SUPPLEMENT TO THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAR.

WORTH OF WEALTH.

" I tell you, no, Agnes ! 1 won't have it. The follow only wants my money. I know him—'l know him. I know all these dandi fied jirneracks. They hang round a bag of gold as crows do round carrion. I won't have any such thing-. Now you know." " Father, you judge Walter too harshly. He is a good man—honest and industrious, and " — " Industrious, say yon ? I'd like to know what he's got to show for his industry." " He has a superior education, father." "Education! Fiddlesticks! Can he live on his education ? Can he make money of it ?" "Yes, he can live on it. He has already obtained a good situation a& clerk." " And will earn just sufficient to keep him in the fine clothes he wears. I know these fellows. But there's an en.d on't. If you choose him rather than your poor old father you can do so. I can live alone—l shan't live long—you can"— " Stop, stop, father. You have no right to talk so. You know I could not leave you." And Agnes Breman threw her arms about the old man's neck and kissed him, and left the room. " It's curious how thlse young fools act,", the miser muttered to himself after he had. seen his child depart. There's been twenty of the sharks after ttiat girl—all of 'em hovering around her like man-eaters after a dead body. Don't I know what they want ? Can't I see ? Aha ! can't I thougk ? It's my money ! But Agnes has never loved one of them till this Adams came along. The jackanapes! And now she wSnts to get married ot once. Nonsense !" The old man bowed his head as he spoke, and he saw a drop upon the back of his hand. ■ It was a bright drop, and the rays of the setting sun were playing on it. I "She cried when she kissed me," hie whispered, wiping the tear from his hard hand. I don't see what makes her so tender r hearted. She never took it from me. But Bhe may have taken it from —" The old man stopped, and a cloud came over his wrinkled brow, for there was a pang in his heart. He remembered the gentle, uncomplaining being who had once been his companion—the mother ©f his child. He remembered how she became his wife, even when the bloom of manhood had passed from him; how she loved him, nursed him, and cared for him, and how she taught her i child to love and care for him too. And he) remembered how she had never complained' even while suffering, and how she had died with a smile and a blessing upon her lips • though the gold of her husband brought her no comfort. Noah Bremen bowed his frosted head more low, and in his heart he wished that he could forget all but the few fleeting joys of his wife. But he could not forget. He could not fofget that it had been whispered how his wife might have lived longer, if she had had proper clothing and proper medical attention. " But it would cost bo much ! I saved ■saoney !" Ah—the reflection would not remove the pang. The other memory was uppermost. Noah Brennan had passed the allotted age of man, being over three-score-and-ten and all his life had been devoted to acpumulating money. He had denied himself every com <fort, and Jhis heart had been almost as hard as the gold he hoarded. But as his hair grew more white and spare, and the years came more heavily upon him, he thought more—reflected more. The sweet smile of his dead wife was doing its mission now and the pure love of his gentle child was a continual remembrance to him that there were better hearts than his own. At length the miser rose and passed out from the room, He would have left the hut•; but as he reached the little entry way, he heard a voice from the garret. Jt was his chiM's. He orept up the rickety stairs and looked through a orack in the door. He saw Agnes upon her knees. Tears were rolling down her cheeks, and her hands were clasped towards heaven. And she prayed : " Oh, God ! be good to my father, and make his heart warm and peaceful! Make me to love him with all tenderness, and enable me to do well and truly the duty I pledged to my sainted mother ! I promised her I -would love and care for him always. Father in heaven, help me ! Oh> help me !" The old man crept down the stairs and out of doors, and for a whole hour walked alone among the trees. He thought again d£ his wife, again of his child, and then of his gold: As this was not the first time he walked alone there. He did not himself jfjxow how: great was the Influence his child was exert ing over him. Agnes—pure, gold, beautiful Agnes—wept; long and bitterly in her little garret ; and when she had become calm, and her cheeks were dry, she came down and got her supper. But she was not the smiling, happy being that had flitted about the scanty board here- 1 tofore. ..-,.. i A few days after this, as Noah Breman 1 approached his cot one morning, he heard i voices from within. He peeped through at rent in the coarse paper custain, and saw Walter Adams with his child. Her head ' was upon Walter's shoulder, and his arm c was about her. I Walter was an orphan, and had been v -Agjas' schgglnKita d3Y'i'vi I'■ loVe §,

