Eloise's Inheritance.

It was a bitter night in November, a promise of a cold, dreary Winter to come, when tvTO gentlemen, some thirty-eight or forty years old, sat over wine and cigars in a luxurious room, in an up-town boarding house, in New York city. One, the young est of the couple, had landed a few hours before from a European sttamer, and had been telling traveller's tales to his com panion, far into the night hours.

* Rich ?' he said, in answer to a ques tion, ' No, but little richer than when I left here. But I have gained experience and knowledge in my Paris life. There is nothing like the French schools and hos^ pitals for a doctor. Bert, I vvould not take thousands of dollars and miss the last four

years. • But you are glad to come home, Cyrus ?' * Home !' said Cyrus Worthington, with a short bitter laugh, ' this is my home, a room in a boarding house, and I chose this because you were here, my old friend and chum.'

'But your relatives?'

1 1 do not know of one. Dr. Worth ington took mo from a charity school when I was six years old, because I had a curious variation of scarlet fever he wished to study oit at leisure. I was an odd child, smart and active, and before the fever was* cured he became fond of me, and adopted me. We must have been a strange pair, Bert, the old bachelor wrapped up in his profession, and the elfish, half-starved foundling. But we were very happy. Until I went to Harvard, where we met, Bert, my benefactor educated me himself, and I devoured books. I had no one to love, and books filled the craving of my heart, so I studied everything before me, including the medical works in the library. You won't believe me, I suppose, if I tell you I could use a dissecting knife before I •was twelve years old.' 'I do not doubt, it. We all considered you a prodigy of learning at Harvard. By the way, how did you ever come to leave the doctor for college ?'

'He desired it, distrusting his own powers of tuition after I passed seventeen. When I came home, as you know, I be came his partner and assistant until he died, leaving mo thirty thousand dollars, and I fulfilled my life-long desire and went to Paris.'

' Was that all that drove you to Paris ? "No love dream, no fair companion on the steamer ?'

'None. lam heart whole at thirty eight. Can you say as much ?' 'Not 1,. My heart is as .full of holes from Cupid's darts as a skimmer. My last love though, is the sweetest maiden ever won a heart with soft eyes and golden curls. You shall see her. In all your travels you have seen no fairer face than Eloise Hunter's.'

Over Cyrus Worthington's face came a startled look that was almost terror.

* Eloise Hunter,' he cried ; then added, •with a forced carelessness, 'it is a pretty name. Who is she ?'

'The.-daughter of our landlady. Did I not mention her name when I wrote you I had secured rooms for you here ?'

'No.'

'Well, that is her name. She is the widow of one Daniel Hunter, who died leaving her without one dollar, having squandered her fortune as well as his own. Not a bad man, I judge, but one who was wickedly reckless in using money. Well lie-is.dead, and his widow keeps this > house ?'

'And this daughter—how old is she?' ? Nineteen or twenty, I should judge. She is so little and fair she looks like a child. You are tired, Cy,'

' Very tired.' 'You are pale as death. I will leave you to rest. Pleasant dreams,' Pale as death, and with his large, dark eyes full of startled light, Cyrus Worth ington paced the floor, after his friend had retired.

•It is fate!' he muttered. 'Destiny. What accident could throw that girl across my path three hours after land ing in New York. Eloise, only daughter, of "Daniel Hunter ! It makes me dizzy to think. If, after all, I am to grasp what I have coveted for years ! Patience, patience !' He paced the room for hours, till the gray dawn crept in at the window, when fie threw himself upon hi 3 bed for a few hours' repose. A man of iron will, of steady nerve, he had been assailed by the strongest, fiercest temptation of his life, and he wakened only to renew the men tal conflict.

A late breakfast was presided over by a pale woman about forty, his landlady, but there was no sign yet of Eloise. Feverishly desirous to see her to form some estimate of her from his own obser vations, Cyrus Worthington lingered in the house all day. He was a man who once having resolved upon any course of action, could not be turned aside by trivial or.by weighty opposition, and he had resolved fco marry Eloise Hunter, never having seen her face or heard her voice. So with this purpose in his heart, he threw all other considerations to the wind, and waited to make the first move in this game of life, for two.

Educated, as he had said himself, by a man whose soul was wrapped up in his profession, the scholar had absorbed much of the teacher's enthusiasm. But, while Dr. Worthington looked steadily at the nobler aims of his profession, the power to alleviate suffering, to aid mankind. Cyrus loved it for its more abstruse in vestigations, its scientific scope, its broad field for self-aggrandizement. To make a name in the medical and scientific world, by some new work of value, to be known as the great Dr. Worthington's was the end of all iis study and research. But his ambition was second to his avarice. Not for money itself, but for free control of the luxuries money will procure, he longed for wealth; not merely comfort, that, his own income*secured, but riches, power to live in a palace with a score of servants, with luxury in every appoint ment, and money to spend freely in the pursuit of those scientific studies for which he had an earnest love, and from which he derived all his dreams of fame.

