THE WRONG TRAP.

I. In the vicinity of Drury Lane Theatre stands a hostelry which boasts the curious sign of the " City of lushing ton." The house is a great resort foi actors and for those genial owners oi open hearts and straightened pocket? who glory in belonging to the Order of Antedeluvian Buffaloes. The chief room of the inn is the meeting-room of the Buffaloes It is divided into " wards," so-called, and these divisions Lave lugubrious titles—Poverty Ward, Insanity "Ward, Suicide Ward. -A moral underlies this labeling of the evils which follow the abuse of good liquor.

One evening in October two coixe dians met under the shadow of Tnsanity "Ward at the " City of Lushington." They were artists of a very humble stamp—pantominists who picked up a living in a strolling fashion during summer, and whose harvest time was Christmas, and the weeks of January and February. (ne was a harlequin yclept Smithers, but preferred to be called on the bills Sign or Tomato. The other postured as clown ; his name was Pudson, and he too had a non de theatre, calling himself Pittle Pud.

To the latter personage, smoking in gloomy solitude—for the usually well fitted room of the' City of Lushington ' was that night empty—entered Mr Smithers. The old colleagues greeted each other warmly, for they had shared in the frolics of many a harlequinade.

' And how has luck gone with you ?' asked Pudson, after some talk together.

* "Fairly for thetimeof year,' answered the harlequin, ' I have taken a ballet troupe on a tour through the second rate towns and done pretty well.'

* I have been lucky and unlucky by shifts and starts—doing a bit here and there at the circuses, and taking a turn now and then at the music halls That pays best of all. I have a good mind to cut pantomine and go in for that entirely.'

' Not just yet, any way. You are engaged for the Forum, aren't you ?' asked the harlequin. ' .Not yet but I expect to be,' replied the clown.'

'I am and so is my little woman.' 'Confound it!' enjaculated Pudaon ; ' 1 hoped to get Mary in there.' 'But Lora has got it. She's to be Columbine.'

• Is that your girl ?' 'That's mine. Lora with an o, not your common au? sOh,' said the clown, reflectively, * Hightalion, I suppose V

.VShe passes for a Hightalion, but she's English. She's billed as Lora Lorini.' The two friends shook hands and parted as the ' City of Lushington' began to receive an incursion of its usual frequenters. ii—pudson's stoby. I am lying here on this bed helpless. I shall not die yet, the doctor says; the bones are setting; and in a few weeks I may be out again; but I shall never be fit for the clowds business any more. This misery and suffering I have brought upon myself; it has been the result of my own wicked animosity— the consequence of a jealousy which urged me into crime. I will tell you how it came about.

I joined the Forum Company this laßt winter when Smithers and I were engaged for the pantomime. To my surprise, I found that the girl to whom I had been paying addresses—Mary Morris by name—was engaged for * Columbine.' 1 had understood from Bmithers that some sweetheart of his named Loralorini was going to take that part. The sight of Mary was an unexpected pleasure, and going up to her I said; 'Mary my dear, this is good luck ; but I thought the Colum bine ' was to be Lora Lorini.' * So she is,' she answered, ' W hat then are you to be ? Harlequin or some nonsense of that sort?' 'No—Columbine.' I stared at her utterly ignorant of her meaning. 'Don't you know,' she went on, that my professional name is Lora Lorini ?' I was staggered. 'But Smithers,' I cried ; ' Smithers claims Lora as his girl! Surely Mary you have not been playing both of us false?' < - = '

' His girl, indeed ! Neither his nor yours if it comes to that, unless you keep a civil tongue in your head. Can't a girl have more than one admirer I should like to know ?'

