SUPPLEMENT TO THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAT.

Rebecca !

BECKY.

She said this new name over softly to herself as she walked down the garden path, between the flaming hollyhocks and cinnamon roses, the hem of her muslin dress cruelly trailing over verbenas and ladies-slippers, growing on either side in mossy beds. The sun in setting behind the gigantic pollards, threw their huge shadows eastward across the patch of ground, covered with Aunt Rillah's variegated morning-glories, and four o'clocks—much the same as it had done on many a summer night before. A whip ■poor-will had settled in the thick branches of the stunted pear-tree by the wall, and his plaintive cry with the rustling of the leaves,'sounded perhaps more mournfully than usual, but its pathos awoke no melancholy in the heart of the young girl who gazed listlessly over the garden wall down the white road, and into ihe mys terious gloom beyond, where the trees of a century stood in solid phalanx between Rebecca and the gay, bright world, which Raby Shenston had pictured to her in such glowing colours. The landscape was not new to Rebecca —oh, how disgustingly familiar it was, and how tired she was of the sights and sounds to which she had been born ! She could shut her eyes at any time and recall every object about the place, either clad in the summer's holiday attire, or the ghostly grey of December; so that you see she had not put on her best gown and a red, red carnation in the glossy braids of her black hair on this July evening, to come forth and enjoy the rural beauty of the scene. She had escaped from the close hot walls, the bare floors, and hated meagreness of even the best room, with its gaudy firescreen, white dimity curtains, cheap ingrain carpet and hideous blue vases full of roses and pinks, to commune with herself and look at the glad sweet summer in her own heart. She had never thought the cinnamon roses worthy of a passing thought until now, aDd had never before discovered the majesty of the sombre pollards beneath whose shade she had grown up, from an elfish little maiden whom somebody had put down years ago at Aunt Rillah's white gate, to a tall, graceful woman with an abundance of black hair, two dusky eyes and so many dimples breaking out when she smiled as to make one despair of counting them. Rebecca's eyes had been veiled until now. Life had all along seemed a dull, unend ing round of disagreeable duties, with dreary years piled full of tiresome days and niehts, the monotony of which made her heart-sick. She had sewed, baked, swept, dusted, washed and ironed over by turns, while fine ladies such as she had read of in the delightful romances loaned her occasion ally by the doctor's wife —who was of a romantic turn —were clad in silk attire and were reclining in satin chairs, driving milk-white horses, going to balls and operas, and living a life of enchantment and ease away beyond the frowning woods which arose between her and the fair beyond, and shut it out from her gaze. Foolish Rebecca ! She envied wearers of purple and fine linen for the sake of their raiment, and saw only a world full of kings and queens, princes and princesses beyond that dark line. She could not imagine sickness, sorrow, disappointment and death in gilded halls, and behind palace walls, and nothing common-place or homely outside of her own daily experience. She had thought it very hard and very needlessly cruel in Aunt Rill ah when she had called her romances twaddle and bosh, and a pack of lies from beginning to end, gotten up to set young and honest people by the ears, and utterly destroy their peace: of mind, ending her abuse by hiding away the delicious histories which to the girl were glimpses of heaven, and sending word to the doctor's wife to keep all such trash at home in the future; that she might spoil the minds and morals of her own girls if»phe liked, and thought it best; but to confine the injury to her own household.

'1" know you think me mean and exacting; Becky, but yoii won't always think so. I don't wish to see you unhappy, child; but no good c_n come of unholy ambitions and worldly desires. Since your lot has been cast among the lowly, try and put up with it, and right-doing in whatever walk of life always brings hap piness.' What stones were these, to one who had asked for bread! * • '%'".

Was it wrong to wish to see and know more of .the great and beautiful world, and to wish to enjoy to the utmost that existence which should be w vorth so much to young and impulsive hearts ? To: wear cotton gowns from one year's end to another, and be called'Becky'in hard rasping tones, was more than any girl could bear and keep her temper. She had hated her name until Mr. Shenston had beautified it in his own way and taught her to love it. _ He had said, -holding her brown hand in his, his dark eyes gazing straight down into the depths of her own: ' Pra^ don't allow any one to call you Becky, Miss Detheridge ; that is too bad, and you. an ideal Rebecca, with your royal skin and midnight eyes. I think Rebecca beautiful—shall..l dare to call you by that name ?' 'O, if you will be so good, Mr. Shens ton,' she had said with such warmth as to make • him smile one of his grandest smiles, which at times mystified her. She had told Aunt Rillah and John—not that he had said so,but that she herself thought.it a shame to be called Becky, when she was past nineteen and she wished they wouldn't. ..

