army, three millions, the navy, two millions, and one million for contin-

gencies. 'The Black Sea and Sea of Azof ports will be able to export 5,000,000 quar ters of wheat at the conclusion of peace.

The Russians occupied Sanidie re doubt, which is part of the Constanti nople line ot defence. The head-quarters of the Turkish army of defence is removed to Stefans. The Thrks are hurriedly erecting'earth works, on the Kujuk Chemoedji line of defence.

It is reported that the Austrian Minister of Finance goes to London on a special mission.

A deputation of the working men’s national committee urged Mr. Glad stone to address a meeting in favour of the maintenance of neutrality. It is reported Russia has suggested to England that America, as a mari time power, should participate in the conference. England has not objected- It is proposed that Greece should take part, and this will probably be agreed to.

A correspondent says it is reported that ■ the Circassians, when retreating before the Russians, suffocated with sulphur efghty women and children who had taken refuge in a cave.

In consequence of the withdrawal of the British fleet to the Mediterranean the Russians will not occupy the sub urbs of Constantinople. Advices from Adrianople state that it is believed peace negotiations have been completed, and that the Russians will withdraw from Roumelia unless England makes some new move. A struggle with England would be popular with the Russian army and people, although officers speak of it very gravely as a terrible conflict. Lord Derby’s protest against the Russian occupation of Constantinople is decided. It demonstrates that the presence of Russian troops would be a violation of the armistice, and might provoke disorders, causing every danger to Christians, which the Russian Gov ernment deprecates. It concludes Her Majesty’s Government cannot ac knowledge that the despatch of British ships to Constantinople has any bear ing on the entry of Russian troops into the city, which latter measure, they con sider uncalled for by any circumstances of military or other necessity, and the consequences of which may be disas trous to the whole population of the city.

AN IRISH WAKE.

Tim Scanlan, while he lived, was only a laboring man; but he was well liked in the country; and it was ex pected that his funeral would be an unusually large gathering. Crowds flocked to the wake, and a great pro vision of tea, whisky, pipes, and tobacco had been made. The widow occupied her. post of honor at the head of the coffin, and displayed a fair show of grief, joining in with vociferous weep ing whenever the “ keening” was led by the elder women. She was young enough to have been the dead man’s daughter, having come to his house a “ slip” of a servant girl, whom he had married and ruled over very master fully.

As the night wore on, the whisky began to tell on those outside the room where the corpse lay. The noise in creased, and soon apparently became loud enough to “ wake the dead,” as the saying is ; for to the consternation .and amazement of every one present,

the defunct, alter a deep sigh and sun dr}" groans, opened his eyes and strug gled into a sitting posture. When 1 the startled company had recovered from the shock, poor Tim was lifted out of the coffin ; whisky was liberally poured down his throat; and well wrapped up in blankets and seated in the big chair by the fire, he gradually recovered from the trance or stupor that had been mis taken for death. The last of the guests had departed from the cabin, and Tim, still propped up before the fire, was left to the care of his wife. Instead of coming -near him, however, she slunk off, cringing timidly away into a dark corner behind his chair, whence she directed frightened glances at her resus citated spouse. “ Mary !” said the man, in a stern voice.

No answer. “ Are you there?” peering round, his face quivering with anger and weak ness. “ Yes, Tim, I’m here,” faltered Mary, without stirring. “ Bring me my stick.” “ Ah, no, Tim ; no ! Sure you never rose yer hand to me yet! And ’tisn’t now, when you’re all as one as come back from the dead, that “ Bring me my stick.”

The stick was brought, and down on her knees beside the big chair dropped the cowering wife. “ Well, you know what you desarve. Well you know, you young thief 0’ the world ! that if I was to take and beat you this blessed, minute as black as a mourning-coach, ’twould be only sarvin’ you right, after the mean, dirtily, shame ful turn you’ve done me ! ”

“It would,'it would ! • sobbed the

“ Look here,” gasped Tim, opening his breast and showing an old tattered shirt. “ Look at them rags. Look at what you dressed up my poor corpse in ; shaming me before all the decent neighbours at the wake ! An’ you knowing as well as I did about the ele gant brand-new shirt I’d bought o’ pur pose for my berrin ; a shirt I wouldn’t have put on my living back—no, not if I had gone naked in my skin ! You knew I had it there in the chest laid up ; and you grudged, it to my unfortu nate carcase when I couldn’t spake up for myself.” “ 0 Tim, darlin’, forgive me !’ cried Mary. “ Sure, I think the divil—Lord save us ! —must have been at my elbow when I went to get out the shirt; tempting me, and whispering that it was a pity and a sin to put good linen like that into the clay. Oh, how could I do it at all ? ”

“ Now, hearken to me, Mary;” and Tim raised the stick and laid it on her shoulder. She knew he wouldn’t beat her, even if he could with his trembling hands; but she pretended to wince and cower away. “ Mind what I say. As sure as you do me the like turn again, and go for to dress me in those unda cent rags, I tell you what I’ll do—l’ll walk.”