'■ She may have a dozen admirers, but §hei cannot have more than one plighted lover, if she has any sense of decency.' Mary* turned on her heel and flounced off.: I noticed during the rehearsals how she devoted herself exclusively to Smithers, while I got never a word. There came a hitter, gnawing pain at my heart at being treated so—a hunger to be revenged bnlim and her. Many a time X had it in my mind to stick my clasping knife into his throat -, but the attempt was too risky ; it might have failed, and I should infallibly get arrested for it. I brooded,over a subtler revenge; "but first I took Mary aside. 'I want to speak to you,' 3 said

. * I don't want to, speak, to you she saucily lansvFered. .. , . '&o tollies—tKia is a weighty matter, I retorted sternly. ' Listen and be careful/ ■■•'■: •ilhi-a -n .-, ~.»;'.•■.,• 'Goon.' '-'\ b4?.iiU-b«K ,•..;■■■;! I, «vvj ! *I ask you if you love George Smith toyou;do;nte;'..;- •;;;(;, ■ •;

* Lor Tom', how do I know ?' You must know the state of your

)wn feelings.'

' Well, he's not so cross as you, and he's a beautiful dancer, and he's so gracefully made —and in fact, I do like him.'

'Better than me?' 1 You see my poor Tom he has so many advantages over you.'

' GrO ' I replied grinding my teeth, 'those advantages shall be short-lived.' Ind this time it was I who turned on my heel and left her. This was on the 27th of December, the second night of the pantomime. kt the fall of .the curtain I sought out Smithers and said, 'see here George, I've thought of a bit of business in that scene before the barber's shop. I get hold of your wand; you stand there so ; now do the shivery-shaking business while I tickle you up with it. Now you regain it—force me back—and I fall into a huge pot of bear's grease.' Smithers agreed. What deep design underlay this fooling ? Will you see ?

The next night, jnst before the scene was to be enacted -which we had planned, I stole down under the stage and unbolted a trap on the spot where I intended Smithers should stand. In the midst of his harlequin play I re solved to push him on this pitfall that he might precipitate himself down and break his limbs or his neck

Cautiously I stole back again and our interlude commenced. After allow ing him to quiver and wriggle in his spangles while I shook my baton over him I placed my hand to his chest and pushed him on to the snare.

He did not fall! To my amazement the trap held.

Unsuspectingly Fmithers then re possessed himself of the wand and pushed me back. With a sudden gasp and cry I suddenly felt myself plunging down in the dark, striking my elbow and chin on the edge of the open trap. I lay there under the stage with a broken leg and fractured ribs. I had unbolted the wrong trap and fallen into my own snare. The audience as I heard afterwards, clapped and laughed, as cribing my disappearance to a con cocted part of the business. An apology had to be made. Luckily for the manager a fellow happened to be in the company who was accoustomed to go clowning in an amateur sort of way and he offered to finish the harlequin ade, taking my place. After a very short delay filled up with dancing, he was ready for his business.

They took me to the hospital and here I have lain for weeks and weeks. What my feelings have been in the long night watches I can never describe. The remorse, the consciousness how well I have deserved the doom 1 intended for another, the bitter repent ance when George Smithers came to my bedside, full of kindly solicitude and J durst not confess then, though I will confess, please God when I have regained my strength—he shall know all. But all this alteration of sorrow regret and self-reproach, of desperate doubt and wild prayers for forgiveness, is only known in heaven and to me. It has been a bitter passage but it has done me good. lam calmer now. 3f I get better I shall give up all thoughts of Mary and resign her to one who never assailed a fellow creature's life. 111. Tom Pudson, however, did not give up Mary— first because Mary declined to be given up ; and secondly, because George Smithers, alias Signor Tomato gave her up first. The harlequin was a gay sqark, who soon tired of a fancy, and a new face drove Mary out of his heart. So Mary returned to a more constant attachment, and Tom married her, made a clean breast of it to George and received his pardon. They are now doing well, for though Pudson's career as a clown is spoiled he has taken to singing with his wife in the music halls, and prospers comfortably.

Ctjm G-bano Salis.—A man living in the country, far from a physician, was taken suddenly ill. His family in great alarm, not knowing whaif else to do, sent for a neighbour who had a reputation for doctoring cows.

1 Can't you give father something to help him ?' asked one of the sons.

' Wa'al, 1 dont know nuthin' about doctorin' people.

'Tou know more than we do, for you can doctor cows. Now, what do you give them when they're sick ?' ' Wa'al,M allers gives cows salts— Epsom salts. You might try that on him.' .

'How much shall we give him?' inquired the son.