Aunt-Rillah forgot the injunction di rectly and never thought of it again, while her son John made it a source of new torment to her by twisting it queerly in the pronouncing, which made it almost Worse than the old name.

Yes, and she had told Lawrence, too great awkward, well-meaning Lawrie, who had coloured to the roots of his hair, seeing instantly how it was. He suddenly fel as if Becky's little "brown hand had taken Mb big;- jack-knife and run it through his ± heart. ; She was: drifting away from them rto'th.t I)btheri<?' a } he' saw that; and ii *,? rid"jall. come \M-t since the day that las and i_-A .v *■ *V _ i •. •_ . . tat'towap^etfc^ J|- had.-acquainted him v: :*wh(.uhad

come down for a month's quiet in the country. A long, long month had passed, and still he remained, and it was Becky's own hands that whipped the eggs for his custard, made his chocolate and picked the currants for his tea.

She was not glad any more to run down into the green woods with Law rence, or to sit with him behind the trumpet vines in the old porch under the yellow moon and talk of their future, for they were to be m?n and wife some day, and it was for this he had been working early and late in a farmer's hard, weari some way. Working to make a home fit for his queenly Becky. ' I shan't have much to offer you, dear,' he said on one happy night to Becky under the laurel trees by the gate, 'but I don't mean that you shall ever want for anything, and I don't mean that you shall work, whatever becomes of me,' which was very manly and very tender in the poor fellow, whose hands were hardened with toil, and his face browned from exposure ; and what was better than all, he meant every word of it. Walking between the beds of pflox and roses, with the night wind cooling her cheek, Rebecca cast an impatient glance over her shoulder at the laurel trees and a frown crept over the dusky eyes and she thought of her first love, and that whatever she might dream, she was bound to him. A light step on the ground sent the hot blood bounding through her veins, and all thought of any other man fled from her as he approached. 'I knew I should find you hero, Re becca; I have a disagreeable thing to say —and I have left it until the last moment, which was not best, I suppose, but I am always fighting the wind, and doing wrong things, hoping that the right will come out of them. Rebecca, lam going away to-morrow.' Going away! Now, the sun had quite set behind the trees, and only the black shadow of a starless night descended and draped the world in gloom. ' It has been so pleasant here, and I have enjoyed your society so much that I had almost forgotten the duties which were to call me back. I trust that I may not be forgotten at Dethcridgp, Rebecca — at least not at once. It is so pleasant to be remembered,' How could he speak such trivial words, and say such things, when her heart ached so dreadfully, and she felt that she longed to die. The remembrance of Aunt Rillah's words now came to her to make it more bitter: ' City men never mean a word of what they say to girls like 'you, Becky, and don't you lay up anything this fine gentle man says to you, for he is only passing his time away, and he is not good enough to dust the shoes of Lawrence Floyd, poor man as he is.' 'I am sure we will not forget you, Mr. Shenston —at least —O, let me go !' said Becky, in an agony of uncontrollable grief freeing herself from his hands, and flying away to her own little bedroom, where she might bury her head in the pillows of her cool, white bed, and weep her heart out if she liked. This cameof her wantonness and wicked ness ! How she prayed for strength to fight the first great battle of her life— and O, how she wished, in a girlish, foolish way, that she should never see the rising sun again. But she lived through it, as many of us live through our trials; and greatly shocked Aunt Rillah next morning by her pale cheeks and tearful eyes ; but Becky was as proud as she was beautiful, and although she hoped against hope that it might turn out a bad, cruel dream, and that he would stay and claim her love yet, she heard the story of his departure and received the parting he. had' left for her without a word, only her lips quivered and the world seemed trembling beneath her.

'And Lawrence left this for you early this morning:, Becky; he said that an answer was not necessary, as he was called away suddenly and it might not find him.'

Mechanically Becky received the letter, and went away to read it under the sweet apple tree near a nest full of twittering blue-birds, flecks of sunshine falling on her like a shower of gold through the leaves. She was prepared for reproaches, she was conscious of having used Law rence very ill, and it was like enough that even he—good, generous soul as he was — should make her feel her unworthiness ; and it was especially bitter now, when she hated herself savagely. He had written with a hand that trembled: , ..

