SUPPLEMENT TO THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAIR.

The Living Statue.

In the height of the Exhibition season of 1862 there was a great deal of unpleasant ness, mystery and suspicion generated in the Industrial Palace by a constant succession of petty robberies, which took place nearly every night at the best stalk.

Articles of value were stolen from drawers and boxes; money left by stall keepers often went unless very securely stowed away ; but the depredators did not venture on taking any bulky article, or on breaking open any receptacle which wonld require great force. They knew their risks, that was evident; and that the thefts were committed by some persons connected with the Exhibition was also beyond a doubt. Watches had been set, traps had been laid over and over again, but all in vain. When too much had been done in the way of planting watchmen, no robberies took place at all; and when articles had been purposely left ap parently forgotten, but in reality fixed by the minutest wires to bells which sounded at the slightest touch, they were left untouched. The thief, if only one, always stole, too, from places in the shade, so that he could command a view of the more open spaces, while he himself was unseen.

One morning as the Sergeant of Police ■was going his early round before the building was opened for the day, he came upon an exhibitor and his staff of assis tants, who were grouped round a box which was opened before them, and at which they were looking with apparent interest, ' Good morning, Mr. Baselton,' said the officer' a very fine day we are likely to have.'

'Fine day, Sir! And a very fine night we have had, too, I suppose,' retorted the exhibitor, in a tone far less pleasant than that in which he had been addressed. ' Here's a pretty affair! Seven pounds worth of Scotch pebbles set in silver—broaches, ear-rings, and so forth— the whole of them clean gone.'

The Sergeant, with expressions of re gret, said he would see the officer who had been on duty. Mr. Baselton pro fessed to have lost all confidence in the Police, and asserted that if he were to watch, the thief would certainly be discovered the very first night.

' I wish you would try, then,' said the Sergeant; ' I would obtain permission to "watch with you; and if you can suggest anything fresh, I will gladly support you.'

Although, when he made this last asser tion, Mr. Baselton probably meant nothing at all, yet, after a little talk with the officer, the desire of finding the thief, and his belief in his own superior acuteness were strong enough to make him volun teer to watch; and it was agreed that the Sergeant should join him just as the palace was closing at night, when they would be on the look out directly, for it was impossible to say at what time of the night the rebberies were committed.

Strict silence was enjoined on either side and observed by the Sergeant entirely, and by Mr. Baselton pretty well, as he only mentioned his plan to Mr. Chatenoux at the French stall just by, and to his neighbours, Mr. Hinks and Mr. Carrables. Mr. Carrables, by the way, was not there that morning ; so Baselton told Mr. Glister, Mr. Carrables' foreman, instead, who, in a becomingly sympathis ing tone, wished him success.

The evening came, the spies met, and hung about the passages of the vast building until deepest twilight, and until Baselton was pretty nearly tired of being on his feet.

• Wow,' said said the Sergeant, uncon sciously dropping his voice as he spoke, *we will take up our quarters. If we can only get there unperceived. I have ar ranged what I think you will find a pretty good corner.'

'All right/ returned the exhibitor in the same guarded tone; and they stole noiselessly on, passing, once or twice, a constable; but the presence of the Ser geant of course preventing any question ing. Some large boxes left, apparently by accident, at the angle of a stall, were in reality so placed that they formed an almost perfect screen; and without any reason to suppose that they had been noticed, they slipped in, and sat down.

Presently the moon rose; and as it climbed higher, and its light grew stronger the building became visible throughout with & light that was unearthly and ghastly in its character. This impressed itself very much upon Baselton.

'I had no idea, Sergeant,' he whispered to the officer, " that the place was such a strange, cemeteryish sort of a spot as it is. I must own, I should not like to be on duty here all night. However I have brought some refreshment with me, so let us make ourselves comfortable.' In silence, save for the chiming of the clock or the occasional tread of a policeman, the hours crept on. The policemen passed within a few yards of the watchers re peatedly, but whether they knew of their presence or not, Baselton could not judge. The length and weariness of the hours grew at last intolerable to him, and, see ing that the sergeant was as cool and wide-awake as when they first entered their lair, he whispered, * I feel terrible drowsy Sergeant; I always do about this time. I?ive minutes nap will make me as fresh as a daisy. Bouse me up if you hear any thing before that time. i

His companion smiled and, in the same subdued tone, gave the promise.