' Wa'al, I give cows jest a pound. I suppose a man is a quarter as big as a cow—give him a quarter of a pound.' 'Did you steal the complainant's coat?' aaked a magistrate of a seedy individual arraigned before him. f.-I decline to gratify the morbid curiosity of the public by answering that ques tion,' responded the seedy individual, with a glance at the reporters.

A lady once consulted Dr. Johnson on the degree of turpitude to be attached to her son.s robbing an orchard. ' Madame, said Johnson, 'it all depends upon the ! weight of the boy. I remember my school-fellow, David Garrick, who was always a little fellow, robbing a dozen .orchards with impunity; for the first time -I climbed up an apple tree —for I always was a heavy ,boy—the bough broke with and it was called judgement. I sup ipdse that is why justice in represented with a bair of scales!J

SAXONY GIRLS.

A WORD TO THE " EMANCIPATORS " OF

Women,

A whiter in the 'Contemporary Kevjew,' observes:—'Why do not the women emancipationists come to Saxony, and see with their own eyes what the capacities of the sex actually arc ? Here women show more strength and endurance than many of their husbands and brothers do. They carry on their broad backs for miles heavier weights than I should care to lend my shoulders to. Massive are ther legs as the Banyan root ; their hips are as the bows of a three-decker. Backs have they like derricks; rough hands like pile drivers. They wear knee-short shirts, sleeves at elbows, head-kcvchiefs. As a rule they possess animal good nature nnd vacant amiability. But at 20 or 25 they are already growing old. Growing old, with them, is a painful process, not a graceful one. The reserves of vitality are dry, and the woman's face becomes furrowed, even as the field she cultivates. Her eyes fade into stolidity and utn'n telligence. Her mouth seldom smiles. Thirty finds her hollow-cheeked, withered, bony. At 50 —should she live so long— she is in extreme old age. Meanwhile she has been bearing children as plenti fully as though that were her sole employ ment. But such labours secure her scarce a temporary immunity from other toil. I have seen her straining up a long hill, weighted with more burdens than one. Pleasanter is it to consider her in the hay field, before youth has dried up in her. Her plain costume follows her figure closely enough to show to the best advan tage its heavy, but not unhandsome con tours. Seen from a distance, her motions and postures have often an admirable grace. Her limbs observe harmonious lines. In racking, stooping, tossing the hay. her action is supple anil easy. As she labours in the sun, she keeps up a continuous good-hnmonred chatter with her companions. Her bare arras and legs are bronzed by summer exposure to heat— and dirt; nnd her visasre is of a colour almost Ethiopian. Women nre what men make them. The nation that degrades its women cuts off the wings and darkens the light which should lift and quid it to an enduring stand-point. I cannot but fee! a misgiving about these German triumphs in field and cabinet, when I see men helping themselves before women at table —and elsewhere. How many of us have dreamt romantically about the ideal German pea sant girl ? She appeared to us pretty to the edge of beauty—perhaps a step be yond. She was blue-eyed, and. flaxen braids fell over shapely shoulders. Her gown was charmingly cnught up afc one side; she was often seen with a distaff, and was apt to break out in sunny smiles or pathetic little songa. Goethe and Kaul bach have much to answer for ! And yei among many imperfect Gretchens, 1 have sometimes fancied that I caught a glimpse of the real, traditional heroine. Hand some and pretty women are certainly no rarity in Saxony, although few of them can lay claim to an unadulterated Saxon pedi gree. We see lovely Austrian?, and fascinating Poles and [Russians, who delicately smoke cigars in tke concert gardens. But it is hard for the peasant type to rise higher than comeliness ; and it is distressingly apt to be coarse of feature as well as of hand, clumsy of ankle, and more or less wedded to grease and dirt. Good blood shows in the profile; and these young girls, whose full faces are often pleasant and even attractive, have seldom an eloquent contour of no?e and mouth.'

THE UNWRITTEN SIDE OF GREAT MEN.

BY THE DANBURY NEWSMAN".