A man in perfect health, who had never injured an iron constitution by any excess, of hard, keen intellect and strong will, he was a dangerous wooer for fair Eloise Hunter, a lily in her fair, sweet beauty, with a delicate constitution, timid to a fault, and modest as a violet.

He was in the drawing-room in the

afternoon, reading a novel, half hidden by the folds, of a curtain, when he saw a lady coming across the soft carpet, who he felt sure must be Eloise Hunter, Small as a child of fourteen, exquisitely fair, with a wealth of golden curls caught from a low, bmad brow, a sweet, childlike mouth, and purely oval face, she was as lovely a vision of girlhood as ever man's eyes rested upon.

Yet Cyrus Worthington, studying the face, unseen himself, thought only :

' How weak, timid, easily influenced !'

Not one thought of the wrong he was to do her dawning womanhood troubled him. Whatever scruples of conscience had troubled his night's vigils were all crushed under the iron heel of his will, and there was no thought now of turning back from his purpose. While his eyes still rested upon her face, Eloise opened the piano, and from the little taper fingers flowed the music that comes only by divine gift, the outpouring of inspiration, It moved even Cyrus Worthington, no mean judge of the wondrous execution of the girl's fingers, or the power of her genius. From a heart full of sadness came wailing melodies, melting into dying cadences, full of tearful meaning, then slowly there gathered on the sweet lips an intense smile of wondrous radiance, and the minor passages were changed to tender rippling airs, happy as an infant's smiles, till some glorious chords of grand harmony completed this true maiden's dream.

It was evidently holiday work, for with a sigh Eloise took a book of alarm-looking exercises from the music rack, and began to practice in real earnest. Cyrus Worthington drew further back in the folds of the curtain, and resumed his novel. An hour flew by and then Mrs. Hunter came in.

' Five o'clock. Eloise. and pitch dark. Are you practising properly in the dark ?' ' I know these lessons by heart, mamma,' the girl answered in a low sweet voice, with a shade of weariness in the tone.

' Don't waste time darling,' the mother said anxiously, ' you know I cannot pay for many lessons, and next year you must try to find scholars.' • I wish you would let me help you more,' was the reply, ' It seems wicked for me to be studying and practising while yoti have so much care and work.' ' You will help me. soon. But I want you to be independent, Eloise. I may die, and you could not run this great house, but you could teach. Go up stairs now; the gentlemen will be coming in soon to dinner.'

' Did the new boarder come last night ?'

'Dr. Worthington. Yes, dear! Mr. Loring tells me he is a great physician, author of some medical books, and won derfully skilful. He is well off, too!' ' O,mamma, if he could help that pain !' ' No dear, no, we will not trouble him with our aches and pains. There dear, run up stairs, I will send Maggie for you when I eat my dinner.'

Then the parlor was empty, for Cyrus sauntered off to" his own room, when Mrs. Hunter and her daughters were gone.

He was not many days an inmate of Mrs. Hunter's house before he discovered that it was not that lady's policy to parade her daughter to her boarders. The girl lived like a nun, in her own room nearly all day, practising at an hour when the gentlemen were away, and the few ladies lying down, or out. Yet with his resolye in full force, Cyrus Worthington contrived to see Eloise very frequently. He would bend his great dark eyes upon her face, and hold her fascinated for hours by the eloquence with which he spoke of music, of poetry, of all the girl-soul worshipped. He drew from her the story of the pain her mother suf fered around her heart, and delicately offered professional service, where his skill availed to bring relief, thus malting one step by winning the gratitude of mother and child.

But while his own heart knew on more now than before the sweetness of love, he lead in Eloise's eyes none of the emotion he hoped to kindle there, Heart-whole himself, he had not been without con quests in his selfish life.

Women had owned the magnetic power in his great dark eyes, his rich voice, the winning eloquence of his tongue. Belles whose conquests were of well-known number, had let him read the love he wakened in their eyes, and flirts had owned themselves beaten at their own game. . Yet this shy violet, this little recluse, liking him well, gave him no part in her heart. One word from Bert Loring, one glance of his blue eyes would call up flying blushes to the fair cheeks, all Cyrus W"orthington's eloquence failed to bring there.