through all the years of opening youth. He ' ■vvas an honorable, virtuous man, and loved" tLe gc jr>fc]e gi?l because she wcs good, andso gentle and so beautiful. And she Joved^fTirn not only because he had captured her heart .in bygone time, but because he was, of all her suitors, the only orite whose character nnd habits promised joy and peace for the future. " I cannot leave my poor old father, • " Walter," the old man heard his daughter say, " I must live f o love and care for him. It is hq**?. My heart must break. But the p ledge of" love I gave to ihy dying mother must be kept." " And so the great joy dream of my youth must be changed to this said reality," ex claimed Walter, sorrowfully. "I cannot ask you to leave yovir father, sweet Agnes, for the tiuth in you, which I worship, -would be made a lie could you do so. But I have a prayer—an earnest, sincere prayer. I pray that God, in his mercy, may remove that curse from your father's stooping form !" " The curse, Walter ?" " Aye ; the gold curse !" rejoined the youth, fervently. "I hope that God may render him penniless." " What ! penniless ?" repeated Agnes, with a start. "Aye, penniless; for then he woiild be far more wealthy than he is now. Then he would know how to appreciate the priceless blessing of his sweet Agnes's love, and then the curse might be bi-oken and his heart grow human again. And, more than all," Walter continued, twining his arm closely about the fair form of his companion and speaking more deeply, "then I could prove to him my love. Then I could take you to my home, and we could both love him and care for him while he lived," Noah Breman stopped to hear no more, and as he walked away he muttered to him self : " The rascal ! He'd do great things ! Me penniless, and he praying for it ! The young villain !" When the old man gained his accustomed walk among the great sycamores, he wiped something from his eye. He acted as though a mote had been blown in there. Two weeks passed on, and Agnes grew pale and thin. She did not sing as she used to, nor could she smile as had been her wont. Still she murmured not, nor did her kindness to her father grow less. " O, God ! ho!p me to hve my father," she prayed one nigbt. " Let not my giief make me forget my duty." And the old man heard it. One night Noah came home from the city, and in his hand he brought a small trunk. He barred the door, and drew the tattered curtains close. " See," he says as he opened the trunk and Spiled the new bank-notes upon the table. '' Look there, Agnes, see and how I have worked in my lifetime. I had no education, but I've laid up my money— money—money ! How many men would sell me all their brains to-night for this ? See— one thousand — two — three — four — five. Count them, Agnes; there's a thousand pounds in each package." Agnes counted them over, for she thought her father wished it, and she made fifty' packages. " Why have you taken it from the bank, father ?" she asked. '" To let it out child—to let it at a pound interest, Agnes. I shall double it, darling —double it —double it." And while the old man's eyes sparkled with evident satisfaction, . his child wore a aad, sorrowing look. And long after that she sat and looked at the working features of her father, and prayed that the gold-fiend would set him free. When Agnes retired she left her father up ; but ere long she heard him put his little truDk away, and then go to his bed. And then Bhe slept. Hark ! what sound is that ? Agnes start up in affright and listens. But see ! a bright light is gleaming out into the night, and thick volumes of smoke pour into the garret. " Fire I Fire 1" sounded a voice from the i entry, and she hears the sharp crackling now, I and feels the heafc. Agnes ! my child !" And in another moment she meets her father upon the stairs. He is dressed, but she & not. " Take all your clothing*, Agnes, and you can put it on in the entry. The house is all on fire." In a few minutes more the father and child stodd in the road, the latter with a bundle of clothing in her hand, while the former held a small trunk. They gazed upon the burning building, but neither of them spoke. And, .others came running to the scene, but bo one tried to stay the flames. And the effort would have been useless had it beeta made for the old shell burned like tinder. But more still—no one would have made the effort,' even had success .been made evident, for the miserable old hut had too long occupied one of the fairest spots in the Village. There were no other buildings to be endangered, so they let the thing burn. ,•', You have your money safe," said Agnes. ; "Tea. See, I took the trunk. I left the sandle burning' so that I could watch it. But [ got the trunk I" And as he spoke*held it lp and gazed upon it.by the light of the Jftring ruins. ■ ; yj,r, ; f:.r>l'j fi\ i B/ifwi-hi fusaH noi'Uii .«w»ri nviKl SJteW