Nothing did happen requiring Mr. Baselton's presence either before or after the expiration of five minutes, although the officer steathily looked out a hundred times during the night. At last the dark ness thinned away, and then, after a short gray twilight, dawn came, and the Ser geant shook Baselton by the shoulder.

' Yes, yes, I am ready,' stammered the exhibitor, then opened his eyes very wide iudeed. ' Why it's daylight ! I must have slept'—-

' Yes, of course you have,' interrupted the other,' but let us go out quietly. I don't mind our men, of course ; but others need know nothing about our watch.'

' I think that the less your men or any body else know about the way we kept our watch the better,' said Mr. Baselton as they left the counter : ' in fact I shall regard it as a friendly thing if you say nothing about it.'

The Sergeant smiled, but kept bis own connsel; and it may be hinted that Baselton was a very liberal fellow, although somewhat hasty. It turned out that no pilfering had taken place that night nor did any occur for two or three nights after, a fact which Mr Glisser attributed to the influence of Mr. Baselton's vigilance He took great interest in the exhibitor's plans and paid him several compliments which the latter received with indifferent grace, having reasons that the other knew not of for thinking but modestly oi" this

same vigilance

One morning, a little while after the fruitless watch, Mr. Baselton was in very bad temper, for he had sustained a fresh loss. He was leaning against a pillar, some short distance from his counter, thoughtfully biting the end of his pencil case, when a man spoke to him. He looked round at the sound, and saw a police constable, whom he very much disliked for his unbusiness-like ways, standing close by him. He growled out some hardly civil words, and turned from the man, but the latter was not to be daunted,

' I am afraid you have had a loss, sir,' said the man, ' and hope it is not very serious ; but at any rate I should like to a word or two with you.'

' What for ? ' retorted Baselton. I have lost a gold watch, and as I have not breathed a syllable about it to a soul I don't see how you could know anything of it, unless some of your lively ' force

' have ' 'You are very severe, Mr. Baselton,' said the other finding he stopped, you are indeed, sir. Now, sir, I have my opinion about these robberies, and I think I have found out the order the thief works in and can pretty well guess in what quarter he will next try. I believe 1 can catch him.' • You!' exclaimed Baselton with^H emphasis that was anything but^Bm-" plimentary to the officer. r ' Yes, sir/ replied the man firmly. ' I can. You have a good deal of influence with the authorities, and if you will ask I shall be taken off regular duty and detailed for special services, and I can then catch him.' 1 Well, tell me your plans,' said £aselton } ' and, in return I will tell you this : you know that there are fifty pounds offered on the quiet for the apprehension of the thief. Find him, and I will make it a hundred.' The constable smiled, and, lowering his voice, spoke to the exhibitor in whispers. When he had finished, Baselton slapped his hand on the counter with a force that jarred every article, and exclaimed : 'You are right. Are you on duty ?' ' TSo, sir,' said the man. ' Then you shall be.' The application for the constable's change of duty was doubtless made, for he disappeared from his accustomed patrol.

During the next day or two Baselton became loquacious on the subject, and in conversation with Mr. Glisser, who took a very kindly interest in the matter, owned that he had changed his oppinon about the matter of the robberies. He was convinced, he said, that if the thief came by night, he would have been caught long before, but that everybody was on the wrong scent, and that the thefts were really committed in the bustle of closing for the evening, and then, not being found out till the morning, it was naturally supposed that the thief came in the night. Mr. Glisser was very much struck by this view, which he commended highly, and urged increased vigilance about the time spoken of.

While this was going on there had been no fresh depredations from the counters, and Constable Lowcliffe had been absent from duty, although no one seemed to have noticed it. When visitors departed at the close of the day, all the interior of the building became depressing enough, as the light faded away, and there were no places more spectral in their aspect than those in which were clustered most closely the white statues, which were plenti fully sprinkled about. Nymphs, Venuses, Bacchuses, and Apollos, Grecian hunters, scriptural and mythological figures, all looked equally ghostly in their dim white, when the twilight or night had fallen upon them. So, in the gray of the morning all the statuary looked mystic and un earthly enough, as the stony figures looked down from their pedestals ; but none looked more sepulchral than did

tall sheeted figure which occupied a pedestal slightly screened —come which direction the visitor might—by two of the large groups. This figure might have been taken in the distance, and in the dim light, for a Jewish priest, or a Druid, or anything of the kind ; but had any one come near enough to inspect, it would have been seen that the long robe was of linen, not stone, and that the face was less that of an ancient hero than a modern one. And what was rather strange, this particular pedestal was empty all day, and only occupied at night.