We always think of great men as in the act of performing deeds which give them renown, or else in stately repose, grand, silent, and majestic. And yet this is hardly fair, because the most gracious and magnificent of human beings have to bother themselves with the little thingsof life which engage the attention of up smaller people. No doubt Moses snarled and got angry when he had a severe cold in his head, and if a fly bit his leg while he was in the desert why should we sup pose he did not jump and use violent lan guage, and rub the sore place? And Caesar —isn't it tolerable certain he used to become furious when he went up stairs to get his slippers in the dark and found that Calphurnia had stowed them under the bed so that he had to sweep around them widly with a broom-handle. And when Solomon cracked his crazy-bone it is unreasonable to suppose that he ran around the room and felt as if he wanted to cry? Imagine George Washington sitting on the edge of the bed and putting on a clean shirt, and growling at Martha because the buttons were off; or St. Augustine with an apron around his neck, having his hair cut; or Joan of Arc hold ing her front hair in her mouth, as women do, while she fixed up her back hair; Napoleon jumping out of bed in a frenzy to chase a mosquito around the room with ■ a pillow; or Martin Luther, in a night shirt, trying to put the baby to sleep at two o'clock in the morning ; or Alexander the Great, with the hiccoughs; or Thomas Jefferson, getting suddenly over a fence to avoid a dog; or the Duke of Wellington, with the mumps; or Daniel Webster, abusing his wife because she hadn't tucked the covers at the foot of the bed ; or Ben jamin Franklin, paring his corns with a razor ; or Jonathen Edwards, at the din ner table, wanting to sneeze just as he got his mouth full of hot beef; or Noah stand ing at his window at night throwing bricks at a cat.

OUR HAIRS NUMBERED

Somebody has been at the trouble of calculating the average number of hairs which growon an average person'shead. It i 3 found that the number varies according ito the color of the hair. Light or blonde hair is the most luxuriant, the average of 'this color being 140,000. When the hair Lis brown the usual nun her is much less :being only 110,000, while black hairs ■reach only the average amount of 103,000. •It might naturally be, supposed that a light-haired person, having the most hair iwould have the greatest weight to carry, but it is not so. That which is lightest in color is also lightest in weight; and a lady with abundant flaxen locks ia as light headed; as one whose tresses are of a raven hue. Hence it follows that the former is of a finer texture.

MOUTON.

Ok a cold and rainy morning in March, j 18 —, a young man might have been seen' sauntering leisurely up the Boulevard Sebastopol. He was about twenty-four years of age, with a frank, ingenious face, and his costume, though elegant was almost coquettishly simple, Arriving at the upper end of the Kue dea Lombards, he stopped suddenly and respectfully raised his hat. A. sombre hearse came slowly down the street and crossed the Boulevard. On the threadbare and discolored pall which was thrown across the bier there was not a flower or the slightest token remembrance. A lone, with moist eye, of hanging head and muddy to his middle, followed sadly a spaniel, looking the picture of desolation. At sight of this , moving spectacle the young man shud dered and murmured sadly : 'ft hall it be said that there is not a Christian man capable of following the example of this dog? "What an unfeeling world ! I will follow the poor, aban doned one ; it shall not be said he was buried without a prayer,' and stepping into the muddy street he took a place by the faithful and last friend of the dead.

The dog turned his head and looked inquiringly at the new comer, then falling back a little he walked with him, looking up at him from time to time with his soft brown eyes. They arrived thus at the place of burial. The grave-diggers in a hardened and indifferent manner took the coffin upon their shoulders, muttering at the same time maledictions upon the rain and the bad road leading to the grave. \t the side of this frightful gaping hole, surrounded by the thrown-up earth, the dog stopped, posed himself across it, stretched his paws, _ and raising his head, uttered a long dismal howl.

The young man, already much moved by the desolate surroundings of the place, shuddered, and, carried away by his feelings, cried: ' Stop! this is horrible. Is there no means of de positing these remains in a more decent place than that ?' and with a trembling hand he pointed at the hole where the just and the unjust are thrown pell mell, to the great grief of the poor friends of the departed who have no means of buying a spot of that earth which God made for all.'