papta' "K'&s (i clood conveying tUe whola vast f.rcptily to rao,amlmakiuginQ ap&rtnavin,tb.o ecrrfcin upon equal footing -fish the ether : Lwo !" " Well," said the old man, thumping hisfeet upon the carpe's, and keeping time with his hands, " I don't see anything very bad to. that." •' But I do," replied Walter. •' It Is oruol. to irifle with me thus." There was something in Noah's eye again, but he managed to get it out, and then he spoke thus: " Walter Adams, when young men used to hover about my child, 1 believed they were only after my gold ; and I knew that in most cases I was correct. I believed the same of you. I knew nothing but the love of money that coiild iufluence human action. My heart had beoome hardened by it, and my soul darkened. But it was for my sweet child to pour the wfermth and light into my bosom. It was for her to keep before me . the image of the gentle wife whom I had loved and lost, but, also, who occupied a place in that love second to my gold. It was for my child to open gradually, but surely, the fount of feelings which had been for a life-time closed up. I heard her pray for me—pray that she might love me ; and that was after I had refusod to let her be your wife. I saw her grow pale and sorrow ful, and I knew I had doae it—and she loved me still. And still she prayed God to help her—help her to what ? Help her to loveherfather ! I was killing her, andshetried to smile upon me. One evening I heard you both conversing in tho old hut. My child chose misery with duty to her father, rather than break that duty in union •with the man she loved. And you uttered a prayer. You prayed that I might be made penniless—stop ! hear me through I You would then show your disinterestedness. I walked away and pondered. Could it be that I had found a man who would love an old wretch like myself with no money. If it was so, then that would break the last Icyer of crust from my soul. I had gained a glimmering of light—my heart had begun' to grow warm—and I prayed fervently that I might net be disappointed, I wont to the bank and drew out fifty thousand pounds In bills. That night my miserable hut was set on fire —or—a—caught fire. I always think my candle did it. But the old shell burned down, and room was made for a better building. I came out with a wrong trunk, and the oilier trunk was burned up. But the money wasn't in it. . No, no, I had that safely stuffed into my bosom and deep pookets, aad all buttoned ap ; anfl the nexil day I cafrled it all back to the bank, and had It put with a fow thousand more which I had not dis- ! tuibsd. And so my experiment commenced ;! and I found the full sunshine at last. Aye, • Walter, I found you the noble, true maa I ■ had prayed for. You took me into your ; house and loved mo when you thought me penniless, and you took my child to your ! bosom for just what God had made her. And now, my^boy, I've been doing a] bit of work in the dark. I've paid Mr Osgood fifty thousand pounds in caßh for his share in the business, and it is all yourfe. And let me tell you one more thing, my boy, if your partners can raise fifty thousand pounds more to invest, tell 'em you oan put in five-and-twenty thousand at twelve hours notice. Tell 'em that, my boy 1 Tell "em old Noah ain't quite ashore yet. Tell 'em he has found a heart —a heart, my boy \ Come here, Agnes—come here, Walter. God bless you both—blesa you as you have blessed me !" Nobody pretended that they had moles in the eye now, for the occasion of the weeping was too palpable.