'Dear, Dear Rebecca: You will be surprised, doubtless, at the contents of this, but it pains me most deeply to feel that it will contain nothing to bring you regret. I know that I am saying it awkwardly, but you will understand; I shall not remind you of all, or anything that has passed be tween us ; it might be just but it would not be manly, and I want your esteem, if I cannot have what is dearer than life to me, your whole heart. My sight has been painfully acute, Rebecca, and I know that what I asked of you it was beyond-your power to grant. I cannot blame you, seeing as I do my own, disadvantages and weak nesses I blame myself for not having been more worthy of you. , If I had, been, you would not have found my superior so eaßily. I have tried to speak with you about a matter which was of great import to me, but he was always between us, and now I scarcely think that my affairs can be of interest to you. lam going away for a time, which is best I think, and what I wished to say is,, that I: give you back your freedom utterly and unconditionally. My chief thought has always been your happiness, and it would be cruelly selfish in me to make mine at the expense of yours. I suppose you will be gone when I return but you will always bearjwith you, my own dear love, che better part of

'Lawrence Floyd.'

He had not been accustomed to this description of letter-writing, poor Law rence, and it had been a sore trial to him. His heart had wished to say so much, and his hand had been willing to say so little, that between his desires and his physical capabilities he felt that he had made a mess of it; however he'was not a cox comb in any particular, and he felt that no studiously elegant epistle could touch ■_ woman as the visibly incoherent and . spontaneous out-pouring of a man s. teel in fff and so she hekkiti.in her hand,^the paper on|which his eyes had gazed ten

derly and wistfully, as a something the j haughty Rebecca would perhaps keepfor- I ever, and the blue-birds talked bird-gossip in the apple trees, the bees were droning over the hollyhocks below, the pollard I willows stretched their dusty arms to ward the blue sky and the white clouds, ! and the girl hid her flushed face in her ; hands, and with eyes that burned, read in flaming letters the romance of her own life, which, after all had had its romance, l dull as it had been.

John and .Aunt Rillah eyed her sus piciously after this, and she was simply Becky again, with all the old duties, Oh, so hard to be gone through with now, rising up*before her, and poor Lawrie's wistful blue eyes haunting her as she went about her work, until the olive cheek grew thin, the dark eyes looked sunken and full of dissatisfaction, and the doctor's wife compared Becky to a great number of heroines she had met with in her time, and Aunt Rillah Dethcridge said that Becky had the liver complaint, and that the doctor's wife was the great est izoose in Christendom.

When the maple leaves were blood-red in the woods and the rose trees quite bare in the garden, only girded about by sil very spider wobs, Lawrence came back. He came slowly down the road, not once raising his head until he stood under the laurel trees, and then he discovered Becky there ; the same Becky—a trifle paler and more womanly perhaps, but still capable of making his heart beat madly in his bosom.

'You here, Rebecca ' 'And did you think I would not be, Lawrcr.ce ? I have never been away from Detheridge.' ' And you did not get my letter ?' This he asked breathlessly. Becky smiled a little. 'O, yes ; I did ; I thought it a little cruel of you to judge me so harshly, Lawrence—and without a word too.' Deceitful Becky.! But she scorned Shenston now, and her soul went out to meet that which, looking up out of those truthful blue eyes, claimed her, and she scarcely remembered her own perfidy. ;' Do you mean that you never loved that man, Rebecca —O, tell me that you never did!' 'If you had waited, Lawrence, you might have seen who it was I loved best of all the world —and please never call me Rebecca again—Becky will do.' He did not stop to consider that she had simply evaded his question in a womanly way, and had by no means given him the assurance he demanded. ' My own darling Becky ; you will for give me won't you—that is, I know you will when I tell you why I came back at all.' ' Then it was not to see me ?' *I did not think you were at Dethe ridge, dearest; it was business that brought me back.' Then followed a marvellous relation of an accession to property and great city estates from an unlooked for source, all which he was so happy now to offer her, and she was to be the greatest lady in the land if she chose and wear carael's hair shawls to breakfast every morning if she liked. ' O what a goose ;' said Becky, flushing with delight. • But you do not think all this makes you dearer to me, do you Lawrie ? Because if you do ' ' Why Becky, you know I could not be so unjust to you, my dai-ling,' and Law rence, who was dreadfully muscular, demonstrated powerfully his belief in Becky, who afterwards lay awake for hours that nigbt, busy with her plans, and already living a life of ease and luxury, with jewels fit for an Eastern princess at her command.

She had been so long starved that there was no limit to her appetite now, or her imagination either. She had at least the •satisfaction of presenting her handsome husband to Mr. Raby Shenston, and grtjatly astonishing him by her new posi tion ; and perhaps he felt some twinges of regret while gazing on the placidly beautiful Mrs. Floyd, radiant in flume coloured satin and clouds of antique lace, as he thought of the vanished year, whose summer he had killed in the country by trifling with the heart of foolish, way ward Becky. ' _^

He Knew His Age.