' Bah!' growled one of the m > 'there or elsewhere, it is all the saen to-us!' ' Citzen,' said the other, scenting a wind fa 1, "if you will pay it can be arranged, though this person is hardly worth the trouble.' 'It is well,' said tho young man; 'wait for me while I speak to thj superintendent.' They placed the coffin upon the ground and seated themselves upon it with the most philosophical indiffer ence 'I he dog following with nis eyes his new friend, until he was hidden from his view by tLe tombs of the remetery, when, as if fancying that his master's remains were quite aban doned, he recommenced howling; then went and laid his head upon the coffin regardless or the men who vainly en deavored to drive him off. An hour later, the sad ceremony of interment was finished, and the poor dead re posed in six feet of earth, decorated with a black cross.

After Laving commended to G-od fche soul of the departed, the young man arose and called the dog. ' Come,' he said, passing his hand over his wet head, 'the day has been well spent! Come, my poor friend, thy fidelity has been recompensed; come, I adopt thee, and sometimes we will come together to visit thy old master, I promise thee!' And, as if he comprehended these words the dog raised his head, looked at him intelligently, gave a joyous bound, and having licked his hand trotted on before him. Master and dog returned by the Avenue Sebastopol

And here a word of the hero of this little story. The young man, whom we shall designate as Leon Yarens, is a painter, whose talents are too well known to render a eulogy of them at all necessary. He had several years before the period of which we are writ ing- adopted an artistic career, to the very pinnacle of which his father had arrived long before his death. Edu cated under the supervision of a pious and good mother, he had so profited by her counsels and example as to have retained the purity of his heart and fiction in the midst of the dissolute artist life of Paris. Gray, frank, and enthusiastic in all that was beautiful and good wherever lie encountered them, he had found him to be—good, truthful, and brave. Living alone, he labored assiduously in his studio in spite of the ridicule of his young friends, who knowing him to be rich sneered at his industry, ignoring the fact that it had preserved him from the temptations to "which an artist, young, rich, and handsome, are sub jected. His atelier was decorated with sweet and precious souvenirs of a be loved mother, and with many of his father's chief d'wuvres —objects of re spectful pride, examples ef glory to be acquired.

To return to our two friends of the Boulevard Sebastopol. Arrived at the corner of the street Aux Ours, before a high house of a sombre appearance the dog stopped and refused to pro ceed. ■ : ■

'"Well, will you come?' said Leon, falling back a little after having whistled and called in vain., ' Come, come, we are not yet at home.'. Bui as he heard not, though always looking

at him, the dog went and came — entering the dark corridor cf the house, coming out again, and looking in a provoking way around his new master. 'This is singular,' said Leon. 1 What is the matter with him, after having followed me so well ? But it was here, or near here, that I methim ; perhaps this is the house of his old master. We will see/ Aud_ he followed the dog, who sprang briskly Up a dark and crooked stairway. But the animal yery soon discovered that, notwithstanding his willingness, it was not possible for him to ascend as rapidly as himself; so, stopping at the landing-places, he wagged his tail and gave little joyous y«lps as to encourage him, then recommenced his guidance to the upper story, where he waitedin a dark hallway between two opposite doors ; one of these he pushed open with his muzzle and presented to the artist a piteous spectacle. On a pallet covered with rags an old woman, wasted and wan, and seemingly in the last convulsions of agony and near her a boy of ten years, sobbing, on his knees. In a far corner of the chamber, upon the floor, was a bed of straw, which still preserved the print of a human form. Upon a poor broken table, covered with a white hand kerchief, stood before him an image of the virgin a brass Christ, surrounded by glasses of artificial flowers and two candlesticks, in one of which was still smoking the wick of a wax candle. No other furniture ; nothing but some ragged garments hanging here and there on the walls of this desolate chamber. With a bound the dog threw himself upon the boy and almost devoured him with caresses, while the little fellow put his arms about his neck and sobbed us if his heart would break.

'Ah, Mouton, it is all over then! And now G-od is taking from us my grandmother we shall be all alone. iShe pays wo must die, too ! ' No, no! indeed you shall not die ! interrupted. Leon much moved "We are here, your friend Mouton and J, to prevent it.' The child started at the stranger's voice and looked inquiringly at Leon, whom he and not noticed until now The sick woman slowly raised her head and looked at the stranger, then at her grandson, and endeavored to speak, but her voice was so feeble that she could scarcely articulate. Leon approached her, and leaning over, said, softly, ' I come to bring you hope!'

