SUPPLEMENT TO THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAB, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 23

Costing Under Difficulties

' WiFK * said d. Wilbur one morning, he sat stirrisg his coffee with one find and holding a plum-cake on his knee with the other, and looked across Se table into the bright eyes of his ,-V w if e , ' wouldn't it be a good joke 1 set bachelor Bill to take SdSwWateor. to Bnrnu^s show next W^Xou can't do it, Ed ; he won't ask w he's so awful shy. Why, he came L'here the other morning when I was banging out the clothes, and he looked over the fence and spoke but w hen I shook out a night-gown he Hushed like a girl and went away. 'I think I can manage it,' said Ed.; 'but I'll have to lie just a little. But then it wouldn't be much harm under the circumstances, for I know she likes him, and he don't dislike her, but inst as you say, he's so shy. I'll just J 0 over to his place to borrow some bags of him, and if I don't bag him before I come back, don't kiss me for a week;Nelly.' So saying, Eel. started, and while he is mowing the fields we will take a looli at Bill Smiley. He was rather a good-looking fellow, though his hair and whiskers showed some gray hairs, and he had got in a set of false teeth. But every one said he was a good soul, and so he was. He had as good a hundred-acre farm as any in Norwich, with a new house and everything comfortable, and if he had wanted a wife, many a girl would have jumped at the chance like a rooster on a grass hopper. But Bill was so bashful— always was—and when Susan fcrherry bottle, whom he was so sweet on, though he never said ' boo' to her, got married to old Watson, he just drew his head in like a mud-turtle into his shell, and there was no getting him out again, though it had been noticed that since Susan had become a widow he paid more attention to his clothes, and had been very regular in his attendance at tbe church the fair widow attended.

But here comes Ed. Wilbur. ' Good morning, Mr. Smiley.' 'Good morning, Mr. Wilbur'; what's the news your way ?' ' Oh, nothing particular that I know of,'.said Id. .'only Barnum's show that everybody is talking about, and everybody and his girl are going to. I wa3 over to old tockrider's last night, and I see his sorl Gus. has got a new buggy, and was scrubbing up his harness, and he's got that white-faced colt of his as slick as a seal. I under stand he thinks of taking Widow Watson to the show. He's been hanging around there a good deal of late, but I'd just like to cut him out, I would. Susan is a nice little woman, and deserves a better man than that young pup of a fellow though I would not blame her much either if she takes him, for she must be dreadfully lone some and then she has to let her farm out on shares, and it isn't half worked, and no one else seems to have the spunk to speak up, to her. By jingo, if I were a single man, I'd show you a trick or two.

So saying, Ed. borrowed some bags and started around the corner of the barn, where he had left Bill sweeping, and put his ear to a knot-hole and listened, knowing the bachelor had a habit of talking to himself when any thing worried him. 'Confound that young bagrider!' said Bill; ' what business has he there, I'd like to know ? Got a new buggy, has he ? Well, so have I, and a new harness > too ; and his horse can't get Bight of mine; and I declare I've half a mind to—yes, I will! I'll go this very night and ask her to go to the show with me. I'll show Ed. Wilbur that I ain't such a calf as he thinks I am, if I did let old Watson get the start of me in the first place!'

Ed. could scarce help laughing out right, but he hastily hitched the bags on hia shoulder, and with a low chuckle at his success, started home to tell the news to Nelly; and about 5 o'clock that evening they saw Bill go by with his horse and buggy, on his way to the widow's. He jogged along quietly, thinking of the old singing school days —and what a pretty girl Susan was then, and wondering inwardly if he would have more courage to talk up to her—until, at a distance of about a ttile from her house, he came to a bridge, he gave a tremendous sneeze and blew his teeth out of his mouih and clear over the dashboard, and, striking on the planks, they rolled over the side of the bridge and dropped into four feet of water.