Its the times when tbe political warfare between Whigs and Democrats waxed hot jand relentless, there was a town out: "West in which the two parties were so equal in numbers that the variation of a single vote, one way or the other, might be a matter. of most serious consequence. Of course, on both sides sharp eyes were open and watchful. V, r ; A young man came up to the polling place on election day and offered his vote. It was his first appearance in the character of an elector, and he had the independence or audacity to differ politically with his father. His father challenged his vote. 'On what grounds ?' demanded the presiding officer. ' He ain't twenty-one.' 'I am twenty-one,' asserted the youth. \ No, you ain't,' persisted the father; 'you won't be twenty-one till to morrow.' , ~ I say I will!' cried the youth. M was born on the 12th day of November. It is down so in the old Bible.' 'Then, it's a dod-rotted mistake,' said the old man. ' You weren't born till the mornin' of the 13th of No ber, I can swear.' .... ' How can you swear?' 'How?' repeated the father in dignantly.; 'Goodness gracious,wasn't Ithar?' ' Well,' returned the son, with proud defiance,' wasn't I there, too ?' The young man voted.

A teacher examining his class, endea voured to draw a similitude _ between sin and dirt. After having, as he thought, succeeded, the question was asked of one of, the. boys ,-tt-' What v may We consider dirt ,to be a' sigh of?' 'Laziness.siri' was the reply.

A Girl of Spirit.

What she did bather than Maeey

a Man" she Didn't Love,

A few weeks since, says a Detroit paper, a lady residing on Cass-avenue became minus a cook, and forthwith proceeded to advertise for one. The day following the insertion of her advertisement the lady was agreeably surprised by the appearance of a smart, good-looking girl, dressed in becoming style, and not lacking in good looks and evident breeding, who applied for the place., somewhat to the astonishment of the lady herself. However, she was accepted, and entered immediately upon her duties as cook. If never before that family subsisted upon well cooked food, they had no reason to complain after the new girl took possession of the kitchen. Such joints, roasts, steaks, soups, excellent coffee, in fact everything calculated to please the most fastidious epicurean taste, this treasure of a girl sent up day after day. Not alone this, the apparent refinement of manner, correct conversation, and general appearance carried by this strange serving un reasonably attracted considerable at tention and inquiry, to all of which the maiden paid no attention whatever, but kept her own counsel and performed her work in an extremely satisfactory manner. A few evenings ago the family attended some amusement at the opera-house, leaving the girl alone in the. house. Returning half an hour earlier than they expected, the family, upon approaching the house, were surprised to hear proceeding from the parlour the most delicious strains of music, and wondered who the performer could be, as, judging from the quality of the music and its superb rendi tion, none but a master hand was its producer. Entering the house with out noise, the family proceeded en masse to the parlur, where to their surprise they found the unknown musician to be none other than the new cook.

After the display, it being impossi ble to further conceal her identity, the girl disclosed the facts as to herself.

It appears she was a resident of Montreal, where she resided with her father who is a man of large wealth and first-class social standing, besides being an ex-member of Parliament. The old gentleman is one of the obstinate sort, being thoroughly Eng lish, and used to ruling his family with an iron hand. According to the good old English custom, he, a few months since, selected what he termed an eligible match for his daughter, who, like a sensible girl, did not pro pose to be thus sold or given away to the highest bidder, and, having a mind and will of her own, decided the matter at once by packing up her duds and leaving home. Thanks to a practical domestic education received from her mother, long since dead, the daughter was able to obtain both shelter and employment. She did not relish the work particularly, but it was the best she could do, and she ' would'nt marry that odious man for all the world,' so she determined to make the best of it and await the turn of events. The kind lady to whom she told her story immediately removed the runaway girl from her menial position and received her as an honored guest. Letters and explanations were for warded to the stern parent, who, regretting his harsh course toward his only child, hastened to Detroit, and yesterday claimed his own. Last evening the pair took their departure, the father giving his word to the good lady who befriended his child that under any circumstances he would not in future interfere with his daugh ter's happiness. At the request of the lady in whose family this little domes tic episode took place, we refrain from publishing the names of the parties connected therewith, though the affair had such a happy ending it seems too bad to lose an opportunity of giving the aforesaid old .Englishman a lesson in the shape of publicity of his at tempted meanness. Less force and more coaxing is this girl's motto, and her example is worthy of emulation.

The Man who felt Sad.