The woman's eye lighted up for a moment, then, with an almost super human effort, she said : Speak, speak ! but—who sent you to us ?'

Leon pointed to the Christ upon the table —' He who cares for all His creatures. For His sake Providence has watched over your child !' Then he told her of his adventure with Mouton, and of his fidelity. She ral lied a little and said,' Ah, sir, I thank you !' and she tried with a hand fast growing cold in death to press that of her benefactor, who asked, • What can I do for you ?'

' Me, nothing; for him, much ; he will be alone and friendless,' and her filmy eyes rested sadly on the weeping boy ; she stretched forth her trembling arms, into which the child threw him self, sobbing wildly. My child! my joy !I am going. God biess you.' Leon placed the little fellow upon his knees by the bed, then laying his hand tenderly upon his head he said to the dying: ' I promise, madame, always to protect your child!' A ray of divine peace passed over her face; she could not speak, but placed her hands upon the heads piously bent over her, which were soon raised with the blessing of heaven and of the departed soul upon them

There was an exhibition of 1870 a work of art representing an atelier in which a boy of twelve or thirteen years, handsomely and tastefully attired, smiles upon his teacher under whose supervision he is spiritedly sketching a model very solemnly posed upon a velvet cushion. The boy is the adopted son of our hero, Leon Varens, and his best scholar. The model—is our friend Mouton — Mouton, plump, glossy, and curly, unrecognizable physically, but morally unchanged. Translated from the French.

POINTING AN ARGUMENT WITH A ROYAL BENGAL TIGER.

I eemembee once when General Schenck and self were stumping in Southern Illinois then called Egypt on account of its dense darkness, we were annoyed by a show that kept with us, and drew away our crowds. We compromised at last with the. proprietor of the fat woman, live anacondas, the calf with two heads and an assortment of tails, with other wild beasts, to the effect that we would divide the time.

When he exhibited in the morning we would address our fellow-citizens in the afternoon, and vice versa.

The arrangement worked beautifully. Speaking from the cage of the roval Bengal tiger, whenever the interest flagged, the orator had only to stick his cane in at the animal, through a hole at the top, and stirring the beast up to a few lively growls, arouse the voters to the perilous condition of the country.— Ameri-

can Paper,

' You jist ought to have been over to our house last night! ' shouted one smsll boy to another on the Campus Martius yesterday. ' Why—making pictures ?' inquired the other. ' Naut much' Humph! No, sir; our folks wont away and we had pop-corn, two kinds of sweet ened water, milk and camphor, drew the dog around in the table-cloth, and the hired girl told us eight ghost stories.'

Printed and published by the proprietors, <*?"*£* \« Bkett, of Parnetl, at their General ste»^*fiij;,d, lli Office, Vyndham-street, in the City of AucWMo, N6W|ealandSv l rday,AprUlo,lß7s I