Words cannot do justice to poor Bill, or pajnt the expression of his face as he s at there completely dumb founded at his piece of ill-luck. After-a while he stepped put of his buggy, and getting down on his'hands • and knees, looked over into the water. Yes, there they were, at the bottom, with a crowd of little fish rubbing their noses against them, and Bill wished to goodness that his nose was as close for one second.' His beautiful teeth that had cost him so much, and the show coming on and no time to get another set—and the. widow and young Sockrider. Well, he must try ; and get them somehow —and no time to be lost, for some one might come along and ask him what he was fooling around there for. He had no notion of spoiling his clothes by wading in with them on; and besides, if he did he could not go to the widow's that night, so he took a 1 ook up and down to see that no one was in sight; and '" raw ''■'- ---.-■;,....

then quickly undressed himself, laying ! his clothes in the buggy to keep them clean. Then he ran around the bank and waded into the almost icy-cold water, but his teeth did not chatter in his head—he only wished they could. Quietly he waded along so as not to disturb the mud, and when he got to the right spot he dropped under the water and came out with his teeth in his hand and replaced them in his mouth. But hark! What noise is that? A wagon, and a dog barking with all his might, and his horse is starting. ' Whoa ! whoa ! Stop, you brute, stop !' But stop he would not, but went off at a spanking pace, with the unfortunate bachelor after him. Bill was certainly in capital running costume, but though he strained every nerve, he could not touch the buggy, or reach the lines that were dragging on the ground. After a while his plug hat shook off the seat, and the hind wheel went over it, making it flat as a pancake. Bill snatched at it as he ran, and, after jamming his fist into it, stuck it, all dusty and dimpled, on his head. And now he saw the widow's house on the top of the hill, and what, oh, what will he do ? Then his coat fell out and be slipped it on, and then making a desperate spurt, he clutched the back of the seat aud scrambled in, and pulling the buffalo robe over his legs stuffed the other things beneath. Now the horse happened to be one he got of Squire Moore, and he got it from the widow, and he took it into his head to stop at her gate, which Bill had no power to prevent, as he was too busy buttoning his coat tip to his chin to think of doing much else. The widow heard the rattling of wheels and?; looked : out, and seeing that it was; Smiley, and that he didn't offer to get out, she went to see what he wanted, and there she stood chat ting, with her white arms on the top of her gate, and her face toward him, while the chills ran down his shirtless back clear to bis bare feet beneath the buffalo robe, and the water from bis hair and the dust from his hat had combined to make some nice little streams of mud that came trickling down bis face.

She asked him to come in. No, he was in- a hurry, he said. Still he did not offer to go. He did not like to ask her to pick up his reins for him, be cause he did not know what excuse to make' Tor not doing it himself. Then he looked down the road behind him, and saw a white-faced horse coming, and at once surmised it was that of Gus. Sockrider. He resolved to do or die, and hurriedly told his errand. The widow would'be delighted to go, of course she would. But wouldn't he come in. No, be was in a hurry, he said; he had to go on to Green's place. ' Oh,' said the widow, ' you're going to Green's, are you ? Why, lam go ing there myself, to get one of the girls to help me quilt to-morrow. Just wait a second while I get my bonnet and shawl, and I'll ride with you.' And away she skipped. ' Thunder and lightning!' said Bill, ' what a scrape !' He hastily clutched his pants from between his feet, and was preparing to wriggle into them, when' a light wagon drawn by the white-faced horse, driven by a boy, came along and stopped beside him. The boy held up a pair of boots in one hand and a pair of socks in the other, and just as the widow reached the gate «again, he said:' ' Here's your boots and socks, Mr. Smiley, that you left on the bridge when you were in swimming.' ' You're mistaken,' said Bill; ' they are not mine.' ' Why/ said the boy, ' am't you the young man that had the race after the horse just now ?' ' No, sir, lam not. You had better go on about your business.' Bill sighed at the loss of his Sunday boots, and, turning to the widow, said: ' Just pick up the lines, will you, please? This brute of a horse is always switching them out of my hands.' The widow complied; then he pulled one corner of the robe cautiously down as she got in. . ' What a lovely evening,' said she; 'and so warm I don't think we want the robe over us, do we?' (You see she had on a nice new dress and a pair of new gaiters, and she wanted to show them.) 'Oh, my,' said Bill, earnestly; 'you'll find it chilly riding, and I wouldn't have you catch cold for the world.' She seemed pleased at this tender c£tre for health and contented herself with sticking one of her little feet out with a long silk necktie over the end of it. ' What is that, Mr. Smiley, a neck tie ?' ' Yes,' said he, 'I bought it_ the other day and I must have left it in the buggy. Never mind it.' 'But,' said she, 'it was careless;' and stooping over she picked it up and mad© a motion to stuff it in between them. Bill felt her hand going down, and, making a dive after it, clutched it in his and held hard and fast. Then they went on quite a distance,, he still holding her hand in his and1 wondering what he should do when they got to Green's; and she won dered why he did not say something nice to her as well as squeeze her hand, why his coat was buttoned up so tightly on such a warm evening, and what made.- his. face and hat so dirty, until they were going down a