But Bert, though older than his friend, had been an unsuccessful man. A poet by the gift of God, he was almost a pauper by the non-appreciation of man. Just the tiniest patrimony kept him from actual want, bu* though he had a hall room at Mrs. Hunter's, his boots were often shabby, his clothes well worn, and his purse lamentably slender. And Mra. Hunter seeing Dr. Worth ington in her best room, prompt in payments, faultless in costume, with a certainty of thirty thousand dollars, and a possibility of greater wealth in the practice of his profession, encouraged his attentions to Eloise, frowning upon poor, loving Bert, who, spite of his jest about his well-riddled heart, gave the young girl true, loyal love.

It was the old, old story, and Eloise, torn by her filial affection and her girl love, was growing pale and wan as the Winter wore away. There was no coercion. Mrs. Hunter loved the only child of her heart too well for that; but loving her she could not give her to poverty and Bert Loring. And one day, when Bert pleaded his cause she told him :

• Dr. Worthington asked me this morn ing to give him Eloise. I like you, l?ert. You are dear to me as a son, but we must think of the child above all. You know how dreamy, sensitive, and help less Eloise is. You know that hard work would be slow murder for her. She lives in her music, her books.

' And her love! She loves me,' inter rupted poor Bert, a hoy yet in many tender phases of his nature.

'And you, loving her, would you see her toiling, slaving, starving, a poor man's wife P 1

' You put it hastily.' 'I put it truly. While I can keep this house up you^are*[welcome to a

Lome here, but any day I may die These heart spasms mean a sudden death some day, Bert. Then, where are you to take Eloise ?' ' I will work for her.' 'Work first then, and woo her after wards. My poor Bert, you are too like her to marry her. Could I but give you wealth, you could live in a poet's paradise, you and Eloise, never growing old, two grown-up children. But we are all poor Do not tor.ure her 4 Bert; you who love her. Go away and let Dr. Worthington win her.' 1 She will never love him.' ' Not if you are here !' 'I will go then. You will" let me tell her ?' ' Why ?It will only make her life harder, if she thinks you suffer. I will 'never force her to marry. But —if Dr. Worth ington can win her, I tell you frankly, it will make me very happy.' So Bert—honest, loyal Bert, for his very love's sake, turned his face from his love and went to another city, where he was offered a position as assistant editor upon a magazine, that was to be a fortune in the future, but in the present was rather a log on the necks of the proprietors. And Eloise, wondering at Bert's deser tion, knew all the sunlight was gone from her life when he said farewell. There had been no secret in Bert's partiug with his friend. Frankly he had told him his hope, love and despair, and pathetically implored j him to cherish Eloise lovingly, if he could. 1 win her love. Even while he spoke, Cyrus Worthing ton knew that this love would never come to answer his wooing, know that one "^ord of his could flood two lives with happiness, yet kept silence. In the days that fol lowed, when he wooed the fair, pale girl, tenderly, devotedly, no pang of remorse wrung his heart, though he knew he trod carefully upon all loving flowers of hope in hers. He was a man who could have seen his own mother writhe in agony, if by her torture he could have wrung one new fact for science, and in the scheme of his life, the heart pangs of a girl counted for less than nothing. And while he courted the unwilling love patiently and gently, Mrs,. Hunter, with her failing health, her pale race and weary step, pleaded eloquently in her very si lence. A home .of rest for her mother was what Eloise had been promised in delicate words, that could not be resented as a bribery, 1 You,dear mother may live for years in a quiet house, but this constant care and toil are killing her !' So little by little wearing out the young heart's constancy by steady perseverance, Cyrus Worthington won Eloise for his wife. She told him she did not love him, but knowing nothing of Bert's spoken love to her mother, she kept her maiden secret folded close in her own heart, and whis pered nothing of her love for Bert. If on her wedding-day her white drawn face was corpse-like in its forced composure, what cared Cyrus Worthinglon for that.? He had won his game. Only one week after his wedding-day, leaving Eloise with her mother, he wended his way to the office of a. leading lawyer and asked for an interview. 'You were lawyers for Gervase Hun ter P' he asked. • We were.' ' You are aware that he died in Paris last September ?' ' We were not aware of that. Our business has not required correspondence since that time.' ' I was his physician, and to mo he committed the care of all his papers, his will amongst the number.' cH'm, making you his heir?' ' No, sir, making his nephew's only child heiress to his wealth, nearly a mil lion, I understand.' 'Nearly double that sum. You will leave the papers ?' ' Assuredly, and Mrs Hunter's address. Miss Hunter became my wife one week ago, I leave you the address of my assis tant in Paris, the lawyer who drew up the will, and the witnesses, that you may ascertain that all is correct.'

And unheeding the lawyer's keen, scru tinizing looka, Cyrus Worthing ton bowed himself out of the office.

' A bold game,' the lawyer muttered; 'he has played his cards well.'