[From the Detroit Free Press.]

He entered i a hardware store on Wood ward-avenue about ten o'clock Saturday morning, and taking a seat by the stove, he beckoned to the proprietor and said : • Sit down here —I want to speak with

you.' He was a man who looked sad from the crown of his hat to the toes of his boots. There were deep care lines on his face, his eyes were red and anxious looking, and his tattered overcoat was drawn in at the waist by a. wide leather belt. 'Can we do anything for you to-day ?' asked the merchant as he sat down.

The sad man'slowly wiped his nose, slowly turned round,.and slowly replied : 'Sir, it makes me feel sad when I reflect that we have all got to die!'

« Yes—urn,' replied the merchant. j Christopher Columbus is dead !' con tinued the sad, man, ' and who feels bad about it—who sheds a tear over his loss P He is gone, and we shall never see him more ! You and I must sooner or later follow him, and. the world will go on just the same.' ■ '■•"-■

' Then you don't want anything to-day ?' queried the merchant after a painful

pause. 'And King James is dead !'exclaimed the sad man, wiping his nose again. 'Is anybody weeping over his loss ? Don't folks _af and laf, and don't the world go on just the .sameP Sir^ it may not %*'(_ week before you and I will be called upon to rest from the of this life.

Doesn't it make you feel sad when you think of it ?' ' Of course, we've all got to die,' replied the merchant as he tossed a stray nail over among the eight-pennies. ' Andrew Jackson is dead,' continued the sad man, a tear falling on his hand. ' Yes, Andrew has been gathered, and a good man has gone from among us. Were you acquainted with him ?' ' I believe not,' Was the answer.

* Weil, he was a fine man, and many a night I have laid awake and cried to think that he would be seen among us no more for ever. Yet, do you hear any wailing and sobbing? Does anybody seem to care a cent whether Andrew Jackson is dead or living ? You or I may be the next to go, and the. world will move on just the same as if we had never lived.' ' Tho world can't, of course, stop for the death of one man, no matter how great,' said the merchant. ' That's what makes me sad—that's why I weep these tears !' answered the man, wringing his long, peaked nose with vigorous grief. 'William Perm is dead. Once in a great while I hear some one express sorrow, but as a general thing the world has forgotten William with the rest. Don't it make you feel sad when you reflect that you will never see him again P Don't you feel like crying when you think he has gone from among us ?' ' I never have time to think of these things,' answered the merchant, fondling the coal stove-shaker.

'And Shakespeare's gone, too!' ex claimed the man, his chin quivering with agitation. •We may sigh, and sigh, and sigh, and wish, and wish, and wish, but poor Shaky will never be seen moving with us again ! They have laid him away to sleep his long last sleep, and a bright lamp has been extinguished for ever.' ' Well, did you want anything in the line of hardware ?' asked the merchant, as he rose up.

' Can you speak of hardware to me at such a time as this ?' exclaimed the sad man. ' Knowing my sad feelings, seeing those tears, and listening to my broken voice, can you have the heart to try and force hardware upon me ?' The merchant went over to his desk, and the sad man wrung his nose again and went out.

Legend of an Irish Giant.

Once upon a time, a long time ago, when giants were plenty in Ireland as mites in cheese, there lived on the borders of the county Armagh one Barney McConnell, who lawfully came under the above appellation, being 7 feet high, and made in proportion. His prowess was well known, and there was one thing that grieved Barney above a little, namely, that he could get nobody who was able to stand before him in his own country. Now, report spoke of a certain giant in Scotland who was labouring under the like grief, and from precisely the same cause. Therefore Barney, after consulting his friends on the subject, sent a challenge to the Scotch giant ' to come over to Ire land and get.the concait taken out of himself.' After due time the bearer of the challenge returned with word that it had been accepted, and further stated that ho was advised to inform Barney that he had better make his will, get his coffin made, etc., as he that he was to encounter never left his work half done.

' Did you see him?' asked Barney. ' Faith an' I did,' said the messenger. ' What is he like ?' interrogated the gian*. ' Faith, Barney, avic ! he's like anything at all but a mortal being'!'

' How big is he'?' said Barney, looking but pleased at the description of his rival. ' How big is he, did you say ? Faix ! he's as big as the old tower forninst the door, an' a head an' shoulders on him like Father McGurney's bull. By all ac counts he'll ait you alive !' Barney began to feel rather uncomfort able at the prospect before him, and straightway went to consult his wife as to what should be done in the event of bis rival proving to be such as his messenger had represented. While they were thus engaged, one of the children came running in and exclaimed : ' Daddy ! come to the door an' see the great man that's coming up the hill ?' Barney peeped through tlie chinks of the door, and, to his great terror, saw the monster.