Standing at this particular spot, any one could see in every direction for a consider able distance, and there was scarcely any hiding-place near; the Druid on his pedestal had no doubt reckoned on these facts having great weight with the marauder. Several nights had gone by and no discovery made, yet Ned Lowcliffe crept silently to his selected station, and assuming his disguise as the shrouded statue, patiently watched all through the darkness; so patiently, that no one not close enough to touch him could have imagined that he differed from the effigies around.

It was yet comparatively early in his watch, on a certain night, and a young moon threw sufficient light here and there to make everything more uncertain than usual, when Lowcliffe finding himself a little cramped from standing so long in one position, prepared to make one of his guarded shifts he was forced to indulge in during the evening; but just as he com menced carefully to draw one leg behind the other, he stopped, rolled his eyes eagerly round, and then remained so motionless he scarcely breathed. With step almost noiseless —but not quite so for such a listener's ear —a man glided round the angle of a counter close by, and stand ing close by Lowcliffe paused, stooped, looked along the floor in every direction, then sat upon an adjacent pedestal, and leaning against the le^s of a Hercules, lis tened. If the process of persperation were not wholly a silent one, Lowcliffe would have been betrayed for the cold beads came upon his forehead, as he saw how near he was to a discovery. The man was sitting on the very next pedestal, a block which almost touched his own. There he waited quietly for a while, not very long, but long enough to assure himself that no patrol was coming that way ; then he rose, and in a few steps was at the nearest counter, and tried a key in the lock ; one or two attempts failed, but at last a door opened, and his head and shoulders were lost to sight; he reap peared with a small box, which he placed on the ground before him, and then tried one or two keys. Again the lock yielded, the lid was rapidly transfered to the "man's pocket.

Some object, however, seemed unknown to him, anjLhe held it up against the dim light, ajgjWndcaronrcd to make oat what it wa^.^^Hb his horror one of the statues sprangßom its pedestal toward him. It was instantaneous, but the flash was enough; the figure all in white moved, and leaped upon him ; then, with a fear fnl yell, which rang from end to end of the building, the thief fell in a fit upon the floor. Alarmed by the scream, two or three officers were speedily at the spot, and turning on their lanterns, were nearly as much astonished in turn to see a white sheeted figure standing by the side of a man in convulsions.

When their momentary surprise had ceased upon their discovering who the sheeted figure was, they proceeded to unfasten the unfortunate man's scarf and collar, sprinkled him with water, and lifted him from the ground ; his struggles ceased, and a few long breaths announced that he was ' coming to.'

' I don't know him,' said one of the constables. •

'I do though!' exclaimed Lowcliffe. ' Well! of all the parties as I could have supposed, I never could have supposed him. Why, it's that blessed Glisser— from the stall next to old Baselton ; a fel low that looks as if butter would not melt in his mouth.'

'Where am IP—who are you?' said the miserable culprit.

' Oh, we're particular friends of yours,' said the officer.

• But I saw one of those things move,' said the man looking round with a dread ful shudder. Lowcliffe had stripped off his white raiment by this time, and so did not shock the wretched Glisser's eyes.

•We will tell you about that in the morning,' said the constable. ' What you have got to do is to come along with us.

It was so—he had to come along, and directly the exhibitors and their staff mustered in the building, the intelligence flew like wild-fire that Mr. Glisser was in custody for breaking into the stalls at night.

It was a shoek rto a large circle of his aquaintances and admirers who could hardly believe it, and when, on his lodg ings being searched, the bulk of all the articles missing from the connters was found, the the things seemed more in credible still. Mr. Baselfon was especially astounded, because he had made quite a confident of the young man, and had the mortification of remembering how he him self had revealed to Mr. Glisser the various plans for detecting the thief; and that if it had not been for Lowcliffe insisting* on the ruse of attributing the pilfering to the afternoon instead of the night he probably would have put the young man on his guard against the scheme which had proved successful. He recovered his, watch and other articles, paid his hundred pounds cheerfully, and gained a reputation with the ' force' for the readiness with which he put his name down to their sub scriptions for deserving objects.