And while he spoke there was a noise in the street, a rush of many feet, a clat tering fall. • A scaffolding on the house next door has given way,' a clerk cried, with a white face.and there are men killed. Nine or ten they say.' Nine or ten bricklayers, masoas, car penters, and one gentleman who had been passing by, and in whose face the lawyer recognized the features of his late visitor. Dead, with his scheme complete, Dead, with the road to his ambition, gold, strewn open before him, Dead, with his hand upon the wealth he had planned to win. Dead!

They carried him home to his young wife, and tenderly broke the truth to her. Even in the first shock, she felt her heart recoil when the lawyer told her of the the errand completed two minutes before her husband's death. She had not loved him, but had she never known his base ness, she could have mourned a kind friend lost. It was two years before Bert came to share her home, to be the husband of her heart, to fill the paradise her mother had painted. But in their happiness they, give Cyrus Worthington's name the charity of silence. Never is it spoken by the wife he deceived or the friend he wronged. • .

Long Words.

Rob.' said Tom, ' which is the most dangerous word to pronounce in the English language f ' Don't know,' said Eob, *■ unless it's a swearing word.' • Pooh !' said Tom, * it's stumbled, be cause you are sure to get a tumble between the first and last letter.'

'Ha! ha!' said Eob. 'Now I've one for you. I found it one day in the paper. Which is the longest word in the English language ?' 'Valetudinarianism,' said Tom, promptly. ' ]S"o, sir ; it's smiles, because there's a whole mile between the first and last letter,' 'Ho ! ho !' cried Tom, ' that's nothing. I know a word that has over three miles 'tween its beginning and ending.' 'What's thatP' asked Eob, faintly. ' Beleaguered,'said Tom. .' . <

Death of Dickens.

[Jtjxe 9, 1870 ]

BY JOHN MACKJfAIT. j ______ ] 'Mong England's bills and picturesque domains ; Her bracing fields, and primrose-kirtled plains ; There sweetly bloom, with various colors blent No ricber scenes than those of fruitful Kent; And near the Medway, 'mid those Kentish j lands, I A pleasant house with goodly frontag9 stands ; j Where genial Spring her earliest violets strewa And fruited Autumn smiles in golden hues ; Where gentle Sbakespere is remembered still, And playful Fancy laughs on famed Gad's bill, Where Dickens rang his happy Christmas chimes, Inspiring hearts with views of butter times . His carol breathed benevolent and sweet, In Pickwick's moas'd and fiveij green retreat: There Dickens sought reposej from toil and care ; 1 A secret cba-m had lured (he novelist there; A memory bright of other happier years; Of Falstaff's haunts and childhoods silver • tears; Amid the tangled woods aid golden glooms, The sprpading elms, and Summer's varying blooms ; He sought, the balm.that soothes the weary heart, Which fame, deceptive, never can impart: Where, in some overspreading, leafy bower, He might, alone, muse o'er some favourite flower; He sat, on that June morning 'neath the trees, With forehead bare to meet the early breeze ; And beard old Bochester's cathedral chime, Struck harshly by the restless hand of time ; At length he rose, 'twas at the hour of noon, And crossed a meadow full of pearls of June ; Then passed along a hawthorn-scented lane, And reached once more his pleasant home again; He wheeled around his easy, cushioned chair ; And sat awhile in meditation there ; Evolving in his mind some genial thought, Of spectred scene, with some deep mystery fraught; • Or scene still darker in some narrow street, Where wasting vice and ragged misery meet, . Whate'er his thoughts on that fair summer's day, 'Tween startling pain, and blue-eyed Fancy's play; Whate'er the scones or thoughts ho pondered o'er, His trembling hand would picture themjio more, For death was near. The curtains were undrawn, That he might see the daisies on tho lawn ; That life and light from the great sun and eky, Might cheer his souland please his once bright evei i The sunbeam settled on his paling face ; Which boro a shadow it was hard to trace ; He dropped his head with sudden sense of pain, And felt a weight upon his busy brain ; ' Oh, shut the window,' fuintly then he sighed, And fell into a sister's arms, and died.

A Somnambulistic Pilot.

