much should you think?'

'Don't know,' answered Sir Ulric, suppressing all he could of satisfaction.

'How much should you suppose, now?'

'Who's the man?'

'My dear fellow! that I really can't tell you; he writes-Smith is his name he writes, you see, to me, as I have been acting for you throughout, and offers you three thousand for your horse and your chances.'

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Then Saint Kevin is safe enough,' said Sir Ulric, rising and gazing stedfastly at his friend, then Saint Kevin is safe enough, and I shall keep him.'

The colour flashed over Berners' face.

Really Sir Ulric,' he said stiffly, 'I am sorry I should have had anything to do with your affairs at all; your determination to keep him is made rather too late, for I have closed with the offer and directed the sum to be placed to your credit at your bankers.

Then, by heavens you've cheated me,' exclaimed Sir Ulric, fiercely, 'not but that I shall be glad enough to be clear of the transaction-but to close with a man without asking

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'After such an accusation,' said Berners, rising slowly and crushing the little baronet into nothingness by his height, and his elevated Roman nose, and his measured accents, we can only meet in one way.'

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Oh, bother,' said Sir Ulric, who was no duellist, you needn't want to shoot me, man, after-after all you know; come now-I apologize for the expression I used; there's my hand on it!'

But the Honourable George Berners was stern; no, he said, at any rate all intercourse must cease between them. As he left, Sir Ulric muttered, What has he come in for, I wonder?' And Berners said to himself, So far all's well; he never suspected Greville of being the man; how could Greville have raised the sum?'

How had he raised the sum?

In

various ways. In the first place, he had been rather lax in the payments Philip Morton had supposed he had made. He had kept back a good Ideal, but not enough, he feared, to buy Saint Kevin and his chances, and to give Berners the sum that gentleman wanted for his management

of the affair. To his surprise, Philip, generous, trustful, careless of money as he was, had scrutinized of late the regularity of the payments. True, Philip did not look back at all, or ask for accounts; but there was little to be made through acting for his friend, now that his friend had come home; for unfortunately, Philip seemed inclined to act, very clearly and sensibly, and in a business-like manner, for himself. Horace Greville bided his time; this was his last chance, and he determined not to mar his brightening fortunes through any ill-advised impatience or conscientious scruples. For the furtherance of his plans it was necessary that he should work the mine of Flora's fear through Flora's love for her husband; and he resolved upon doing it when time should serve, though to do so would, he knew, and acknowledged to himself, be cowardly.

CHAPTER IX.

THE WIFE'S MISGIVINGS. London was pouring itself in hilarious streams down to the first rose and azalea show of the season at the Crystal Palace. It was announced to be a wonderfully attractive day: in addition to the flowers, Titiens and Giuglini were to sing, and Blondin was to thrill the public mind with admiring horror; all these combined with the bright May day sun overhead to draw continuous streams by road and rail. And amongst those who came were Philip Morton, his wife and friend.

The sun, and the flowers, and the music, and the little excitement of the acrobatic performance, all tended to develop the exuberance of that sun and flower and music-loving nature of Philip Morton's. He was in exceedingly high, brightly-overflowing spirits; and as he walked about with his beautiful wife on his arm, his pride in her loveliness and grace had no slight share in these good spirits. He did not notice that Flora's cheek was paler, and Flora's eyes more serious this day than they were wont to be; he did not notice that her replies were efforts, that her smiles were called

up with difficulty, instead of spontaneously illumining her face, as they had ever done before in answer to him. He did not observe that the hand resting upon his arm was a trembling, nervous hand; in fact, though a fond and loving lord, he did not observe that the spirit of his wife was greatly disturbed about something. Had he done so his vivacity would have received a check at once; but he did not, therefore his vivacity remained unchecked, and he himself as free from care as were the flowers that bloomed in such fragrant luxuriance-as free from care as, apparently, was Horace Greville himself.

Apparently only: Horace Greville was as softly deferential to Mrs. Morton as ever, and as frankly lively in his manner to her husband; but not the less was he secretly anxious and uncomfortable. Before starting from the tumble-down Italian villa that morning he had asked a favour with threatening suavity of the mistress of it; and though his request had not met with a denial, it had not been granted exactly; and, as Saint Kevin must be his at all hazards, Horace Greville was anxious and uncomfortable.

Flora Forrester had dearly loved Philip before their marriage, but since that event her love had merged into that passionate, all-absorbing devotion for him that can never be quite unmixed with a latent fear of losing, or doing something to risk the loss of some portion of his regard. She had, at an early stage of their acquaintance, resolved upon never, never letting him know that she had once, even for so short a time, nourished a feeling of tendernessscarcely that indeed-for a ' man so inferior to him in every way'-she said to herself now-as Horace Greville. This knowledge, should he ever come to it, would, she shudderingly thought, surely sow the seeds of distrust of her in his mind; there was madness in the thought. He would be tied, bound to her legally, but he would think lightly of her heart as lightly as he had done in days of yore of the pretty Spanish cousin. She did not take into consi

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