Mr. Glisser's proved a very bad case, and he was lost to sight for some years after the date of the exhibition of 1862. — Ghamhers1 Journal.

A Race for Life.

One hundred years ago there lived upon the shores of Stevens Biver (a small stream emptying into Casco Bay) a man named Peter .John. An honest, upright fellow, a good neigh bour and friend, but with one abominable habit, that won'him many enemies, and caused much discomfort and even suffering to those around him. This fault was an almost irresistible fondness for joking, that would not allow him to'let an opportunity pass unimproved wherein he could gratify this special passion of his being. There came a time, however when the exercise of this peculiarity brought upon him an ordeal so sharp that it cured hid unfortunate propensity, to the great joy of his family and friends. Tie process was disagreeable, but the cure was effectual and permament.

One day Peter had been at work a few miles from his home. Mter his day's labour was finished, his em ployer invited him to partake of tho evening meal with him ; this invitation Peter accepted, and then, his system fortified witha hearty supper, he com menced his journey homeward. The path which Peter trod that night would lead one to-day through cultivated fields and by many pleasant farm-houses, but then it was an un broken forest.

It was a dark, cold December night, the wind swept fitfully among the great pines and beeches, and strange, mourning sounds went sobbing through the forest; now and then an owl uttered its hoarse cry, or the sudden rattling of the dead leaves told where some timid animal scurried away from the sound of footsteps. But Peter was strong and stout hearted, and trudged quietly along, without paying much attention to the sights and sounds around him, until he had achieved perhaps one-half of his journey, when suddenly his ear caught the sound of a horse's feet de scending the long, rocky path behind him. Gradually the sound drew nearer, until the sharp, peculiar voice of the horseman could be heard urging the beast to a faster gait.

' Ah ! ha !' said Peter to himself, as he heard the familiar tones ; ' that is Uncle Tom Barry'

JSTow TJncle Tom and Peter were neighbours, that is to say, their clear ing^lay about a mile apart, and none knewbetter than Peter that the old man was naturally of a timid disposition, and futhermore, that nothing inspired him with greater fear, nothing that he had not rather meet than a wolf.

No sooner, therefore, had Peter become convinced that the horseman behind was his neighbour than he resolved to use this trait of Uncle Tom's as a means of working out what he considered would be a most capital jake. His plans were soon laid, and he proposed to put them into execution. Creeping through J;he undergrowth which bordered on his path, he crouched down and patiently awaited the approach of his victim. He had not waited long before Uncle Tom, his horse at s, sharp .trot and himself casting timid glances around, arrived opposite his place of concealment. Peter allowed him to pass a few paces, and then springing, forward on his hands and knees, he uttered one or two snarling yelps followed by the loud clear gathering cry of the wolves.

The effect upon Uncle Tom was elec trical. Springing half way out of his saddle, he uttered a scream of terror, and then, stooping until his head nearly touched the mane,he plunged his spurs into the horse's flanks and was off down the road like a shot. As for Peter, he rolled over on his back and kicked his heels in huge enjoyment 'of his success. Loud and long he laughed, occasionally varying the per formance by making the forest ring with a repetition of the wild, savage cry that had struck such terror into Uncle Tom's timid heart. But there was an end to Peter's mirth, and he, wiping his eyes , regained the path, and was about to resume his journey, when he heard a sound that sent a cold shiver coursing over his body, and almost froze the blood in his veins. The wolves heard his successful imitation of their music, and were coming in full cry upon him. In an instant he realised his position and peril. From the sounds he knew that the wolves were coming down on either side of the path he had just travelled, therefore the nearest point of safety was his own clearing, more than a mile away.

All this passed through his mind at a flash, and then, calling all his energies into play,he dashed down the path with scarcely less speed and terror than did Uncle Tom Barry himself. Peter was a famous runner, and had come off victor in many a trial of speed when the people had come together at a raising or log-rolling, but this was no ' holiday game. He was not taxing his muscles to win the applause of admir ing friends or to gratify ambition to excel. The race was for life. Down the long slope that led to Pil kin's Hollow, and up the ascent beyond, fled Peter while hardly a hundred yards behind came a snarling pack, hungry and fierce. The life of an unarmed man would not be worth a minute's purchase could they once surround him. This Peter acknowledged to himself, as a thought entered his mind of standing on the defensive; so he abandoned the thought before it was

fully formed, and braced himself anew for flight. Down another long slope, across a broad sheet of ice at its foot, and Letherbees Bill, with its long, steep ascent, lay before him. He shuddered as he glanced up its rugged side, for he felt that his strength would hardly suffice to carry him to the top. The perspiration streamed from every pore, his breath came in short, wheezing gasps, his steps were becoming un steady, and once, striking his feet against a loose stone, he prevented himself from falling by an exertion so great that the blood spurted from his nostrils and flames seemed to leap before his vision.