little hill and one of the traces came unhitched and they had to stop. ' Oh, murder!' exclaimed Bill, 1 what next ?' 'What is the matter, Mr. Smiley?' said the widow, with a start which came near jerking the robe off his knees. ' One of the traces is off,' answered he. 'Well, why don't you get out and put it on ?' / ' I can't,' said Bill, ' I've got—that is, I. haven't got—oh, dear, I'm so sick! What shall I do?' 1 Why, Willie,' said she, tenderly, 1 what is tbe matter! do tell me.' fche gave his hand a little squeeze, and looked into his pale face ; she thought he was going to faint, so she got out her smelling bottle with her left hand and pulling the stopper out with he i teeth, she stuck it to his nose.

Bill was just taking in breath for a mighty sigh, and the pungent odor made him throw back his head so far that he lost his balance and went over the low-back buggy. Ihe little woman gave a low scream as his bare feet flew past ber bead ; and covering her face with her hands gave way to tears or smiles—it is hard to tell which. Bill was ' right side up ' in a moment, and leaning over the back of the seat humbly apologising and explaining, when Ed. Wilbur and his wife and baby drove up behind and stopped. Poor Bill felt that he would rather have been shot than had td. Wilbur catch him in such a scape, but there was no help for it now, so he called Ed. to him and whispered in his ear. Ed. was like to burst with suppressed laughter, but he beckoned to his wife to draw up, and, after say ing something to hei", he helped the widow out of Bill's buggy and into his and the two women went on, leav ing the men behind. Bill lost no time in arranging his toilet as well as he could, and then, with great persua sion Ed. got him to go home with him, hunting up slippers and socks and getting him washed and combed had him quite presentable when the ladies arrive . I need not tell you how the story was all wormed out of bashful Bill, and they all laughed as they sat around the tea table that night, but will conclude by saying that they went to the show together and Bill has no

fear of Gfus. t ockrider now' This is the story about Bill and the widow/ just as I had it from Ed. Wilbur and if there is anything unsatisfactory about it, ask him.

A BEE IN HIS BONNET.

Ie Summer's day I was wandering, nntering slowly on an<l pondering, id softly to myself communing rhaps its best expressed by mooning ; r thoughts in fancy's realms aspiring, f body with the heat perspiring, r all the morning I'd been rambling irough tangled brakes and thickets brambling on the grass I sat desiting ■ rest awhile, for walking's tiring; lm was the morn, no breezes blowing, ) cloulds their sheltering shadows throwing, mpered the beinm the sun was flinging, ie very birds hart ceased their singing, 1 nature seemed to be reposing; id I wirh half-closed eyes was dosing, hen suddenly I heard a humming, vondered what on earth was coming ; it very soon I was enlightened, irmented, terrified and frightened ; jscending from the upper regions, >wn there came in countless legions lick as—l'm short of similes, humming buzzing swarm of bees. I sat amazed, no word I uttered, While round about they buzzed and fluttered, And fast in narrowing circles wheeled, TTntil my dizzy brain it reeled ; And ere my scattered wits I mustered Upon my hat the swarm had clustered, And the re I sat amazed, confounded— My head and hat with bees surrounded. I ttow as onward they were flying They spied me on the greensward lying, And my white hat looka so inviting They couldn't pass without alighting. But to resume—l am digressing— My situation was oppressing. And if I stirred, their angry singing Made me afraid they would be stinging. Thus to be plagued was past aU bearing, I. scarcely could refrain from swearing, By Jove, said I, this is provoking, . I hope they don't object to smoking, For when I feel my temper rising. I And a smoke most tranquilising ; So iv my pockets I 'gan poking To find materials for smoking, And as I my pipe was lighting, I hoped they would refrain from biting. But to a hum of admonition, They limited their opposition; Butfwhen the curling smoke ascended, Its pungent fumes the bees offended, And they began with indignation, To buzz and show disapprobation, Then flew away as if affrighted, And left me all alone delighted. T. Shakps, Onehunga.

His pensive face great future grief implied, As entering, he for " Comic copy " cried ; The Junior Editor in heavy sorrow sighed, Sunk deep the scissors in his breast,

And—Ah I—it; was the " devil" died.

An Orphan.