BTTPPLEMENT TO THE AIJCKLANr) EVENING STAR,



W'AIWERA, HOT SPRINGS TO THE SICIC AND DEBILITATED. Follow Shakespeare's advice, " Throw Physic to the dogs " and visit tho Wahrera Hot Springs. The healing virtues of these famous springs border ou tho miraculous, scores of persons afflicted with Paralysis, Rheumatism, Eruptions, Contracted and Stiff Joints, Gout, Lumbago, Skin Diseases, Sore Heads, and varieties of painful diseases have been restored to perfect health through bathing m these marvellous springs, and drinking the mineral water, who gratefully bear testimony to the fact. The water has been pronounced the most remarkable healing water in the world, and effected most wonderfu cures. TOJ'THE TOURIST OR PLEASUBE "SEEKER IN LUSTY HE ALT E the Waiwera Hot Springs will be a source of amaze ment and delight. The scenery in the neighbourhood is diversified and picturefque, and affords abundant material for the Botanist, Geologist, Painter, Poet, or Recluse. THE FAMILY HOTEL is fitted with every convenience for comfort. A well supplied table is provided, and this, coupled with excellent accommodation, attention, civility, and moderate charges, leave nothing the most fastidious can desire. ■ A Yacht is kept for the use of visitors. There is fishing shooting, and other pastimes for the strong or convalescent. Steamers leave Auckland (which is only 2i miles distant) for the Hot Springs twice a week, and there are two conveyances twice a week overland. Wakefield-street, Auckland, December 14, 1874. Sir,— Having derived much benefit from bathing in your Hot Springs, Waiwera, I think it is a duty that I owe to the public—especially suffering humanity—that my case should be made known. Before I went to the Springs I suffered for more than a month the most excruciating pain from rheu matic gout, had to be. lifted in and out of bed, m fact was unable to walk without the. use of two sticks. It took me an hour to walk from Wakeiield-street to the ' Lady Bowen.' After getting to the Springs I bathed twice a day and drank freely of the mineral waters, at least a pint each day, and after six days I felt quite well, iree from pain, and can walk as well as ever I did It is now eleven days since I left and have had no return of pain. If this should induce any person suffering as I was to try the hot baths, I feel sure they will get cured, and if so, serve the object I have in writing to you.—l am, sir, your obedient servant, Thos. Weaving. Robert Graham, Esq. Auckland, January 5,1875. Mr Robert Graham, Sir,— Understanding you are the proprietor of tne Hot Springs at Waiwera, I think it is only due to you to give a short account of my successful experience of the efficacy of the Springs in the cure of Rheuma tism. I had been suffering from Rheumatism since the year '60, contracted through cold and wet work ing on the West Coast, and from that time until I left the Springs I had suffered periodically from the same. The second bath I took brought back all the rheumatic pains I had ever experienced in different parts of my body. At the end of a fortnight I was free from all pains, with the exception of the. ankles (which was always the worst part affected), and with the exception of my feet being very tender from so much hot bathing lam quite a new man; I have not the slightest pain of Rheumatism about me, not even in the ankles. To parties visiting the Springs I should advise them not to 'feel alarmed or disap pointed if they find themselves worse the first day or two; according to the general opinion it shows the action of the waters. Also I would recommend the drinking at least two or three glasses of water both on entering and leaving the bath ; also, sweating in the blankets, for which accommodation is provided in each bath; and to parties aiiected with £»cute Rheumatism I think the more they use them the more si>eedy will be the cure. I remain, sir, Yours respectfully, ~, C. H. WILLOTJGHBT. Auckland, 10th January, 1875. Dear Sir,— . In the interests of those who may be similarly afflicted, and in recognition of the benefits I derived at your sanatorium, the Waiwera Hot Sbrings, I desire to record the efficacy of the baths and water iv the cure of Dyspepsia, from which I had suffered many months. Thanks, however, to the virtues of the mineral waters, together with a free use of baths, I was relieved of the distressing symptoms, and have since enjoyed the best of health. Yours truly, John Bent. Robert Graham, Esq. Robert Graham, Ksq. Dear Sir, —Having suffered from rheumatism for some time past, on the recommendation of my medical adviser, Dr. Turnbull, of Christchurch, I visited your Hot Springs. After three weeks'bath ing and drinking the mineral water, I am restored to perfect health. In fact, I have not felt so well for years as I am at present, The trip altogether has "been a most enjoyable one. I found the hotel com fortable, excellent table, attendance gnod, civil and obliging, pleasant for the invalid seeking health, or the man of business requiring Jaxation. I know of no place in New Zealand where a person could pass a few weeks more agreeably than at your Hot Springs. Yours faithfully, J. J. FitzGibbon. Postmaster, Christchurch. yn^INKS AND jy ALL Are now opening up their NEW STOCK OF FURNITURE CARPETS, FLOOR-CLOTHS, SILK AND WORSTED DAMASKS, REPS TAPESTRIES AND BROCATELLES, Lace, Muslin, and Net WINDOW CURTAIN S, BRASS WINDOW CORNICES AND POLE TABLE-COVERS, BILLIARD CLOTHS, BLANKETS, GILT CHIMNEY and TOILET GLASSES Always on hand, a large stock of ■well-seasoned CEDAR, RIMU, AND KAURI, &y Agents fob the Celebrated GROVER AND BAKER SEWING MACHINE