" That is not the trunk !" w'akp&rea ' Agnes in affright. "Not ." Bu* foe cM maa Eii further. He acw that he li^d taken the wrong track. This was orily filled with nld cards and dusty receipts. "Ruined! lest!" gioaned Noah Brernan, as he turned from the scattered embers. "I had fifty thousand pounds in that tiunk, and where are they now ?" "Nevermind," said Agnes, winding her arm about her father's neck, "we'll be « happy without that." "What?" uttered Noah Breman, gazing into Walter Adam's face. "Do you mean L ' that you will give me a home too ? That you will provide for me, and keep me?" . "Yes," letnincd the youth hopefully. " I never could be happy with Agnes, much [ as I love her, if I thought her poor old father , had no home. Come, we'll live together , and be as happy as the days are long." . " But your salary, young man f "Is sufficient for us, sir. I have one hundred pounds a year. We can live on , that, and lay tip something, too.'" " Well, well—take her, love her, be good to her, make her happy, don't never When the old man saw the joyous tears leap from his child's eyes he turned away and walked quickly from the house ; but he was not so quick, but that he heard the 1 blessing that followed him. And when ho ! walked alone beneath the starry heavens he ' wiped his eyes as though something troubled ' him. Gay as a lark, was gentle, beautiful Agnes ' when she became the wife of Walter Adams. '■> The rose bloomed again upon her cheek, and 1 the smiles ivere upon her happy face, like T sunshine, all day long. ' "Do you pray to God to help you to love me now ? " the old man asked, after she had > lived with Walter some months. "Why—what do you mean?" Agnes asked, in surprise. ) " You used to pray so, for I have heard i you," returned Noah. A moment the young wife gr.zed into her parent's face, and then she answered, while ■ she threw her aims about his neck— " Oh ! I pray that you may be spared to us for long yeais in peace and happiness ; but- love you ? Oh ! I could nob help it if I should try. And Walter loves you father —he ioves you very much, for he has told me so many times." There was Ebmathing more than usual in the old mau'a eye now. One evening, as the happy trio sat at tho tea-table, Walter looked more thoughtful than was his wont. "What is it, love?" A^nea asked, " Oh —nothing/ the hnabaad said with a , smile, " I was only thinking." "But of what?" " Only castlc-buiWing—that aIL" 1' In the air, Walter ?" asked Noah. ' "Yes—very high in the air," the young man returned with a laugh." 1 I' But tell us what it is." " Well —I'd as soon tell you as not. Mr ' Osgood is to retire from our firm in a few ■ days. He is well advanced in life, and has made a fortune in tho business, and ho will live now for comfort and health alone. He has not been very well of late years." "And is that all." 11 Yes." " But what castre in air is there about that." " Oh—that isn't the castle. " Then what is the castle ?" urged the old man playfully. " Why, simply this," said Walter, laugh ing, but yet almost ashamed to tell it; " this noon Mr Osgood patted me on the shoulder, J and said he—in Ms playful way—'Walter, ; I'll sell you all my interest here for fifty thousand pounds.'" "Ha, ha, ha," laughed Noah Breman; " and you thought he was in earnest." " Oh, no !" quickly returned the young man. "I did not think that—though I know that the other- two partners would willingly have me for an associate." "But it seems to me that old Osgood. holds his share in the concern at a high rate." " Oh, no. It ia a very low one. There is a clear capital of one hundred and fifty > thousand pounds in the business at this very i moment; and then think of all the standing I debts and good will which goes for nothing." " Ha, ha, ha," laughed the old man again. Then Walter laughed; and then Agnes laughed ; and thon taey finished their supper. On the next evening Walter Adams came in, and sank down upon the sofa, •without speaking. He was P Pc an<^ agitated, and his eyes had a vacant, wandering look. "Walter 1" oried Agnes in terror, " what has happened ?" , "He's sick," muttered Noah Breman, without looking round. ~.; . ■ , •■,■ "No, no—not sick," returned the young man, starting up ; "'but I am the Tietim of some miserable trifling." "Eh? how so?" asked old Noah, now turning his chair. "I'll tell you," said Walter, with a spas modic effect. " 1 had some long entries to post this evening, so I remained in the counting room, after the rest had gone, I was still at work when Mr Osgood came in and placed some papers on my desk, Bay ing as he did so—' Here, Walter, these are yours,' and then he went out. When I had finished my work I opened the j»p««» Tke. ' first was a sort of inventory of what Osgood had owned in tho business, and mounted up m square numbers to forty-nine thousand eight hundrediuid[gfventy-jftw» pouitdaf &h* nwfc

The Russian Government has completed negotiations with a Ijtusso-English company,: for the construction of a canal from Cron- - stadt to St. Petersburg. The work of ooa- Btruction will occupy six years and will cost £1,100,000. A weird and ghaßtly rumour Is running roahd London. Some time since, it may be remembered, a young woman was frightfully ill-used, and nearly_battered to death in Richmond Park. While in the hospital she sent for the inspector of pelico that 6fc« might give him a description of bar assailant. The inspector arrived, but the girl, deolwing she ' had'changed her mind, refused to Bay a word. From that day to this the affair has been shrouded in mystery. The affaix is now j revived, and it is asserted that the woald-be assassin was a nobleopan who vas suffering from homicidal mania. Tho wem»a wai paid a large price to be silenl. Tire New York Trilme talks common ; sense with relation to Mr Robert Dale Owen : "A man who iq too strong minded to believe in Christianity, and wh» yfeto finds no difficulty in believing that spirit* eomo out of a closet and danoe breakdowns on a platform and spin mosquit* netting out of the air, is scarcely a promising subject for argu ment. To Bay ho disbelieves th* Bible be oanse he cannot understand it, and believes in Katie King because he ixss seen her, simply shows that he is as vain of the feeble ness of his understanding m he, is of the blindness of his eyes." The law requiring drinking places in Lon don to close at midnight i 8 rigidly enforced. At some of the theatres the performances have usually lasted until later. So fixed is the habit there of quaffing after the play that confusion has been the result, a part of the awdience leaving in the middle of the last act rather than miss their drink. TShe managers are abridging their pleceß to meet the require ment* of the pepalat tmte. . A very old xaan known as Father Flipos, Who was probably the oldest tailor la the world; died recently in Paris, ageU-109. He began to learn his trade when cine years old, and is said to have worked at ik tip to his hnadreAth y^ftr.