•&— orpnan ooy, announced uijah, as he handed out Timothy Drummond. Tim had a fearful eye, a bloody shirt front, and his short hair stuck up like wires. One coat-tail was absent, and there was a look about the man as if an elephant had played with him in a tin yard for half a day. ' Where do you belong ?' inquired the court. ' Tlejo,' was tho gruff reply. ' What are you doing up here ?' 1 Looking for my brother.' ' Have you found him ?' ' No, zur.' 'Well, sir,' continued the court, as he looked into the apple-drawer to see v if it contained anything, 'I am your brother—your lost brother. I have tbe strawberry-mark on my left arm, and I now begin to see some familiar lines in your face. I. have been greatly concerned about your health, and about your pecuniary prospects,; and I've just made arrangements with; a man to board you for three months.; Go in and sit down on the saw-horse, until my landaulet arrives.' ' Am I sent up ?' ' The same.' ' Blast yer old phiz for that!' ex-) claimed the prisoner; and he muttered! so that his Honor did not hear. Wait till I catch you in Tlejo !' 1

Blue Beard.

The Venetian Vebsion op the well-

known Stoey,

The Venetian story-tellers have- amal gamated Blue Beard with one of Grimm's ' Bausmarchen'—one wonders how it got among the Lagoons—and changed his Cerulean hue to that of the foul fiend himself. The story is entitled 'El Diavolo.'

Once upon a time there was a husband and wife, and they had three daughters, all grown up, and they took in washing. As it happened a gentleman passed by their house one day and fell in love with the eldest girl. He went to her parents and asked if thfy would give her to him for his wife. They saw that he was a handsome gentleman, and they said yes. And he married her and took her to the finest palace that eyes could see. When they got there he gave her the keys of all the rooms, but he said—

'Go wherever you like, except into that room there. If you go into it, it will be the worse for you.'

And he gave her a beautiful fresh rose to put in her hair, and then he up and went away. This woman was curious to know what was in that chamber that he said sho was not to go into, so she went and opened the door, and she saw that there were ever so many souls inside, all on fire, and knew that it was hell.

'Oh!' she cried, 'what have I done, what have I done ? For certain he'll put put me in there, too.'

Then she looked at the rose in her hair, and saw that it was quite faded. By and by back comes the husband, and says he, ' Good morning.' We noticed that the rose was faded, and he knew well enough that she had been into the room, so he said:

' Did you go into that room where I told you not to go ?'

And she answered him. • Not I indeed, Once you told me not to go; that was enough.'

' Very well; now I'll take you myself to see it.'

"With that he opened the chamber and pushed her into it. Ihen he locked the door; and what did he do but set off to her mother, and he told her that her daughter had been so ill until at last she was dead, and that now he should like to have the second daughter. And the mother gave her to him. The same story is of course repeated with the second daughter, and after she is disposed of in the same manner as her sister, the dcvil —who is represented as an eminently domestic character —not bein> able to do without a wife, returns a third time to the house of the washerwoman and demands her last remaining daughter in marriage. He obtains her from her confiding parents, takes her home, gives her the keys and Ithe fresh blown rose, and absents himself as before. But this third young lady is a match for her husband. She is no whit less curious than her sisters, but she takes the precau tion of removing the rose from her hair before peeping into tho forb'riden chamber, Of course, she sees whai. her sisters saw, and sees them into tbe bar gain. They cry to her to hasten away for otherwise her husband will throw her in there too. Bnt nothing daunted, she answers, ' Wait a b't. Don't be afraid. Only leave it to me.' The master of the house on his return finds his wife with the flower in her hair still fresh and bloom ing. He accepts her assurance that she has obeyed him, and professes an unbounded affection for her.

' Well, now, bark ye, old man,' said she ; 'we must think of sendiog a few things to the wash, for all the house linen is dirty. To-morrow morning I will put it into a chest and you must carry it to my mother's and she'll wash it fon.us.'

She waited till her husband went out, and then she put a few soiled things into the chest and went and fetched her eldest sister and put her into the chest too, and some money besides, and she said to her:

' Remember, when you are on the way, if you feel him sitting down to peep into it, you must cry out, ' Mind, I'm looking at you.'

And she shut up the chest and left it until he came back. By and by home he came, and she said to him :

' Now, there's a good fellow ; take this chest and carry it to my mother's. But mind you, don't peep into it, d'ye hear ? Because if you do peep I shall see you.' With that he took up the chest on his shoulders, 'Oh,' cried he, 'what a weight it is!'