Still he kept on, though it seemed madness to hope, for his pursuers has gained on him fearfully; he knew it by their footsteps; but, with energies inspired by mortal terror, he ran on, hoping to gain only the brow of the hill, for there the ground became more open, aud his own cabin was but a few yards beyond. He felt sure that his pursuers would not follow him beyond the summit, but could he reach it before they would close upon him.

No, not by his own exertions, for just as the thought passed through his mind' his foot caught in a gnarled roo that extended across the way, and he fell heavily; his head struck the frozen ground, and he lay senseless.

When Peter recovered consciousness he found himself hanging over the broad shoulders of his brother John, and about to enter his own door. Here he soon collected his scattered senses, and was able to listen intelli gently to his brothers account of his rescue.

Uncle Tom Barry, in his flight, had stopped at the cabin long enough to shout through the window that the wolves were out, and hurried on John, who lived with his brother, knowing that Peter must come the same path, took his gun and walked out to the edge of the forest, where he halted to listen. But a short time elapsed before he heard the sound of the pursued and the pursuers, and rushing down the hill,^he arrived upon the scene just in time to cap between Peter's prostrate form and the wolves, the foremost of whom were less than ten feet distant. Taking steady aim, he sent a bullet into the creature's brain, and then,' while the pack were fighting over the dead body of their comrade, he slung Peter over his back, and gained the open ground in safety. Peter frankly told the whole truth about the affair, from beginning to end, and concluded the story with the emphatic assertion that as long as he lived ho would never be guilty of another practical joke, a vow he faith fully kept until his dying day.

The Child's Dream.

BY T. B. HANNAFORD

The sun was setting behind a range of hills in the far west, tipping their peaks with a golden halo ; the lowing kine were sedately wending their way to the byre ; the rosy dairy-maids tripping aloag with their paiis to draw the lacteal streams from the bovine font ; the husbandmen plodding wearily homeward from their labours in the fields, now and then how ever exchanging a pleasant word or jibe with, the rustics they met by the way; the birds warbled their vesper lays in the thorn brake, and atop the trees, where the breeze anthems were playing ' midst their foliage ; all surrounding nature was serenely smiling, preparing to put on the ebon mantle of night.

The last rays of day's glorious orb shot athwart the lake beside a cottage, on whose walls had climbed the honeysuckle and the woodbine, making it's placid waters skimmer and sparkle as if they were the abode of a million stars. One ray piercing the cottage casement, lit upon the head of a lovely child and, mingling with her hair, caused it to appear a very crown of elory.

She had been ' put into her little bed'— for why, the hectic flush on her sunken cheeks too clearly indicated.

The maiden might have numbered ten bright summers, certainly not more than twelve ; her sister noiselessly flitted about the chamber performing various little offices which woman, and woman alone, can do with a grace and charm; anon smoothing the snow white coverlet, then damping with essences the feverish hands and brow, now replacing a vase of rare japonicas, the present of a lady visitor, with three moss roses culled from tke child's own garden. Having so done, she launched a look of unutterable love towards the apparently sleeping sufferer, and then from sheer exhaustion sank into a chair. ' Katie !' • Yes, dearest Nellie !' ' Come to me darling, I have something to say to you.' ' Well, what is it my pet?' said Katie I bending over her. 1 Where's Edith and Bernard ?' 1 Bernard has gone to town after some medicine and Edith is lying down awhile. But my dear the doctor says you must not exert yourself with talking.' ' Katie !' ' Yes, love.' 1 Did not you and Edith sit up with me all last night ?' • Yes, dear.' ' And the night before ?'

< Well—yes. But really dearest you must not talk so much, the doctor would scold me if he only knew.'

' When did you have a night's rest ?' said the sufferer, nothing daunted by her sister's admonition.

