In Mr.Presley's sonnet, 'The Better Part,' there is the same note as in your picture, the same sincerity of tone, the same subtlety of touch, the same nuances,--ah." "Oh, my dear Madame," murmured the artist, interrupting Presley's impatient retort; "I am a mere bungler.

You don't mean quite that, I am sure.

I am too sensitive.

It is my cross.

Beauty," he closed his sore eyes with a little expression of pain, "beauty unmans me." But Mrs.Cedarquist was not listening.