THE ROVERS OF LYMM.

BY JOHN BLACKJtAX,

Ik Cheshire, noted for its famous cheese, its sheltered seats and homes among the trees, anear a pleasant village known as Lymtn, there stands a cottage by a river's brim, where honey-suckle round the entrance twines, 'neath rustling leaves of well trimmed, creeping vines, where wall-flowers in the garden sweetly bloom, and double violets waft their rich perfume, and where young Willie, when his work is done, may of b be seen at radiant set of sun, in happy conversation by the bridge, or with his Mary strolling o'er the ridge. The footway bridge 'neath which the streamlet flows through hedge-girt meads in eventide repose, by a stone fence mossed over, which divides the garden from the common, where resides the widow and her daughter. Mary sits under green leaves where sum mer sunshine flits, in one of Lymm's sweet, unmolested nooks, made richer by this love lorn maiden's looks ; oft, oft her eyes are turned towards the croft, where nodding cowslips nod to breezes soft, and these she hears among the rushes play, yet love's dear footsteps sound not on the way. The even ing star, like hope, o'er gathering clouds, shine 3 o'er the mist which hill and vale en shrouds ; her bright straw hat, in fancy's floral trim, with leaves and corn-flowers round its ample brim, she casts in seeming, negligence aßido, and breathes her heartfelt plaint to eventide. The eve is passing, sounds of labour cease, the stars are out and nature breathes of peace ; the woodman's axe no more disturbs the wood, o'er Lymm's fair village calm and silence brood ; through the dim gloaming whirrs the sightless bat,' while my lone heart beats Badly pit-a-pat.; The little flowers are folded in repose, and. 'neath the bridge the water darkly flows •„ the thrush is silent, nestling with his mate, ■ Ye» Willie oomes not, why is he so late ?i The eve Is passed and every sunset charm, yet haughty Willie comes not from the farm, j And now she rises from the damp'ning, mound, to take one last unhappy look around. When lo ! a whistle calms her brooding fears; young Willies voice she now dietihotly hears ; he comes at last—ah, 'tis his well-known strain, he comes at.last — but has he been with Jane? A vaunt! sad doublings; but her faith is tried,. she's weary, watching by the streamlet's side. Bat now he comes, she sees him through the mist, he grasps her hand— " Oh, Mary love, what is't that makes you sad V ah, why those tresses toss, and with your own dear Willie be so cross ? Forgive, my absence; I am still sincere 1" "And: yet," sighed Mary, "thornhast kept me here| for two long hours, and, need the truth be told, the eve is cheerless and the air is cold ;, two houra I've waited, till I'm sick at heart.' 80 farewell, Willie, we had better part ;'■ besides, Ana Smith was told by Sally Green' thai; Kitty Jones* or some one else, had seen; ft levin# coapln down in Fox-glove lane, that; looked like WilHo and that sly girl, Jane." I "Oh, Mary, Mary," Willie then replied,; canst thou no longer in my love confide? Retract those woi'ds, those dreadful words, good-bye*" and here a tear rolled down from. Willies eye ; but soon he wiped the tell-tale: tear away, and then assumed a lover's don't: care way. "No, I'll not weep," he said, with Beaming glee, "I'll take the sword, a soldier I will be, I'll cross the sea's and seek a distant chore, where foolish girls shall; trouble m« no more, I'll fight for England, and our Esgliah queen, even if I fall a-fight ing, ' all serene.'" Poos Mary said, but did not mean to jest, 'twaq but tho language of her heart's unrest. • . "Well, well," said Willie, "if I Bhould; not wear a ooafc of red, I'll wander others where, and in New Zealand dig for golden: ore, where others dig who never dug: before; Ohinomuri, love, is open now, and: Detter there than following the plough; for: Holloway, the lecturer, declares the people there have only golden cares." Poor Marj listens with a sad surprise, and' with her scented 'kerchief rubs her eyes,' then on towards her mother's cot she steers,; and. eased her feelings in a gush of tears.: Willie, who pould not really be unkind, with ate altby olose followed on behind, and saw her Bate within the garden gate, and; heard the matron say, " Heigh, why so late ? where, where la Willy? hark, is that his tread ? 'Tis time young people all should be in bed, and not stand chatting in the evening air, which gives them colds which need th» doctor's care, and then they die ' before lift'a aimny noon, and people wonder1 that they dio bo soon. You're sad, my girl, ndw tell ma what's amiss. You've, parted, I aya, without the parting kiss;" arid then she said, with spectacles on' nose, "you've had a lovers' quarrel, I suppose !" "Oh ho, > de» motket," Mary ■whimpering said'; .bat j skill her mother, doubting, shook her head; and thaa another burst of tears,: like rain, came trickling down that pretty face again ; again sh« wiped them from her rosy cheek, and almost ohoked, an effort made to speak, " H« only kept me waiting rather late, (hush, be it listening »t the garden gate) and so I thought it right his act to chide, though my heart wept bene»th my seeming pride. He vowed he'd l««ve for ever pleasant Lymm, and wonld enlisit if I'd not list to him, or dig for gold In lands which seas divide ; he hurt my feelings, and, of course, I cried; If Willie should take to a soldier's life, I'll follow him, and be a soldier's wife, or. to New Zealand should my Willie go, I will go with kim,.for I love him so." •l/'Hi \; A noise was heard outside the little cot, 'twas Willie, Bobbing near the sacred spot. "Come, Willie, come," the mother shouted out, "What Is this foolish sniffling all ! abont ? Thou fnjk'st of soldiering, I under? ! stand, and tearing Cheshire for a foreign * land. Oottldtt thou be happy in a scarlet coat, of coanty length, close buttoned to thy thwwt, and iboot by order, whosoever it be, 1 ifcem. mi*h*'»t live from aavaae^warfare'