«O, we managed very well! have you slept Nellie darling ?' ' Oh ! said the child piteously, you are wearing yourselves out for me, it will break my heart; promise me Katie you will all go to bed this night, and let Mrs. Wells sit up with me till morning.' 'But, dear Nellie, Mrs. Wells never keeps awake, and snores abominably.' 1 Do as I ask you Katie, it will grieve me if you don't. Well then, I promise you we will, said her sister.

' I am so glad,' said Nellie 'I shall feel happy knowing you are not making your selves ill for me.'

Her sister after making a soothing draught for the sufferer's night potion, and giving a few more slight touches here and there to the room's contents, went down stairs for her tea.

Mrs. Wells (the nurse) duly arrived, and settled herself in the easy chair, denuding her head of its ' chignon' and sundry ' rolls,' she gathered up her own poor bit of hair and placed on her head an enormous night-cap, fished out from the depths of a capacious pocket; and after all the household had sought their beds, to get that rest they so sorely needed, she produced a ' night-cap' of another des cription, encased in a black bottle.

One by one the stars shone out, until the vault of Heaven was one mass of fixed and twinkling gems. The nurse was deep in audible slumber. The child herself was calmly sleeping, an angelic smile playing on a countenance, the chastened light of the moon shewed to be of more than earthly beauty.

Voices and murmurs were there, but not corporeal—forms were gliding round that couch, yet not of earth ; but oh ! how plainly they appeared to the sleeper ; the forms and voices were those of angels, and the murmurs the rustle of their wings. What words in our poor language could even feebly portrajltheir celestial diction ?

What conception could we poor mortals have of the divine harmony that steeped the maiden in a " bath of bliss" as in entrancing cadences they comingled their voices in the New Song ? Presently the seraphs formed a cordon around her bed ; and lo ! an angel of a nobler presence appeared, fanning her brows with out stretched pinions.

' Child of earth!' said the archangel' sorrow and suffering are sent by the All Wise to remind you that this is not your fixed abode, and yet the world has pure ioys and pleasures to compensate in some degree for the evils brought on the human race by Adam's sin. See how beautiful are the flowers!'

• Spirit!' said the maiden ' truly they are lovely, yet pain oft closely follows pleasures they impart. It was but yester day, that I did cull a rose, and placed it

within my bosom, and lo! its thorns pierced deeply in my breast. " Oh! take me where bloom fadeless flowers, and thorns are utter strangers.' ■

' Note,' said the angel, * the rich fruis of earth ;' see their variety, botla in form and flavor; designed by Wisdom so as not to pall, on two of nature's senses — sight and taste.'

'I grant their lusciousness angelic friend; yet I remember that, whilst plucking one, my finger came in contact with a bee, who stung me to the quick. Oh! take me where the fruits do ne'er decay, and virus of the bee unknown,'

* Eeflect my child on what you ask Jehovah. Were your prayer granted, no more would you return to smiling earth, its flowers, its fruits, its balmy airs, and cheering sunshine; those shady nooks and pleasant groves where oft you've wandered in the noontide hour, „. the babbling brooklets banks no more revisit to lave your feet and watch the gleaming fish as they dart here and there, 'neatkits transparent waters. Above all(said the archangel) can you leave your youthful brothers and those loving sisters ?'

The child's lips trembled.

• Eemember' you would never more in this world press their lips or feel yourself encircled in their arms. 1

' Will not they all rejoin me. in that land where sorrow enters not and tears ne'er well tip to their eyes or mine ?' The seraph and his angel Cordon smiled. • Then' said the child triumphant * let me go ; the space that intervenes 'tween time and vast eternity is, in compare, far, less than a single drop of water to the wide ocean. I may perhaps be made their guardian angel, to sooth them in their struggle through the world, and smooth their pillows in the hour of pain ' 'Oh ! blessed child, beloved of the Lord ! lam permitted to grantyou your request, c'en as you wish it, so it ordered is—ascend with us ! Thus the Archangel. A cry did issue from the maiden's lips, spasms of pain distorted every feature, the wasted hand did beat the air in agony. Tis past! the dream turned to reality! Back on the pillow fell the earthly part of Sainted Nellie, a radiant beaming smile fixed on her countenance ; the soul had issued forth, and, caught in angel's arms,