I thought I had finished this number, but I wish to add a curious thing, while it is in my mind. It is only relevant in that it is connected with piloiting. There used to be an excel lent pilot on the river, a Mr. X., who was a somnambulist. It was said that if his mind was troubled about a bad piece of river, he was pretty sure to get up and walk in his sleep and do strange things. - He was once fellow pilot for a trip or two with George E ,on a great New Orleans passen ger packet. During a considerable part of the first trip George was un easy, but got over it by and by, as X. seemed content to stay in his bed when asleep. Late one night the boat was approaching Helena, Arkansas; the water was low, and the crossing above the town in a very blind and tangled condition. X. had seen the crossing since E had, and as the night was particularly drizzly, sullen, and dark, E was considering whether he had not better have X. called to assit in running the place, when the door opened and X. walked in. Now on very dark nights, light is a deadly enemy to piloting; you are aware that if you stand in a lighted room on such a night, you cannot see things in the street to any purpose; but if you put ©ut the lights and stand in the gloom yon can make out objects in the street pretty well. So, on very dark nights pilots do not smoke; they allow no fire in the pilot-house stove if there is a crack which can allow the least ray to escape ; they order the furnace to be curtained with huge tarpaulins and the skylights to be closely blinded. Then no light whatever issues from the boat. Ihe undefinable shape that entered the pilot-house had Mr. X.'s, yoice." This said :—

•Let me take her, Mr. E ; I've seen this place since you have, and it is so crooked that I reckon I can run it myself easier than I could tell how to do it.' .'

' It is kind of you, and I swear I am willing. I haven't got another drop of perspiration left in me. I have been spinning around and around the wheel like a squirrel. It is so dark 1 can't tell which way she is swinging till she is coming around like a whirligig.' So E —g- took his seat on the bench, panting and breathless. The black phantom assumed the wheel without saying anything, steadied the waltzing steamer with a turn or two, and then stood at ease, coaxing her a little to this side and then to that, as gently and as sweetly as if the time had been noonday. "When B observed this marvel of steering, he wished he had not confessed! He stared, and won dered, and finally said:

'Well, I thought I knew how to steer a steamboat, but that was another mistake of mine.'

X. said nothing, but went serenely on with his work. He rang for leads ; he rang to slow down the steam; he worked the boat carefully and neatly into invisible marks, then stood at the centre of the wheel and peered out blandly into the blackness fore and aft

to verifiy his position: as the leads'; shoaled more and more, he stopped the i engines entirely, and the dead silence and suspense of 'drifting' followed; when the shoalesi^water was struck he cracked on the steam, carried her handsomely over, and then began to work her warily into the next system of shoal marks; the same patient, heedful use of leads and engines-fol lowed, the boat slipped through with out touching bottom, and entered upon the third and last intricacy of the crossing; imperceptiply she moved through the gloom, crept by inches into her marks, drifted tediously until the shoalest water was cried, and then, under a tremendoua head of steam, went swinging over the reef and away into deep water and safety ! jj let his long-pent breath pour out in a Jong, lelieviDg sigh, and said: 'That's the sweetest piece of pilot ing that was ever done on the Mis sisippi river! I wouldn't have, believed it could be done, if I hadn't seen it.' There was no reply, and he added : 1 Just hold her five minutes longer, partner, and lat me run down and get a cup of coffee.' A minute later E was biting into a pie down in the ' texas,' and comforting himself with coffee. Just then the watchman happened in, and was about to happen out again, when he noticed B , and exclaimed: ' "Who is at the wheel, sir ?' < X. ---' 'Dart for the pilot-house, quicker than lightning!' ' The next moment both men were flying up the pilothouse companion way, three steps at a jump! Nobody there! The great steamer was whistling down the river at her own sweet will! The watchman shot out of the place again : E seized the wheel, set an engine back with power, and held his breath while the boat reluctantly swung away from a ' tow head' which she was about to knock into the middle of the Gulf of Mexico ! By and by the watchman came back and said : " 'Didn't that lunatic tell you he was asleep when he first came up here ?' 'No,' ' Well, he was. I found him walk ing along on top of the railings, just as unconcerned as another man would walk a pavement; and I put him to bed ; now just this minute there he was again, away astern, going through that sort of tight-rope devilry the same as before.' 'Well, I think I'll stay by next time he has one of those fits. But I hepe he'll have them often. You just ought to have seen him take this boat through Helena crossing. I nevei saw anything so gaudy before. And if he can do such gold-leaf, kid glove, diamond-breast-pin piloting when he is sound asleep, what couldn't he do if he was dead!'— Marie Twain in Atlantic Monthly.

Farm and Garden Calendar for June.

FFrom Reed & Brett's Almanac, 1875 ]

Flower Garden. —Guard all plants and seedlings against slugs, which can ho done by taking water in which potatoes may have been boiled, stirring in about half a teaspoon ful of kerosene to the gallon, and thoroughly sprinkling it over the plants attacked, and in placea where they harbour, use lime water in a similar way, or well dmt over the whole place with [fresh lime, wood ashes, or soot ; late in Mie evening and early morning are the beet times for_ these operations. Take up dahlia 1 oots ; roll lawns to destroy worm casts, and examine newly planted pinks and carnations, refastening any that have been loosened by worms. Continue digging bor ders and complete alterations.