free ? * If in New Zealand thou should'st dry thy teare, thou there might join the Auckland volunteers, who gather frfqently on Barrack HilF, who waste much powder, but who no man kill. Come now, this trifling feud away explain, state what has happened arid be friends again."

"Mary was far too hasty," Willie cried, " I kept her waiting by the green wood's side, but could'not help it, mistress mads, me wait, because from market, master home was late, and mistress does not like to.be alone, for there's a legend round about here knoun ; the old farm house is haunted, it is said; a woman there was murdered in her bet), although the deed -was done in days of yore, the murder stains are yet upon the floor, and people say there really has been seen a headless woman in a gown of green, about the ricks and in the darkened room, a tall gaunt figure, like one from the tomb ; it comes at nights they say (ghosts walk at night, they love the darkness bettor than the light) so, being timid, mistres drew some and told once more the off; repeated tale. We poor dependents cannot have our way, we are but servant?, and we must obey; I strove to listen to her tale untrue, but wished her fmtbeiy and her story too."

" Ah me!" the matron cried, "when life is o'er the peaceful spirit turns to earth no more,..content with pleasures of the perfect day, it spurns these scenes of sorrow and decay ; nor need we turn, methinks, to olden times to find a gloomy catalogue of crimes, when each day's news in lettered pages show a list of misery, drunkenness and woe, of fighting husbands and unhappy wives, of shoeless children and unholy lives, of men who will not work, but who contrive to escape the prison and to keep alive ;'of ruined-hopes, and all the social wrong which poets yet have never breathed in song.—But tell thy story, Willie."

11 Ah, 'ti3 o'er, I scarce can add cne single sentence more.—Released at length, I made what haste I could to walk with Mary through the summer wood, but she •would not allow me to explain, but turned in silence into Foxglove lane."

The matron laid her spectacles aside, and as the lovers both their tears had dried, she ■said, "We judge of; things by outward show, and pass a verdict ere the truth we know, shun what, is evil, e'er pursue the, right, and live in virtue's free unshadowed light, and in life's path you will not fail to find the sweet reflections of a happy mind.";

Willie then said,' as Mary's brow he; kissed, "I've changed my mind, I'll labour, Hot edist; my talk proceeded from a foolish. whim ; I'll neither leave the girl I love nor Lymm, but stay at home, still guide the plough,.sow wide the grain,. and rear the barley mow; and though my labour,,may not bring me .wealth, I may be happy even< though poor my pay, with life's sweet blossoms epening on my way, and Mary yet may learn, when I am late, a poor man's; duty is to work and wait.""