os. ea, L ° ° X I';, CITY HALLI-^, ' AND SEE THE N 0 VEX TIY , OP THE SEASON IN ....,, • | MILLINERS . ~ 'i I ■ ■..! ;- CALL EARLY AND PURCHASE'A BEAUTIFULLY TRIMMED \ AND FASHIONABLE AUTUMN J BONNET ■ ' ■■..-;■ I FOB THE . . SMALL SUM or .■.■.-.;•'.. ss. Od. ' ■, w :■■■ :11 I CHEAPEST HATS iND BONJET 1 TO NEW ZEALAND NOW OBTAINABLE EROM TTOLLOWA V AND Q.AKLICK, CITY HALL, 'fey! Queen-street. • W j, ■ ■.': ■■'■ ■ s .»" rpHISTLE HO TEL. P. DARBY, Wholesale ajjt> Rwtatt . WINE AND SPIRIT S ORE I QUEEN-STREET, AUCKLAND, : | Begs leave to return many thanks to the public, ta I the very liberal support accorded him for manyyein E past. I Hying elected splendid Premises on the Bite oi I the old Houi-e which was destroyed by fire, lea.. I now prepared to execute all orders ..entrusted to mm. g rom town or countiy, with the i . CHOICEST SELECTION g WINES AND SPIRITS, 1 Comprising— % Sandiman's Four Diamond Old Port Wine \k Duff. Gordon's Sherry 1 Champagne—Cliquot's \ Champagne—Perr er, Jouet's | Champagne— Moseile, pints and quaus jij Claret- Chateau, Larosa ■ a Claret-LafUte H Claret—Leo-ville m Claret—St Julian's Ji Real Old Jamaica Bum * M Hennessy's Three Star Brandy [) And othei choice biands. R CASKS MA^E UP TO OBDBB ■ |j DIFFERENT BRANDS. W BASS'S ENGLISH ALB ON DB4.T7GHT.. I Liberal Allowances made to wholesale purchase* I TERMS : SI RICTLY CASH. I Spiritg Overproof, the same as from bonded Store, V Bold in any quantity. I. A GENTS FOR THE "STAR" I The Stab can be obtained from the following | Agents at any time after 5 o'clock p.m.:— .ji, f Dedwood—Mr Brown, "Dedwood Stnre [ Ponsonbt BoA.D—MrMcK>n»try, Po^nW. BT ffl Kakangahapk ROAD-Mr Y. Warren, &ydeiiliu» | Store ; Mr STicholas, Grocery Store m i NEWJiAKKET-Mr Withtforrf, Tronmongery Store r Ktber Pahs- tor Burns, Grocery store ;Mr i»y»« t Grocery Htore t ' ■ , _. . t . at***. 1 I ONEHUNGA-MrGilman, Chemist; MrW«tt^»w^- |, keei er ' | OTAHUHtr-Mr J. Hall, Post-office -Rrntm ' W Paknell—Miss Ryan, Grocery tore ;Mr a. JJ™< ' | Grocery Store ;Mr Aueur, Bootmaker . , ■-, p. Sobth SHOBK-Mr O. M»vb, Grocery Store. "..::,■ Duder, Grocery Store ; Mr Bass, Grocery »ww m "Welungton-stbeet—Mr Todri, Grocery More ,t m T. Hay ward, WelUngton HoteL McC»3» I Cobnbb or Wellihgton-strkbt —aw »" » II Grocer. , t>.w_-Jlt I Feet? m< n's Bat Hotel, FbSemans Uay ■ Stow. xtr West B Alma Placb &t> Nkighborhood—an | Alma Store -pniTj-Mr I; Eden, "Vine Hotel. New IsowTß &<>** . | Popleton . _, _ „ ' ■ .■■;!;,« Ros»s- HoTRt, Ktmosbs-street—Mrßoae | Newton Mr Mclndoe'sS'ere, Newton ■:: New North Road-Mr Collins, Bootmaker v a i ewton Road—Mr Walsh -niitntt - ■ k^B Oleat North Roao—Anderson and JSIUO" <|