' Well, just think,' answered his wife,' it is such a long time since we had a wash that everything was dirty.' When he was on the road he began to think, ' What a weight this chest is ! I should like to know what's inside it 1'

He was just beginning to set it down, when he heard a voice crying, ' Mind I'm looking at you !' ' Oh,' says he, ' she can see me. No, no, I won't touch it.'

The chest with its contents is safely carried to the washerwoman's and left there, the husband answering his wife's inquiries on his return home with the assurance that he had not peeped into it. [The same thing happened again when the second sister is put into the chest, like 'Falstaff into the buck basket and carried to her mother's house. In order toeffect her own escape the cunning third sister feigns illness. She desires to be left undisturbed because she wants to sleep, and tells her husband he will find another chest full of soiled linen at her bedroom door, which he must carry to the wash as before. Meanwhile she makes a huge rag doll, dresses it in her own clothes, places it in her bed and gets into the chest herself, not forgetting to take with her provisions, money and fine linen this time.

By and by the devil came home and went on tip-toe into the bedroom. He looked at .the bed and saw her there all covered up, and said he:

' Oh, • bless her heart! I won't wake her. I'll leave her quick. Now I'll carry the chest away.' He,took up the chest ; but said he

'My stars and garters, what a weight this one is ! It is heavier than the two others,' : ''

And he put it on bis shoulders and set off. But when had got half way he began to set down the chest, and he heard a voice crying; ' Midd^T'm looking at you.' 'Why, bless hpr heart.' said he ;' al

though she's ill in bed she sees me all the same.'

He went to her mother's house, and said. ' make haste and get all these things washed ; I must be off home to my wife, for she's not at all well.'

' Mercy me,' cried the mother. ' I hope she's not going to die like those two others!'

' No, no; I'm going home at once to look after her.'

He went home and went on tip-toe into the bedroom, and went to the bed and said : ' Wife, how goes it ? Ah ! she don't answer me. Poor dear; why, she can't be dead ?'

With that he pulled the cover off the bed, and found the rag doll there.

' Ah, the hussy ! she has tricked me ! Oh, dear; oh, dear; what will become of me?'

He ran into the other room to see if the two sisters were there still, and found them gone too. Upon this the devil fell into such a passion that he got a fit of the bile and that killed him. And so you see, as the saying is, women are a match for the devil himself.

Dorm Piatt Tells a Good Story on 'Col. Sellers.

Dorm Piatt, describing Madame Tus saud's wax-work show in London, tells of a funny little episode of recent occurrence there. To the great mass of visitors after night these wax figures are so life-like and real that it is dangerous to get out of line, for it is not uncommon for some weary man or woman, who has seated himself or herself, to be mistaken for a wax creation and commented upon and criticised by the crowd. That is what happened to Baymond, the actor, who has made Colonel Sellers immortal. John was tired, and so hinged into an old chair. He had not observed the number placar ded over his head that indicated he was occupyins the seat of a wax figure removed for repairs, The crowd soon gathered about him, and at first Baymond thought he was subjected to a common process of being stared at »s Col. Sellers. Then it flashed across his fun-loving brain that he was being mistaken for a wax figure, for one of the ladies exclaimed : ' How very life-like and natural to be sure. Who is it?' Catalogues were hastily searched, and Baymond humored the jcke by sitting very still and putting a glass glare in his eyes. This was not so pleas ant as it at first appeared, for directly a man said, ' Well, I rather think he is the ugliest little fellow I ever saw.' 'It is positively the most horrible looking creature in* the place. Who is it ? asked a lady. The number was found and the account read out: ' Tom Thug, the cruellest murderer ever hung ; cut the throats of a whole family of fourteen persons for the trflmg sum of ten pounds eight shillings and sixpence.' ' Well, I'll be hanged,' cried Baymond, jumping to his feet, *if it is possible to make a charge in England without tacking on that miserable sum of sixpence. Here is the late Mr. Thug charged with a wholesale assassination, and they had to slap on that sixpence. I believe the late Mr. Thug was swindled.' The crowd laughed and screamed. One more cool bystander said, 'Oh, bother! that is an old game here. This little fellow is hired to do this. Mme. Tussaud pays him one pound six shillings—' 'If you say six pence,' cried Baymond, ' I'll make the number of the murdered an even fifteen.'

The Harm the Innocent Old Lady Did.

[From The Detroit Free Press.]