FASHIONS IN VALENTINES.

Some Account ot? the Worldls Business in ; coxk.ection >vith, mis of FEBRUARY. ... ■~•'■■■ i-■:<■' • Theke was a time when valentines were1 simply love letters written on very fancy, note-paper, with some poetry and a bunch of j forget-me-nots at the head. Years ago my dear old grandmother made me happy by; sending one of these, which I have still, and very pretty it is, although' the ink is faded to a yellow. The poetry is especially nice, but the punctuation marks are left out, as they didn't care about these troublesome little things in the good old days. I think it.said :. i, p -{~; , : 0- < r ■'. ■ ■ " When the sunshine, is around thee In the dark and silent night In the cottage and the palace ~,., ] May thy way.be always bright! • Of course I couldn't imagine who sent it nobody that gets a valentine can—but I, strongly suspected Sally Lawton, and she; had a bite out of all my apples until I found '■ but my mistake. Tommy Jones was her; valentine, and I gave him a punching for it, too, as he was mean' and pretended all the, while that he didn't'like her. : However the old fashion has passed away,; and ;Valejitines arenow1 very elaborate things, j employing thousands of--skillful workmen; in their manafacture. They serve as the" covers of all sorts of costly presents, and! some of them real works of art. Clever designers are constantly employed in the in vention of new combinations, pleasing effects of grouping or color and whimsical surprises. The most careful labors of draughtsmen, lithographers, .wood-engravers, painters, colorrpfinters, . card-board, artificial flower and feather makers are spent upon them, to say nothing <>i the assistance given by work era im: 'silk, • 'silver and glass... Even the tropical forests of Brazil and the depths of the, sea are ransacked for fresh: materials.

; There is one firm in London which has 368 different Mnds of valentines. The cheapest are two cents'sach, and the finest cost nearly sixty dollars. • All are pretty, and some are magnificent. One is called '' Love's Photo graph." A tiny, mirror is hidden beneath a .bunch. of flowers, and some dear girl, finds that the reflection of her own face is : jtoiir love's photogragh.' There' are true-lover's knots painted on the softest satin; birds and bright'plumage under gauze,;L girls in silver frames; paper flowers which bloom when the valentine is opened and-close when the valen tine isVshut;'more : paper flowers hidden behind screens of* silver and in little wicker baskets with exotic flowers painted by hand oir the fittest silk and framed in silver lace. No florists ever succeeded better thari : the modern valentine-maker does ;hl ; ; putting together the prettiest colors. > Blush- roses and.forget-me-nots ; cameliaa with rich, dark green leaves; liliesof the'valley, water lilies, ferns andpahsles are oombined" with a won-1 drous degteeid'itaste and skill. Sometimes the \:ftlentme'jbp the minature, !K ,a , /. : ,>':■

nation scene in a theatre. It is folded and, unfolded by sn ingenious arrangement, whiclilcwo r a gcidcn with, a ficck.cf birds flying over it, and a lake of mirror glass with j a swan upon its shining surface. Sometimes, tco, the evealss aie neither painted nor made of. paper or muslin. Far away in Brazil f here is a large convent in which the sedate nunsmake gay artificial flowers entirely, out of the feathers of ' the gorgeous birds that haunt the forests of South America. I cannot give you an idea of;?; how rich and lustrous they are. More than this,, marine flowers gathered from the bottom of the, Mediterranean Sea are used, in valentines, and real birds are quite common. As Lucy opens the box that comes for her with a whole string of postage stamps upon it, it is possible that she will find the cun ningest of humming bilds in a little nest, holding a message in its beak. Not the pic ture of one, mind you, but a real one, that - has been caught and stuffed for the valentine maker. The latest fashion in valentines is to com bine them with useful articles. A lace-or pearl-handled fan, consisting §60, is secreted beneath flowers and mottoes and cupids. A fine silk- nectie for a gentleman or boy, is wrapped in white gauze,: with the tender sentiment: " through cloud and sunshine I am thine." Articles of dress or jewelry often are enclosed.; Sometimes a smoking cap or a pair of embroidered slippers. The discriptive catalogue of. M. Eimmel, the London perfumer, includes valentines con taining Japanese ornamental ' hair-pins, cravats, , pin-eushins, chatelaine bottles, brooches, gold watch trinkets,, lockets, tur« qucse and garnet i; ixrigsj silver filagree brooches, ear-rings and bracelets, head dresses and double smelling.bottles. Then, too, are musical valentines in the' form of glove and handkerchief or jewel-cases. ' One magnificent affair costs,. $40. it.is.made of pal c blue silk and trimmedwith gilt. At one side is a compartment for gloves, and at the other a place for. handkercheifs, with two beautiful smelling-bottles in: the middle. As the lid is raised a musical box, hidden underneath, plays a favourite air,/such as • • Then You'll Remember Me, JJ or an air from an operai>« ■'"]'iT'T '''.'■"' I. 1 1TTf I am not sure that the new custom jpf making expensive presents Is better thanI.the old one of writiriga/lbve-letter,1 .and ft cer tainly is 'not a proof of ■ greater affection »in the Benders.^-Aiexander-] 7tfeiny}right,.in.tse St. NicJwlas-for February. .oan-J-.cfa im\ «f