One look was enough to satisfy him tbat his messenger had not exaggerated his account of him, and, turning to his wife, he said : ,7

' Shelah, jewel! I'm eat up alive, for sartin ! Here comes the Scotch baist to drum your Barney.' When Shelah heard of the approach of the coming foe, and saw her lord's inability to wage war with one so far superior in strength and size, she concluded that it was only by some piece of woman's wit that her husband could escape, from the affair without dishonor, Accordingly, she gently lifted the child out of the cradle, and, depositing it in the inner room, made the father get in its place, and covering him up with a quilt, gently seated herself and resumed her work. After a few moments, in walked the cause of all the disturbance, and demanded an interview with the giant. Shelah, after motioning with her hand for him to keep quiet, walked gently across the floor to where he stood, and in an undertone told him Barney had gone out to the woods. The giant told her that he intended waiting his return.

'Very well!' said Shelah, 'Only don't make a word of noise for the life that's in you, for there's nothing make's him more furious than to hear the child crying when he comes home.' . : ';

By this time the giant had seated himself on the bench, and was quietly surveying the apartment; but when his eye rested on the cradle, with a-look of unutterable astonishment, he asked what was in it.

'In it!' cried Shelah. ' Don't you see it's the child that's in it. An' heaven help you if you woke him ! The crayture didn't get a wink of sleep last night with two back teeth he's cutting.' The giant, with a look Of terror and astonishment, asked what size the father was

« Faith an' I can't tell you!' said Shelah f cause I never measured him. But that gossoon,' pointing to the cradle,'when the father is angry, runs and hides him self in one of his boots!' , _ . 'Laird save us !' exclaimed the .giant. «I winha, mind waiting thenoo, lassie ! . I maun be gaun ! G-ude morning !' ■ , . So saying he took to his heels, and

never thought himself safe until he got among the hills of his own country.'

Found by Accident.

A Theatrical Incident

The streets were quite deserted, for the rain was falling in torrents, pattering against the store windows, where articles of every description were displayed, fail ing, however, to attract even a momentary glance from the few passers-by whom only the mos. pressing necessity could have forced abroad in such a driving storm.

It was over the sloppy pavement of one of the less frequented thoroughfares that a girl, comfortably but plainly clad, was seen hurrying. Her face, though strik ingly handsome, was pale, and bore the unmistakable traces of care, though its possessor could not have been more than seventeen. Turning into a narrow street, she quickened her pace. Reaching a small, unpretentious house, she ascended its stoop, and opening the door with a latch-key, proceeded to a plainly furnished but cosy little room upon the upper floor. Ethel Corwin —for such was her name —closed the door of the apartment, and throwing the dripping shawl from her shoulders, sank down upon a chair near the window, with a sigh. She was an actress, and had just returned home from the theatre, after a long and tedious rehearsal.

There are moments in the lives of all when an impenetrable barrier seems to rise between us and hope, shrouding even memory's fondest picture? with a peculiar gloom, and resurrecting from the webs and dust of time life's saddest recollec tions ; moments when even the lightest hearts feel the keen, sharp pangs of sorrow; and as Ethel sat there, gazing dreamily out of the window upon the almost deserted street, her thoughts reverted to the past, and tears rolled slowly down her pale cheeks. Fourteen years before the opening of our story, Felix Corwin, an actor at the — Theatre, at S , while on his way home after the performance one night, was attracted by the cry of a child. It was bitter cold, for it was mid-Winter, and Jt'elix, who was a man past fifty and a little rheumatic, was anxious to reach his comfortable home, knowing that there awaited him there a comfortable fire, a warm meal, and one of the best of wives. There was, however, something so unusual in hearing the cry of a child in the lonely street at such an hour, that he paused to listen. Again the sound reached his ear. It was a low, piteous wail, and seemed to proceed from a narrow alley which he had just passed, so, retracing his steps, he entered the alley, and there, by the straggling rays of a neighbouring street lamp, he beheld, crouched down and shivering with the cold, a little girl about three years of age. The little thing was unable to tell her name or where she lived. Judging from her attire, she belonged to the better class of society, Felix, picking her up, wrapped her in the ample folds of his great coat and proceeded on his way. Mrs. Corwin, who had never been blessed with children, gave the little stranger a kind welcome. Though every effort was made to discover the child's parents, they were attended with no satis factory result, and so Mrs. Corwin determined to adopt her as her own, and under her care and guardianship the child grew into a lovely girl. Every comfort that Felix Corwin's moderate salary could procure was bestowed upon her, and her studies were superintended by Mrs. Cor win, who was a lady of fine education and considerable literary ability. At last age and disease rendered Felix Corwin unable to fill his position at the theatre longer, and his wile, although assisted by Ethel in her daily labours, found the burden she had to bear a very heavy one. The sick actor required almost constant attendance and Ethel having, through her foster father's influence, obtained an engagement at ! the Theatre, was obliged; to be absent from home apportion of.ithe day and all of the evening. ~ At last Mrs. Cor win, who had never been a very strong ivotnan, began to fail rapidly, and within one brief month Ethel saw the grave close over those who had been- more thain parents to her, and she stood alone in (he world. By hard study and patient toil, she had advanced to a position of some importance in her. profession. It was strange that Ethel should feel so depressed on that particular day, for she was to fill, that-night, the leading role— to enact the heroine of a new drama—and upon her success in the part would depend to a great extent, the course of her! future professional career. The lady who was to have played the part—a popular actress—had been taken suddenly ill, and the manager had selected Ethel to fill her place, for he had often noticed that she evinced more than ornmary his trionic talent. Perhaps the weather had some peculiar influence upon her feelings for later in the day, when the clouds broke and the sun shone out, filling her little room with golden splendour, her features assumed a more cheerful aspect, and, busying herself with her preparations for the evening, her melancholy passed ' aW%* * * *

