THE

THE HEEL OF A SLIPPER.

'HE thing had lain on Higgleston's dresser for two weeks past without exciting comment. He had rather expected that it would have aroused lively interest before this time; however the other students, who strolled into his room of evenings, either did not or appeared not to notice it. One would hardly expect to find a lady's slipper-heel among a litter of musty books possessed by a Yale student-at least one of the Higgleston type, who devoted all his waking hours to a special course in metaphysics, and was reputed to read the Koran daily—in the original.

Perhaps it was VanDock who first noticed it, and perhaps Roberts. Neither said anything about his discovery to the other, or to the rest. When Roberts saw it he only stood on one leg (his habit when flunking), gave a low whistle and muttered to himself, "Murder will out. We shall hear the story some day." He knew Higgleston would never divulge save of his own free will and accord. Higgleston's Buddhistic researches had schooled him to enjoy mysteries, not to explode them needlessly.

When VanDock saw it, he went out across the expanse of campus (there was grass upon it in those days) and said half aloud, "if the thing were not so infernally prepossessing, the case would not be half as interesting. White kid covering the slipper must have been a little one, the heel is so dainty-or may be it was a shoe-no, I don't believe it was, women don't wear white kid shoes often, except when they get married." Then he thrust his hands deep in his pockets and walked meditatively away wishing in the depths of his heart that some time he might see the girl who had worn it.

VanDoeck's room was next to Higgleston's. Books covered Higgleston's floor-so did they Van Doeck's, but Van had kicked most of his under the washstand, where the dust of years accumulated undisturbed. This showed

the characteristics of his nature. He was a dreamermuch unlike his over-practical neighbor whom most people considered a partly revivified mummy.

"I wish I knew her name," Van found himself repeating as he stood before his open fire that night winding his watch. How did old Hieroglyphics get it, I wonder? Perhaps it's his sister's-but he told me he had no sister, confound it."

It was past midnight and he had started to retire, when he found he was not sleepy. He would sit and dream awhile. From his table he took his briar-wood, lit it, and wrapped himself in a bluish haze of smoke, and thoughts as idly wandering. Fancy after fancy wove itself out of smoke. First a ball-room, then a theatre or a stretch of desolate country, but always an airy creature floating about in white slippers, one of which was heelless, or both as the case might be. Sometimes Higgleston appeared in the background leering or smiling-which would be synonymous with him-sometimes weeping; always acting very differently from the real Higgleston. At times he did not appear at all; but once he imagined him trying white slippers on the scrawny toes of an Egyptian mummy, who gradually metamorphosed into a society belle in white kid gloves.

An hour later, Roberts, who had been writing a thesis on something or other, came into the room to borrow some tobacco, and a certain volume on the manufacture of car-wheels. There sat Van Doeck, bolt upright in his chair, his legs crossed and a slipper-heel poised on his knee.

"Wake up, Van," suggested Roberts, rolling a dumbbell across the floor by way of emphasis. Van began to stretch out and yawn. "Tell me, where do you fellows get so many boot-heels," continued Roberts, "is that the mate to Higgles'?" "No, I took it out of Hig's room. I wanted to see if there wasn't blood on it," and putting it fumblingly into the pocket of his dressing-gown, dozed off again. The other dumb-bell was raised four feet and dropped. Van rose with a jerky movement and looked

around. "Ha, ha, Bobby, is that you-must have been snoozing. What? tobacco you said you wanted? Here; and you'll find the car-wheels under the table."

Roberts, as if he had surprised the enemy sleeping, changed the subject saying unconcernedly, "Have you seen Higgleston's slipper-heel? Brown told me Henley had pointed it out to him, and I went in and saw it myself this morning." VanDock holding the heel tightly in the confines of his pocket, answered that he would go in tomorrow and have a look at the curio. When Roberts was gone and the whole building quiet, Van, seeing Higgleston's door ajar, stole in and laid something white on the dresser.

Next evening Higgleston was surprised to find himself holding a soirée, Roberts, Brown, Henley, two other students-names of little consequence, and VanDock were there. VanDock had been chosen spokesman. "About that slipper-heel-" he began.

Higgleston fairly danced with joy-they had noticed it at last. "Oh," said he, taking it from the dresser and holding it up. "A practical little invention of mine. You see it can't come off. I'll put a screw through this corner, you know, and a longer one in the back, and clinch them underneath. I've got the patent already. It'll be sure to sell."

Edward M. Weyer.

THE LESSON OF MACAULAY'S UNIVERSITY LIFE.

MACAULAY'S History of England is a work so

great that it has effectually crowded out of the world's memory many of his earlier claims to prominence ; claims greater than those which have given reputation to men of much less ability. We sometimes forget that he was enough of a poet to have written the "Lays of Ancient Rome;" we have to be reminded that he was the most popular public speaker of his day, and that he was the jurist who drew up the civil code by which England governs India. Yet if we are to believe his critics - worthy and worthless, from Gladstone and Bagehot to Gilfillan-Macaulay's natural endowments of mind were all mechanical; he gained his greatest strength from his ability to read with phenomenal rapidity, and the unfailing memory that retained, as if photographically, everything he read. His brilliancy of achievement is altogether owing to his honest use of these two talents.

Perhaps one deserves little credit for devoting himself to the object of an inborn love. Reading was an inborn love with him-a household servant has given us a pretty picture of the future historian dressed in a nankeen frock and perched on the edge of a kitchen table, laying down the law out of a book so large that it almost cut him off from the sight of his adiniring audience-but at least Macaulay deserves all praise for turning his inclination to such good uses.

Macaulay entered Cambridge with sound moral principles, with an unexceptionable classical preparation, but a little overstudious and inclined to seclusion. University life wrought a complete change in the latter regard. His father, Zachary Macaulay, as an ardent abolitionist, was much concerned with the political measures of the day, and on such points there was the closest sympathy between father and son. The political discussions in the

Cambridge Union could not fail to bring young Macaulay forward. The times were stirring and ennobling for patriotic spirits. University men went into politics, not with the purpose of deriving amusement, but because their beliefs led them to support one side or the other with honest fervor. Among Macaulay's close friends were many who were to be associated with him in his public life. A debate in the dingy room of the Cambridge Union back of the Red Lion Inn, often included the future Lord Grey, Romilly, Derwent Coleridge, Charles Villiers and Praed. Feeling ran so high that the conservative authorities of the University forbade the discussion of current political topics-a prohibition which it was not difficult to evade. With his inexhaustible store of facts, his great vocabulary and his ready wit, Macaulay became an almost invincible debater. Charles Austin was the only man who ever succeeded in arguing Macaulay down, either in the Union or in the smaller gatherings at their lodgings. To the wholesome defeats administered by him the historian was indebted for whatever broad catholicism he showed later..

Their arguments were not confined to politics. Any question, religious, literary or economic, would start a contest of minds and words that was only to be stopped by physical considerations. Sometimes the whole party would sit up all night quarreling over subjects of a nature kindred to Wordsworth's right to the title of poet, and, for the sake of keeping awake until early chapel, the discussion would be continued in a long walk across the misty fields at early dawn. That the substance of these talks was not merely the idle wordiness of college boys may be gathered from the well-known story of the all day argument between Macaulay and Charles Austin at Lord Lansdowne's, where they fell into a difference upon college topics at breakfast, and after adjourning to opposite sides of the fire-place held the whole company," ladies, artists, politicians and diners-out "-in silent attention, with a slight break for lunch, until warned by the bell that it was time to dress for dinner.