She lives down on Baker-street, and she has a daughter about eighteen years old. The old lady retains all her simplicity and innocence, and she does not go two cents on style. The other evening, when a ' splendid catch' called to escort the daughter to the opera, the mother wouldn't take the hint to keep still, and wouldn't help carry out the daughter's idea,that they had wealth. While helping her daughter to get ready, she asked :

'Mary, are you going to wear the shoes with one heel off, or the pair with holes in 'em ?'

Mary didn't seem to hear, and the mother enquired: ' Are you going to wear that dollar chain and washed locket, or will you wear the diamond father bought at the hardware store ?'

Mary winked at her, and the young man blushed, but the old lady went on: ' Are you going to borrow Mrs. Brown's shawl, or will you wear mine ?'

Mary bustled around the room, and the mother said : 'Be careful of your dress, Mary ; you know it is the only oao you have got and you can't have another until the mortgage on this place is lifted.'

Mary remarked to her escort that it promised to be a beautiful evening, and as she buttoned her glove her mother asked : ' Those are Mrs. Hardy's gloves, ain't they ? She's been a good neigh bour to us, and I don't know how you'd manage to go any where if she didn't live near us.'

Mary was hurrying to get. out of the room, when the mother raised her voice once more and asked : ' Did you run into Mrs. Jewett's and borrow her bracelet and fan ? Yes, I see you did. Well, now youlook real stylish, and I hope you'll have a good tinie.' , . . Mary sits by her window in. the pale moonlight, and sighs for the splendid young man to come and beau her around some more, but he hasn't been seen up that way since that night. The old lady, too, says that he seemed like a nice young man, and she hopes he hasn't been killed by the street cars. Boswell complained to Johnson that the noise of the company the day before had made his head ache. 'No, Mr; it was not the noise that made your head ache ; it was the sense we put into it. 'Has. sense that effect upon the head ?' 'Yes, j Sir, on heads not used to it.' , • ; 'We frequently see it stated, said Mr. .J Oddfish, * that such and such men startedj from extreme poverty, coming into townj in the first place without a farthing pfj money, and rising by their own exertions. I When I first came I had to borrow] money to get here, and I've been borrow-|j ing money ever since. It is a great thing ats; sixty to have established such a wonder-f | ful credit.' ..;-.. §

Two Novel Scenes in Church.

Mb Randolph was a great Bible reader and was deeply concerned with religi ous subjects. He employed an excel lent and eloquent man, Mr. Abner Clopton, to preach every Sunday to his negroes in the large chapel he had erected on his plantation. When at home he invariably attended these services, taking his seat by the preacher on the open platform, from which the preacher conducted the services. On many occasions, while kneeling beside the preacher who was prone to be carried away by tbe fervour of prayer, Bandolph would slap him on the back and call out loudly, ' Clopton, that won't do, that's not sound doctrine. Clopton, take that back ;' and if Clop ton remonstrated, Bandolph, though keeping himself on his knees was ready at once for an argument to main tain his point. No one but Mr. Clop ton, who knew the eccentricity and honest motives of the man, could have borne with these irreverent interrup tions, while in the midst of prayer; but Mr. Clopton, when he found Bandolph determined to argue the point, either gracefully yielded or proposed to note the point or argue it at the dwelling house. To visitors at the chapel, and they were many, these scenes were exceedingly curious and sometimes ab surdly luoicrous. But that was Mr. Bandolph's way. It is said that on one cold Sunday, in this chapel on Mr. Bandolph's plantation, while giving out the hymn in the old fashioned way, two lines at a time, and it was being lustily sung by the negroes, Mr. Clopton, the preacher, observed a negro man put his foot, upon which was a new brogan, upon the hot stove. Turning toward him, he said in his measured voice, ' You rascal you, you'll burn your shoe.' and as this was a rhyme of the exact metre of the hymn, the negroes all sung it in their loudest tones. Smiling at the error, the preacher attempted mildly to explain by saying, ' My coloured friends, indeed you are wrong ; I didn't intend that for the song ;' but there it was again, another rhyme in good measure, so the negroes sung that too with pious fervour. Turning to his congregation, the preacher said sharply, 'I hope you will not sing again until I have had time to explain ;' but this only aroused the negroes, who sang the last word with increased vigour. Mr. Clopton, feeling that his tongue seemed to be turned to rhyme, abandoned all efforts at explanation, and went on with his service.

The Ladies.