} (Kitchen and Fruit Garden.— Make another sowing of cauliflowers ; sow cabbage. Asparagua and sea-kale beds may now be planted ; trench deep, and use manure with out stint, mixing it with the soil from top to bottom as the work proceeds—the manure will be greatly improved if mixed with decom posed seaweed. Plant early potatoes. Sow early peas land beans, lettuce, and salad herbs. Earth up celery and leeks where required. Plant rhubarb in rich deep soil. Look over apples and pears in the fruit room. Examine potatoes and kumeras stowed away, carefully removing everything in a state of decay. In season : —cabbage, cauliflower, celery, leeks onions, turnips, carrots, parsnips, &c. Vines and all kinds of fruit trees may be trans planted this month, in intervals of dry weather. Vines should now be pruned, and the young shoots cut down to one or two eyes. Stake all newly planted trees. No trees can prosper while subject to wind-waving.

Farm. — ~Novr the winter is coming on, all the sheep should have their feet carefully pared and dressed, if required. There are different ointments used for the foot-rot, and most of them will cure the disease if the feet are properly attended to. In order to pre vent the disease, if possible, the feet should be kept well pared during the winter months. Draining may be proceeded with. Winter wheat should be got in at once. Varieties of Spring wheat may be sown next month, or even later; scarcely any rule can be laid down as to the .proper quantity to sow, as so much depeqds upon the quality and condi tion of the land, time of sowing, and kind of wheat to be sown. Farmers also differ as to whether it is best to sow wheat broadcast or to plough it in with a thin furrow ; drills are not much used, but might be with advantage. Early sown rape or grass may be Btooked, but not too heavily at first. 29

Breeders' Facts.

The profits of superior breeding have been exemplified (says the Melbourne Age) in the most definite manner by the results of Mr. Morton's sale at Skelsmerg Hall, and more recently that on the estate of Messrs' Robert son., Brothers, at Colac. Last year the sur plus draft disposed of by Messrs. Robertson realized £12,000. This year the amount has been £20,607. There will be, it is itated, 3,000 head of fat stock sent to market in addition this season, which will average about £12 per head, giving as the gross incpme for the year upwards of £56,000.

On Grafting Fruit Trees.

GBATTING, like budding, is a practical acquire ment which affords pleasanb amusement to the operator, and likewise leads to agreeable and profitable results. To the professional horticulturist it furnishes a quick and trust worthy means of propagating and increasing the stock of new, or old-fashioned, but good varieties ; wbile to gardeners and amateurs it provides an equally ready means of improving the fruits of the garden by working improved sorts on to permanently planted trees of poor, or only second-rate varieties. As a mean 3of propagating young trees, grafting is not fol lowed to any great extent by gardeners or amateurs, because trees which have arrived at a bearing age can be purchased so cheaply from the nurserymen that it is scarcely worth taking the trouble to grow stocks for the pur pose. Bub where there are bearing trees, and the sorts are poor, the case is different, and tho gardener must prove his independence of the nurseryman by doing the grafting hira solf. Those who can obiain the friendly services of a neighbouring gardener should always do so, his work being that, of a practiced hand, and almost certain to be successful. There are many, however, to whom such services are uob available, and to whom it may be of some advantage to know how to graft for themselves. It is necessary in order to achieve success, that the scions should be I taken off at once, and be laid in by the heels in the ground, to keep them plump and fresh, ' and in such a condition that the sap in them shall be at rest, -while in the slock it shall be giving evidence of moving upwards when the proper time will be found tor putting them on. To describe the operation: —"Commence by cutting over the stocks (or branches, as the case may ,be) at the points where it seems the rno&t desirable to fix the graft, then with a sharp knife make a smooth cut upwarps, of the same width as the diameter of the scion, and about an inch and a half long just pene trating to the wood ; then make a slit down wards and across the top of the cut, a quarter of an inch deep ; cut the scion about 4 inches long, and cut the lower end obliquely at one cut, to fit that made in the^stock, making a similar slit to that in the stock; then fix the the two together, making one or both (botb, if possible) of the outer edges fib neatly, according to the size of the branch grafted. Nothing more remains to be done but to tie them together Becurely, without shifting their position, with bast, and cover the union with adhesive clay, which has been well beaten up with some short hay, to prevent its cracking. Where stocks are grafted close to the ground, the soil is generally hoed up to the top of the clay, so as to keep it moist, and so assist the union ; but in the case of branches of trees, the clay should be pub on in the shape of an egg and be covered with moss, to conserve the moisture. The quickest way to learn how to graft is to wabchsome one doing it for a time or two ; and, in any case, we would recommend that expertness at the operation should be gained before the attempt is made for good j and this can easily be attained by taking a fow nut or ether sticks indoors of an evening, and filling up a spare hour or two by experimenting on them.