“ O don’t Tim,” shrieked Mary, pale as ashes. “ Murther me now, if it’s plazing to you, or do anything to me you like ; but for the love of the blessed Vargin and all the Saints, keep in yer grave. I’ll put the new shirt on you; my two hands will starch it and make it up as white as snow, after lying by so long in the old chest. Yer corpse will look lovely, niver fear. And I’ll give you the grandest wake that iver man had, even if I had to sell the pig, and part with every stick in the cabin to buy the tay and whisky. I swear to you I will, darlin’. There’s my hand on it, this blessed night.”

“Well, mind you do, or ’twill be worse Tor you. And now give me a drop of wather to drink, and put a taste of sperrits through it; for I’m like to faint wirth thirst and with weakness.”

Mary kept her promise; for such a wake was never remembered as Tim Scanlon’s, when, soon after, the poor man really did depart this life. And the “ get up” of the elegant brand-new shirt in , which the corpse was arrayed, was the admiration of all beholders,

OUR SATURDAY NIGHT.

The Cotter’s Saturday nights of which Burns wrote, and over which he has thrown a halo of poetry, romance, and religion, evidently were very unlike the Saturday night of this day and genera tion. Of his “ Cotter’s Saturday Night ” Burns sung:— “ From scenes like these old Scotia’s gran deur springs, That makes her loved at home, revered abroad | Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, An honest man’s the noblest work of God.

Our Saturday nights are not given to “ making old clothes look almost as well as new,” nor does the “ gudeman ” of the house, as a rule in modern so ciety give reverend thanks over his Saturday night’s supper for the bless ings of the week. Our Saturday nights are nights of torture, worriment, and fierce contortion; nights in which all the troubles of the week accumulate and dart horrors into the innermost soul, and hence to many they become nights of dissipation. On Saturday eve the ever vigilant creditor promptly makes his rounds, death is not more prompt than he is in his calls ; grocers, bakers, and butchers must be paid, and even that nuisance to California—the Chinese washman must be settled with, or “no can hab hem shirtee for Shun dee.” These are a few of the horrors that congregate on Saturday nights and make one fervently wish the night was blotted out of the calendar, or that the devil would fly away with all pestilent duns; and may Jupiter confound the man who invented credit and other ad juncts of civilization. But to some, Saturday night comes as if with healing on its wings, a messenger of hope and pleasure. Callow lads and callow lasses, fooled to the top of their bent with the deliciousness of love’s young dream, hail its approach, for it is a time when lover’s can meet, whisper soft nonsense into willing ears, sip the cool ice cream, suck the succulent candy, and generally make themselves ready to enter upon the miserable future, which, happily, they cannot fore see.

THE EVENING ECHO, WEDNESDAY, MARCH 13, 187 S.



TO LET. A SHOP IN EAST STREET, next door, Ti to Mr. Sando’s. Enquire at the ECHO Office. 'pENDERS are invited for the ERECTION of STABLES for the undersigned. Specifi cations may be seen at our Office until Satur day, i 6th instant. The lowest or any tender not necessarily accepted. SAUNDERS BROTHERS. ALPHABET CARDS and Boxes, Mayor’s Spelling, Royal Readers, Slates, Pencils, Copy Books, Drawing Books, and other school Requisites to be obtained at our premises, East-street, Ashburton. FURNESS AND DIXON, Stationers’ Hall. W. R. BOYLE, g STATE AND GENERAL AGENT, EAST STREET, ASHBURTOM.



BUBLIC LIBRARY HALL TO-NX&WO. SMITH & Co.'s NEW GRAND BANORAMA OP THE FRANCO-PRUSSIAM WAR 1870. First Time in New Zealand. Large Magnificent Views of the Gigantic Struggle between the French and German Empires. Admission— 3s and as. Children half* price. Reduction made for Families. Doors open at 7 3°> to commence 8. TO LET.—*A 3-roomed house, with between four and five acres of land attached. Apply to G. W. ANDREWS, East Town Belt WANTED Runners for the Evknimo Echo. Good Wages to smart boys. WANTED, by a respectable young man Board and Residence in, a quiet family., Apply at the ECHO Office, East-street ■yy ANTED SUBSCRIBERS AND ADVERTISERS FOR THE ECHO. Support a Genuine Publication 1



A. O. AIT KEN AND GO'S ■UITEESEETED CLEAEI2ST& S _A_ L lEG NOW BEING HELD. BARGAINS ! BARGAINS ! BARGAINS !