' It is better to love a man that you can never marry than to marry a man tliat you can never love. This is a short tc-xt for a long sermon,' says some wise man or woman. We do not propose to tire any one with a long sermon upon it. This weather is discouraging to long sermons, even were they worthy to endured at any season. A few words on the text are enough. A loveless marriage is much worse for a woman in every way than for a man. In the first place woman has the credit, whether she deserves it or not, of being much more refined, of pos sessing much more delicacy and sensibility than the ' stronger sex.' Being thus higher, her degradation, when it comes, is much more thorough and terrible. Few things can conduce to this result in a greater degree than the constant and intimate relation of married life" with a man whom she does not love. We have heard refined young women speak with disgust of the coarseness shown in the conversation of a class of their married lady acquaintances, and in many cases have traced this disagreeable trait back to itsccausae —a well-known loveless wed ded life. Then again, perhaps the woman who .married for support, for a home, an ' establishment,' or because she has never loved any one and fears that the present will be her last chance (dreadful thought) afterwards meets some one whom she can and does love. The result is easily fore seen, either a life spent in the terrible effort to subdue an unhappy passion or the divorce court. After all, the good old Quaker custom is best, due delibera tion and reflection before * entering into the married state.' Marrying in haste to repent at leisure is very fashionable now a-days, but it is a fashion which can be profitable and pleasant only to lawyers, and not to them if they have any pity for the unhappy victims of ante-nuptial fool ishness and post-nuptial misery.

A London correspondent says that the Princess of Wales is leading the sea-side fashions this year. Here is a description of one of. her dresses ; It is of Edinburgh, cloth, and embroidered in parti-coloured garlands, into which are ingeniously embroidered the monogram and crest of the Princess. The monogram is allonge in Italian fashion and the crown em broidered upon three over-lapping pieces crossing at the sides of the skirt. Similar embroidery is reproduced on the corsage, which is cut on the bias of the cloth. In some of the robes in imitation of it the embroilery of the monogram and crests are confined to special parts of the dress, as the chatelaine, cuffs, collars, etc., the crowns intermingling with shields, giving a harmonious effect. The tablier is covered with embroidery. From this application of the monogram to the toilette one may fairly expect to see dresses next year covered with texts in embroidery, so that meeting with a dame, one ha& but to I glance over her robe to read her autobio-, graphy in the sentiments deftly woven in} her toilette. If he reads the Latin.text| running up her sleeve, ' Dum spiro spero,': ('while I breathe I hope'), he. may infer! that the wearer is a hopeful Naomi, while? the fortune-:seeking maiden will have; inscribed on her ; girdle ' Amour fait! beaucoup, mais argent fait tout,' : ( c,Jo^e) does much, but money does all'). In any, event, a proper motto for such gowns would be, rA grand frais,' (' Very ex-f peniiye'). . j

A HID LANG SYNE DONE UP IN TARTAN.

Should Gaelic speech be e'er forgot And never brocht to p>in ? For she'll be spoke in paradise 1' the days o' auld latig syne. When Eve, all fresh in beauty's charms, First met fotitf Adam's view, The first words that he'll spoke till her Was eumar as hum <shu. And Adam, in his garden fair. Whene'er the tfay did close, The dish that he'll to supper teuk Was always Athole brose. When Adam from his leafy bower C«m oot at break o' day, He'll always for his marning teuk A quich o' usquebaugh. An' when wi' Eye he'll had a crack, He'll teuk his sneeslrn horn, An on the top ye'U weel micht mark A pony pr.vw Cairngorm. The sneeshin mull is fine my fiiens The sneeshin mull is fcran, We'll teukt a hearty sneesh my Mens An pass's frae han to han. When man first /and the want o' claes, Th* wind and cald to fleg, He twisted ronnd about bis waist The tartan Philabjg. An music fiisi. on earth was heard In Gaelic accents deep, When Jubal in his oxter squeezed The blether o* a sheep. The praw bagpipes is gran my friens, The praw bagpipes is fine. We'll teukt another pibroch yet For the days o' auld sjne.

Varieties.