A maa ia said to be absent-minded -when he things he has left his watch at home and takes it out of his vest pocket to see if lie has fcime to return home to get it.

In the office of one cf the hotels, recently, a gentleman snapped his finger to a bootblack, nnd as he put his foot on the box he said : 1 You look like a good, smart boy.' See here mister!' replied the boy as he rose up, a brush in either hand, 'I've had that game played on me a dozen times, and now I want to know whether this is a cash shine or whether you are gsing to pat me on the head when I get through and tell me that I'll be Q-overnoi* of Michigan some day ?'— Detroit Free Press

SUPPLEMENT TO THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAB

Printed and published by the proP*letoK'.§«K* I MoCutiAGH Rsw>, of 8t George's Bay, •B'jHfS' I Brett, of ParneU, at tbeifGeneral Steam Pnj»"?! I Office, Wyndham-street, in tha City of AncUann New.ealand:— . ' . :: I • Saturday, June 12 K 1875 i I



fJMLE GEE A TEST WONDER OF -L MODERN TIMES. Long experience has proved these famous remedies to be moßt effectual in curing either the dangerous maladies or the slighter complaints which are more particularly incidental to the life of a miner, or to those living in the bush. Occasional doses of these Pills -will guard the system against those,evils which so often beset the human race, viz.:—Coughs, colds, and all disorders of the liver and stomach—the frequent forerunners of fever, dysentery, diarrhoea, and cholera. Is the most effectual remedy for old sores, ■wounds, ulcers, rheumatism, and all skin diseases; in fact, when used according to the printed directions, it never fails to cure alike, deep and superficial ail ments. These Medicines may be obtained from all respect able Druggists and Storekeepers throughout the civilised world, with directions for use in almost every language. They are prepared only by the Proprietor, Thomas Hollo way, 533, Oxford-street, London. * *■ Beware of Counterfeits that may emanate from he tlnited States. nRATEIU L—COMFORTING. E P P B'S ~G 0 0 O A. /^Breakfast. "By a thorough knowledge of the natural laws which govern the operations Of digestion and nutri tion, and by a careful application of the fine proper ties of well-selected cocoa, Mr Epps has provided our breakfast-tables with a delicately flavoured beverage which may save us many heavy doctors'bills. It is by the judicioua use of such articles of diet that a constitution may be gradually built up tintil strong enough to resist every tendency to disease. Hun dreds of subtle maladies are floating around us ready to attack wherever there is a weak point. "We may escape many a fatal shaft by keeping ourselves well fortified with pure blood and a properly nourished frame."—See article in the Civil Service Gazette. Made simply with boiling water or milk* Sold in Packets (ih tins for abroad) labelled.— , JAMES EPPS & CO., homoeopathic chemi st 48, Thbeadneedle-street, and . 170, Piccadilly; "Work ? Euston Road and Camden Town, London. BU V ft EO.K I.T T*~S FRENCH BLUE, And see that each ball is wrapped in paper bearing the name of U"E C X ITT, As its splendid quality has caused a host of Inferioi ! imitations. Bold by all respectable Grocers and Storekeeper!.