The—-Theatre was well filled with the elite and fashion of the city. One of the proscenium boxes was occupied by a party of three gentlemen. The youngest, a man about twenty-five, displayed marked impatience during the performance of the I overture, and often turned his eyes toward the stage, as if to hasten the rise of the curtain. Bert. Monroe had, for some months past, been a constant attendant at the- —Theatre. The truth was, he had taken a peculiar fancy to our heroine's beautiful face; Ethel, too, had often noticed him from the stage, wondering who he was, and admiring secretly his handsome, manly face, and tender eyes. ■At last, the overture ceased, the little bell sounded, and the1 curtain ascended. Never had Ethel appeared more beautiful than on that evening, and ere the first act was over her success was established. The third act of the drama ended with a very sensational scene—a burning house, from which the heroine barely escapes. A pan of ' red fire' had been carelessly placed too near the entrance through | which Ethel, was to pass, and, as she; rushed upon the-stage, the light drapery which enveloped her form swept over the burning mass, and the next instant she was wrapped in flames. The excitement which prevailed at that juncture w<*s intense. Ladies shrieked with terror, and

a rush was made for the doors. But Bert. Monroe, with rare Pres *nee °^ W sprang from the box to the stage and tearing off his coat threw it round ihe affrighted girl and, having succeeded in smothering the flames, bore her fainting to the ' Green Boom,' and deposited her upon a sofa, around which groups of terror-stricken actors and actresses quickly collected, . ~ 'Let me summon a physician! exclaimed the villain ot the play, starting frantically toward the door. _ ' There is no necessity, replied Bert. 'My friend here is a physician,, and turning toward one of the gentlemen who had followed him from the box, be said, 'Dr. Egbert, your assistance will, ItnmK, be necessary.' _\ , The doctor stepped forward, the crowd falling back at the mention of his name, He raised the insensible girl s head. As he did so, his eye fell upon a curiously wrought gold locket which was suspended about her neck by a light chain. lrem bling with excitement, he stooped and opened it. The likeness of a beautiful child met his gaze-the counterpart Of the little one Felix Corwin had found, that cold night, in the street, fourteen years ago. Clasping the unconscious actress in his arms, the doctor exclaimed : 'My darling !; My chdd ! Found ! Found! At last!' ■ ' . Ethel's injuries were slight, and she soon recovered consciousness. -Explana tions followed, which proved her beyond a doubt the lost child of Dr. Egbert, who had been abducted by a servant (m revenge for having been discharged from' tho doctor's service for theft), and carried to S , and abandoned, where Felix Corwin had found her. Ihe woman had made a confession at her death, several years subsequent to the disappearance of the child and though every effort was made to ascertain its whereabouts, not the slightest clue was obtained. rm. _ I have little more to relate. Ihe doc tor found his daughter by no means injured by her contact with the world, and she blesses the hour which restored her to her friends ; nor has Bert. Monroe, if report can be relied on, ever had cause to regret it, for I have heard that his is one of the pleasantest of homes, and his wife a perfect jewel.