was borne aloft with more than lightning speed. Upwards! higher still! towards the goal—the everlasting song joined in by her, the newborn member of that celestial choir, the golden gates flew open to receive her, so wide tbat —those she loved and left behind might almost look within and see the glory. * * * * * Three youthful mourners stood around sweet Nellie's coffin, their silent tears fell fast on tbat white yet smiling face. They had conjointly bound together with white ribbon the three moss roses, and placed them in their sisters breast, typical of the Trinity. They were taking their last long look on one they loved so well. ' The Lord gave,' sobbed Bernard ' The Lord hath ; taken away,' con vulsively murmured Edith. No sound did issue from the lips of Kate, but had you watched her as she cast her streaming eyes upward towards Heaven, those lips' would have been seen to move, and form— ' Blessed he the name of the Lord !'

New Chums.

"New Chums"—Who they? Why old chums from home ; Templed by promises thus far to roam. " New Chums, the new Chums" 'tis sickening the cry, When uttered by new chums of one month gone by.

It matters not hitherto where you have been— What lands you have travelled, what sights you have seen What distinctions you've earned, what hard-

ships o'ercome, You're but (in New Zealand) a Billy new chum. Old chums gather round that you may admire Their business-like air, " tall-talk," and attire— Their beauty of mould (both figure and face) Oh new chums, gaze long on this mighty race. They say a new chum may be known by his talk; By his look of surprise ; his " old country " walk. Prom the Governor down —whoever may come, Is daubed on arrival a " silly new chum." No wonder Eew chums would look round with surprise On triumphs of art that on each hand arise. There's the Auckland Museum, unequalled I ween, By like institutions elsewhere to be seen. How bold the exterior, see the exquisite taste, Displayed in each line of this building so chaste; Its domes, and its towers, its turrets and htflls, That rival the beauties of even St. Pauls.

Then they look at the wharfs, how dazzling the sight To tie now chum from England, poor foolish wight! Whet! —five or six Bhips ! —thinge in Enghmd so rare, ; (" Oil dear, if at home, how the old folks woiild stare") And wonder, no doubt how this old home can be

(Compared with this Eden) still "gem of fche sea."

Then look at the streets, gracious me! three

or four (Of real business streets, you may one day find more). Next look at the statues, how proudly they

rise, In the form of pumps, what a vast enterprise! And sighing remark, " A.h me what a.pity That each town at home is not called a city."

Next comes the Railway, now the new chum will stare, Here's somethiag at last that they've not seen elsewhere; The new chum is awe-struck, he stops to adore, But fancies in England he's seen all before.

Oh Colonists learn to shun self-conceit, When you've nothing to boast 'tis so indis-

creet, " 'Tis reproachful in age, disgusting in youth, And nations, like men, have attested this truth.

If greatness and modesty go Hand-in-hand, I sigh for the greatness that's found in this

land; If you look for a sigu there's nothing, alas, But an awful amount of what we call

"gas;" Be smart if you will, but be modest withal, Or chums who know nothing may rise where you fall.

Don't blow your own trumpet, leave others that task, And learn that wisdom oft wears the fool's

mask, While fools will prate on who've got nothing to show. But] really the depth of the little they know, Of course 'twill be urged that the Colony's

young, Just the reason its babes should yet hold their tongue.

A Cairo Bath.

A lady correspondent thus describes a bath at Cairo: * The room was low, small and octagonal in shape. The inevitable stone basin and seats were in the centre. When we came in, a number of old women and girls were occupying the seatf. In one corner of an alcove was a large water-trough, which was being filled with boiling water. We took in these pre parations without understanding them very well. We had imagined ' the bath' to be one of hot air and not of hot water| We had no objection to be stewed by the former, but strongly disliked to be boiled in the latter. The time was passed, however^ for us to decide for ourselves we could only submit; but when the attendants, arming themselves with palm fiber and soap, proceeded deliberately to wash us iix the above mentioned water, it was more than flesh and blood could bear. We had but three Arabic words between us, none of which m&ant 'cold.' T frantically de manded 'moir' (water). They granted our demand by saluting our shoulders with douches of the scalding water, till I almost felt as if my skin was peeling off me. I have ever since had a fellow-feel ing for that unfortunate blackamoor whom his master tried to wash white. Our attendants were quite pitiless. Eyes,' nose, ears, mouth —everything was co- vered and filled with that stinging white soap which they used.'