HOT SPRINGS, ' TO THE SICK AND DEBILITATED. k Follow Shakespeare's advice, "Throw Phvsie in the dogs," and visit the Waiwera Hot Springs Th« : healing virtues of these famous springs border on the miraculous, scores of persons afflicted with Paralysis, Rheumatism, Eruptions, Contracted and Stiff Joints, Gout, Lumbago, Skin Diseases Sor« ' Heads, and varieties of painful diseases have hppn restored to perfect health through bathing in «,„„ marvellous springs, and drinlring the mineral water who gratefully bear testimony to the fact. The water : has been pronounced the most remarkable healim* water in the world, and effected most wonderful cures. ".■ TO THE TOUBIST OR PLEASURE SEEKER IN LUSTY HEALTH the Waiwera Hot Springs will be a source of amaze- ' rnent and delight. The scenery in the neighbourhood is diversified and picturesque, and affords abundant material for the Botanist, Geologist, Painter Poet, or Recluse. >*•, .;.. THE FAMILY HOTEL is fitted with every convenience for comfort. A wel~ 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 ig fishing, shooting, and other pastimes fortheslron or convalescent. Steamers leave Auckland (which is only 24 mfleß distant) for the Hot Springs twice a week, and there ' > are two conveyances twee a week overland. "VVakefield-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, in ' fact was unable to walk without the use of two sticks ■ It took me an hour to walk from Wakefield-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 e\e\c " days since I left and have had no return of pain. ii 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 inwriting to you.—l am; shy your-, ■■■ be'dient servant, Thos. Weaving, Robert Graham, Esq. , Auckland, January 5,1875. -; " > Mr Robert Graham, ti;- :: :.t Sir, —Understanding you are the proprietor of the- 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 Rheumy. - tism. I had been suffering from Rheumatism since . the year'o9, contracted through cold and wet work ;': ing on the West Coast, and from that time untill'U 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 I am 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 entei-ing and leaving the bath; also, sweating in-'-; the blankets, for which accommodation is provided,:* in. each bath; and to parties affected with acute r ' Rheumatism I think the more they use them the " more Bj>eedy will be the cure. ' "•'v' I remain, sir . Yours respectfully, ' C. H. WmcxroGHßT. 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 Springs* a.' desire to record the efficacy of the baths and water, in 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. . J ; ,; Robert Graham, Esq. 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 waterj 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-; s fortable, excellent table, attendance good, civil and f obliging, pleasant for the invalid seeking health, or ' ~ the man of business requiring laxation. I knowof nd'< \ place in Hew Zealand where a person could pass a f few weeks more agreeably than a t your Hot Springs... Yours faithfully, J. J. FITZGIBBON.,, ; Postmaster, Chrißtchurch. New Plymouth, 27th April, 1875. Sir,—l desire to bear testimony to the'efficacy of > the Waiwera Hot SpringF, ana as my case is apeculiar ■ one, I shall briefly state it. About four years ago I . had the spine of my back dislocated, in consequence i of which I lost the power of my limbs from the tack downwards—lost all feeling in them; also, wasting ■ and loss of flesh on my legs. I was quite unable to ■ walk, and was in this state for about three years---* could not turn in my bed without assistance. Last; October I went to the Hot Springs, Waiwera, and bathed twice each day, and drank at least I}£ pints oi.s th» water daily. After six week's bathing I found the symptoms of life return to my legs. I could lift and use my legs as well as ever; got strong w& healthy; all pain and weakness left me. Owingto;, the dislocation of my back I still use crutches, but I have no doubt I shall shortly be able to do without.; them altogether, as I can now walk 100 yardsatA* time without them. I consider the cure a most ( miraculous one, and feel sure thousands would_vlfflt' the Springs if they only knew its valuable propertfe*.' I take this opportunity of expressing my gratenu.. thanks to Miss Home for the great kutdnsss I, received while at the Springs, also Mr Home for tne kindness and attention paid to me by aim. -_- •~■ w> • I am, Sir, yours truly, ■ ;_. ; , S. T. Jolli Robert Graham, Esq. Auckland, 18th May, 1875^.; Sir —I desire to give publicity to the wonderful, cure I had while at your Waiwera Sanatorium. ,_i ~,. was suffering from Rheumatic Fever, was sixweera in the Hospital under medical treatment for s^nj.) I suffered great pain with swellings and sbffnesf m my joints. I was unable to take off fy°^.]»°°' and had to employ a cab to take me to the steamer when I had made up my mind to.try your Spongy ■ After one weeks bathing, and drinking the water, i got as well as ever I was, and have bad no retumoi the pain, although it is now two weekß'since my re- . covery, which I look upon almost like a miracle. ~ lam, Sir, '~ Yours respectfully, Geobge BKVKBIDaE. To Robert Graham, Esq. Thames, 19th May, 1875. Robert Graham, Esq., • • - /-, '• Auckland. ~ ~^_i: ixtiii Dear Sir. —I feel great pleasure in testifying to in« benefits I derived by my visit to the Hot Spring? », Waiwerawera in the year 1868. For yearsi Pr»rjJ; . that time I had been subject to attacks^bf Etoumi tism, which would lay me Tip for weeks j at *«»»• The use of the Springs proved, after «MS WWW -. . time to have taken the disease quite out of mr system, having had no relapse since mat time. ■_*«»' three months before going to the Springs I had wn totally unable to move without assistance; from ?a attack of sciatica. My object in writing to W%. that you may make this public, for the^en^W others who may be similarly affected, wiUieut.™ow ing where to obtain relief. My experience leaaa ni» to beUeve the Waiwera Springs more effloacfewon 1 Rheumatism, Lumbago, or Sciatica, than^w medicine the Doctors can give, and only require* ™ be made known to become the great ganatormmior the South Pacific. .-■•■.,* :_ I am, dear Sir, . -< YoUrSreg>^hox™. A BEEJ) EBN POLISHBP^ ijL GRANITE MOUTtfBNTS,' / IN RED AND BLUB, PROM £5, < Free on board ship for any part of New Keato v 'INSCRIPTIONS ACOUBATK AND BKAWTII'trt ~;,, | V - Plans and Prices Free from JOHN LEG G % SCULPTOR, ABERDEBN, SSOTLAND. .;•