ffbr o t I c te. tN tbe supreme cohet of new X 1 ZEALAND. NOKTHEEN DISTEICT. Between John Shaw, Plaintiff, and James Holmics Hansoi*, Lefendant. Whubkas by virt.e of a Writ of Fieri Facias issued herein, orderi.g me that of the real and personal property of the above-Darned Jambs Holmes fi-WSok?! should cause to be made the sum of £304, together with interest on the said sum aHherate of £8 per centum per am urn, from the 28 d day Of July, 1875, together with £113s 6d for the said Writ, besides Sheriffs poundage, Officers Fees, *c No* Ido hereby give notice that I shall cause to "be sold by Public; Auction by Richard Arthur at his Auction Martf Oue._ _treet, Auckland,on tbellthday ofNover_btr/1575. at the hour" of 12 o'clock noon unless the said sums of £304 and £113s 6d and interest be sooner paid, besides Sheiiff's poundage Officers __«&"_ All the Estate, Eight, Title and Interest of the said James Holmes Hansen in and to all those Pieces or parcels of Land in the Province of, Auck land, containing 61 acres, more or less beuig Lots 14, 21, 22/23, 24, 25, 26. 27, 28, 29 *nd 30, of a Sub division 'into lots of Allotment > umber 11 of the Parish of Titirargi. in Ihe County of Eden, in the Province of Auckland aforesaid. ■*,♦__*_» or And I further give notice Hint the Estate or Interest of the said James Holmes Hanson.in Lspec of the above mentioned lands consists of his equTty of redemption or other equitable Estate m the said lands, and tbat all the said lands, and all the estates and interests of the said James Holmes Hanson therein and thereto have been taken by me in execution at the suit of the said John Shaw, the. Execution Creditor, Dated the fourth day of August, IS. 5. H. C. BALNEANIS, Sheriff. Edward Bkvnrtt, of Phortland-street, "ii | the City of Auckland, In the province aforesaid, Solicitor for John Shaw, the Execution Creditor. npHIS TL E H O T EL. P. DARBY, ' Wholesale aut) EkTatt .',- WIJN_y«AND SPIRIT STORE f EEN-STEBET AUCKLAND; . , Begs leave to return many thanks to the public, for the very liberal support accorded him for many years past. j Hying erected splendid Premises on the site of the old Home which was destroyed by §re, he is now prepared to execute all orders: entrusted to him rom town or country, withfbe; .■ . CHOIuEST SELECTION • '. - ■- --■ or WINES AND SPIRITS, Comprising — ■ - . ' •. '•'.<' I Isandiman's Four Diamond Old Port Wine Duff, Gordon's Sherry. , ' ■ Champagne—Cliquot's Champagne—Perrier, Jonet's Chamnagne- Moselle, pints and quarts iClaret- Chateau, Larose Claret-r-Lafitte Claret—Leoville Claret—St Julian's Beal Old Jamaica Bnm Hennessy's Three Star Brandy • And othei choice biands. ASSORTED OASES MAKEUP TO OEDEB DIFFEEENT BBANDS. BASS'S ENGLISH AXE ON DRAUGHT. Liberal Allowances made to'wholesale purchasers. TERMS : STRICTLY CASH. 8p rits Overproof, the same as from bonded Store, sold in any quantity. rt^AIKATO RAILWAY. I PURCHASE OF SLEEPERS. Public Works Office, ' U . ' Auckland, 9th August, 1575. The undersigned is a Purchasergof Sleepers fo the Mercer and Newcastle Bailway. Farther particulars apply to3this]offic _. 7,. , ... JAMSS STEWART, . . .., \. ■/ Resident Engineer. A UCKLAND SOCIETY OF ARTISTS. The next- Exhibition will he held in November, at. the Choral Hall, Symonds-street. JNO. C. HOYTE, : • ' ' ; HoriL Sec. AirOUSTALBERT DISTRICT. At the request of a number of the Electors of Eden, a Meeting,of Electors will be held at-the Schoolroom, Morningside, on MONDAY Evening, the 13th inst, at 7 o'clock, for the purpose of considering the Abolition and" Local Government Bills how beforo the Assembly. ."., ••._■_> '. ~A. K. TAYLOR; ■ ... .; Chairman Mount Albert District Board. :~~~" —==; ' lPrinted and published by the propietors, Gqbrgs SI McCullagh Reed,' of St Georg m Bay, and Henry . I . .Brettj ot Parnell, at tbeir Oeueral Steam Printing ' I "Office,-Wyndham-street, in the City of Auckland J I New Zealand:—J II Saturday, September 11,1575