A Frenchman, near the Canada line in Vermont, sold a horse to his Tankee neighbour, which herecommended as being a very sound, serviceable animal, in spite of his unprepossessing appearance. To every inquiry of the buyer respecting the qualities of the horse the Frenchman gave a favourable reply, but always commenced his commendation with the depreciatory remark, ' He's not look ver good.' The Yankee, caring little for the looks of the horse, of which he could judge for himself without the seller's assistance, and being fully persuaded, after minute examination, that the beast was worth the moderate sum asked for him, made his purchase and took him. A few days afterwards he returned to the seller in high dudgeon, and declared he had been cheated in the quality of the horse. ' Vat is de mattaire ?' said tbe Frenchman. ' Matter !' said the Yankee; ' matter enough—the horse can't see ! He is as blind as a bat!' 'Ah,'said the French man, ' vat I vas tell you? I vas tell you he vas not look ver good—be gar I don't know if he look at all!'

A lady asked a pupil at a public school, ' What was the sin of the Pharisees ?' ' Eating camels, marm,' quickly replied the child. She had read that the Phari sees ' strained at gnats and swallowed camels.'

Capt. Webb has at last succeeded in swimming across the English Channel. By this great act of prowess upon his part, he saved just fifteen shillings—the price of a passage on a regular steamer.

Mr. Beecher was recently received at the Twin Mountain House by a delega tion of ladies, accompanied by a band of music, which played 'Hail to the chief.' The same evening he was serenaded—the band astonishing the assembled multitude by playing ' The girl I left behind me.'

In a recent trip through the rapids of the St. Lawrence a young lady became so much alarmed that she fainted, and in.' the selection of the place (a tub of fresh raspberries) she was extremely unfor tunate. Everything she had on was ruined, as was also the fruit, so that the exact cost of her faint amounted to §13250. ,

A Scotch clergyman, visiting in the parish of St. Ninians, came to a house1 where he wished to get a Bible for refer ence. The guidwife told her daughter to" 'look for the book on the tap o' the aumry.' The girl searched, but could not find it, when the mother said' ' Preserve me, I'm sure it maun be there' abouts some way, for.we had it at the time o' the flitting.' 'And when did you flit?' said the minister. To which the Wife replied, 'Ay, let me see—it will be nineteen years come Beltane.' -

PROVERBS FOR THE PEOPLE.

BY JOHN BLACKMA.N.

No. 2,—" Win and Wkab." If your duty be not sweet, : And your path ungenial, dare it • fear not those whom you may meet. Finely clad, along the street, Though they ne'er your presence greet Never mind, be resigned, ' Labour on and bear it. You may sot at first succeed. Yet may win a.crown, and wear it • lattle failures do not heed, True in heart and strong in deed You wiU yet obtain the meed, Firm in mind, pocket lined, Face the.storm and bear it.

No. 3.—" The Rollino Stone Gathebs no Moss" Age whispered in the ear of youth, Beneath the leafy boughs of Spring, In still, small accents, fraught vith truth, • 33 "This Ufe may many transient pleasures brine And nature breathe a joyous tone, Still there are slippery paths to cross, And weU 'tis said ' the rolling stone Will never gather moss.' "•Be tempted ne'er, fond youth, to stray Beyond the honest, toilsome line, : ■; Nor tread giim error's devious way; o But in thy sphere stiU strive to shine •",. Be wise and frugal, earn and own— AU unearned treasures are but dross - "; ■■'"■" And ne'er forget' the rolling stone ' ' WUI never gather moss *"

A WOMAN'S PRAYER.

Why did we quarrel ? Oh love, was it well ? We, bounden by ties too many to teU, Should play our parts so ill That now, when we meet I may not lay My hand in your cordial clasp and say "God bless you darling," still. But I was hasty and you ware proud And neither spirit as yet was cowed By presage of coming ill. [_$«, For we parted; and you—you let me go, Pi or shadow of sorrow deigned to shew, "God bless you darling," still, r.rf Yes, J say it now, though estranged and cold, With never a word of the days of old, And never a smile to fill The aching void in each other's heart, " Yet mine wiU echo till death us part, "God bless my darling," stUl.

JUVENILE PERCEPTION.

A.school-mistress once,asked.a pupil,tptell^ What word the letters,S: double £,spell. *';!* The: child was but dull, and so mistress cries, ■'-"■■ v ' ' What is it, you dunce, I d o with my eyes V' "Oh yes!" says the child, quickly taking . thVhiriiJ; ; *-'v tl .;...{ " I ktjbw the word now, ma'am—S double B, squint !" ' ij

The,'(3ity _of San Branoisco is full of ] possibHties to § the. sober, Vj n dustri6us i mechpic-y&o possibihty"of starving to 1 death b^' v->mong the most prominent.