A NOVEL RAFFLE.

A BEAUTIFUL Ir6uis TG-' LACy'.pFtfEES| HERSELB : AS A PRIZE TO T^HE ilixdKY J6ifß. '"' (Prom the. "idey^nour (Tni) Star," January, J. Ose of the ,most..novel, s& well as exciting raffles that evei? took'place in Seymour came

off on Saturday" evening last. -: Mies Minirie Clarence made the' noy.el Iprop'osition^o putting herself up to be raffled: off at 50 cents a chance. At first the matter Was treated as a joke, but when ' it , became^ known that ttye offer was ,a. bpna: fi&e,\ one,, chances went rapidly, and; m less than i 'one hour < every chance was taken,'!an& heavy premiums were being paid by young men anxious to winfbhe beautiful and-joyely prize.. Miss .Minnie Is almost bewitchiDg' beauty of eighteen sum mers, an orphan of respectable parentage, and a member of the best society of the State. She was decidedly the, belie.ef Seymour, [and was loved arid admired;by all whoever be came acquainted witli r her, and probably envied just the least bit, by, the young ladies. She is a bright blonde, perfect in form, fair complexion, and has' most ravishingly beautiful7eyes. Ever since she can\e to Sey mour she has been the centre of attraction and the admiration of the men. Injustice to Miss Minnie we should state, that she gave the winner the privilege of accepting or, re fusing her, and reserved the same privilege for herself. There may have been several in the crowd whom' she would have refused, but there was .none,, we venture to say, who would refuse' her. 'How; could they ? The hour set for the rafMe J came, and found all ready to try their'luck.' Miss.Minnie was there ■in : person; dressed in the > hight jo fashion, to lend fed charah •to the occasion. She stood leaning' 'gracefully against a BhiMJrv. case, never speaking a word nor betraying the least emotion,\or showing the slightest preference for any of the contestants, ex cepting there "was Ha* perceptible twinkle in her beautiful,'eyes when some young and handsome "lovier" would shake the dice. Name after name was called, and each one in turn would • shake the. box with' nervous hand, until all but three had thrown, and nothing higher .than'3B^had been thrown. Then came ; Ljfln'JFalkcorner'a turn. ,'Ziyxn is a blonde himself, and a clever, hard-worki ng young man, and perhaps the twinkle 6i her eyes. rierved hiin^to the work. A^ any rate he tossed -the ivory . with steady hand, and ; the scdrer: called :46. The other "twb throws were made amid too mucli excite ment to even be and. prize, was awarded to Lynn. Minnie came' forward and took Lynn's arm, and the two went oit together, amid the cheers of the crowd,' She accompanied him"tp-h^ father's hpte^ where she was presented to -his relatives, who had not had the: pleasure lof her" Acquaintance before, after which Bhe; iyas -^corte^.home^ We. of cwrae, doVinot knowi c^rtaihj but as Lynn is a good clever .youugJaah/iiaSd she would be an-honor to;ahy hou^kuioia; we are inclined to think'neithet,1 of',them; yrM back;

-'Chairs should; never ibe covered witfr silk, but sat im'iivr hm; >vfi.,h-; .s>rtt -idiivf Why isia? m^ who letsi^btise^ lively 1 to have agooii in'aiiy cousins? Became has.ten ants he. ■m«>l &m v'"^' ™~ *^