SUPPLEMENT TO THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 30.

THE KNOLLS FARM-HOUSE.

The afternoon of May 15, 18—, was raw and blustering. Uncle Geoffry Vernon, trim, jaunty, and well-dressed, as became a gentleman of carefully preserved matu rity, first lost his temper and then his w ig. The clouds shed spiteful showers, slaking the choking dust and the wind came around the corner with a sudden oust, Tattling awnings, clashing blinds, and wresting umbrellas from the grasp of pedestrians. Humiliating accident! Uncle Geoffry had just raised his hat to Mrs. Burnton in ja her carraige, when the riotous wind took base advantage of the situation, seized bim by the nape of the neck, as it were, and swept his head of all covering. The wig was borne down the thorough fare. Uncle Geoffry sped wildly after it, and the finger of scorn was pointed at the unfortunate man, wlio, thus denuded ot hair, looked oddly enough, like an old baby. Stung by the lash of public deri sion, he placed his beaver on his head, where, no longer sustained in place by those curling locks, the hat slipped down to the bridge of his nose, like an extin guisher, and he collided with a stout lady, after the manner of a battering-ram. Before the stout lady could recover breath to express a righteous indignation, Uncle Geoffry, with the bat under his arm, had ran the gauntlet of the street, and paused hefore a small boy, who stood in the gutter holding the wig by a scalp lock, and 'gazing uj? at the neighbouring windows to see whence it bad descended.

Uncle Geoffry snatched the treasure, rehabilitated himself in a twinkling, bought one of tbe small boy's papers abstractedly, and hid his mortified being in the first omnibus. Now if Uncle Geoffry had not lost his wig he wonld not Ijave purchased the newspaper sold by the small hoy, as it was an organ Vhcse political principles he detested, neither would he have taken an omnibus, which gave him leisure to read the sheet. An advertisement attracted his attention.

' The very thing !' he exclaimed

Geoffry the younger, nephew and heir, sat poring over his Greek translation, a pale laa of seventeen. 'Bead that, my boy. You have been studying too hard, the doctor says, and you need to be turned out to grass,' said Uncle Geoffry, entering the room briskly. and spreading the newspaper on the table. Young Geoffry's languid eyes sparkled. "OU_M_»__i BOAJttD—In tha mountains, pure air P and water, forest, lake, and stream. A'fatm -Oase. Terms moderate. Address Abraham Knolls, Northport, New York "

The result of this modest advertisement was that Geoffry junijr stood on the deck of the ' Daniel Drew ' on the first day of June, bidding his uncle good-bye. : A cramped, and straggling hand-writine had announced that Mr. Abraham Knolls would receive him. .

'Come up next month,'" urged the nephew, ' Yes, yes,' assented Uncle ■ Geoffry, standing among the crowd of fruit vendors and cab-men on the pier. ' The city is I good enough for me, though.' Then the ' Drew' swept away up stream, music piping a jubilant strain in unison with dipping flags, with rapid motion, and glancing, sun-flecked waters meeting the rim of blooming green banks. Summer

had come. The young traveller glanced

about complacently, proud of his Sussia . leather bag, his cane, and the manliness of seeking an unknown region alone. True,' Uncle Geoffry would not have thus launched him on a watering-place. The farm-house of Abraham Knolls was a different matter. There was only one

cause _of dissatisfaction in his equipment . r —he wore a modern watch on a slim cha telaine instead' of the family chronometer which was to have been his inheritance. Geoffry possessed enthusiasm for the antique, and had passed through succes sive stages of coin, autograph, and parch ment collecting—ra part of the Yernon pride in armorial bearings, and therefore in the family watch which he was to wear ! whehfhe arrived at man's estate. Ah, what a glimmer of red gold dazzling boyish eyes—oh the cover an azure shield studded with brilliants, a massive chain of plaited links, and dangling seals attached! Q 0 Six months before, a clever burglar had entered Uncle Geoffry's bachelor residence in the dey time, and stolen the watch with other valuables. Uncle Geoffry .Turned, 1 \ *_iploy-d ial private:detective, and ended :> .lry^advertisinga reward, and ' no questions asked/^for the recovery of tbe family relic.-_-. The. case created some excitement of interest; no response was made by the thiefj'knd'ybung Geoffry would fain con tent himself with a modest substitute on his next birthday. The steamer swept on up the river, flags dipping in honour of the first day of tbe

season, music piping, the blood dancing in Geoffry's veins ; past the leafy heights ' '' of West Point, through the Storm King's massive gates, and thence, like the spent impulse of a sluggish current, to the Albany, wharves. That night Geoffry spun along on the railway, and next morning stepped on board the Champlain boat at Whitehall, He seemed to have followed departing :!..winter .tpoiclosely ; the sun was veiled by thin clouds, the air was raw, the vegeta tion pale. The few sportsmen who were his .ravelling companions possessed a certain picturesque independence of circumstance, while he was the first IPrfPPP.bird of summer in advance of the season.

A long wharf, flanked by a wooden building, a village on. the hill beyond a

group of idlers in muddy boots watching the steamboat disgorge a slim youth ,^carrying a Kussia-leather bag, and fol lowed'by a trunk,' as sunset flushed:the lake's blue to rosy pink. In the fore ground stood an old man carrying a whip and peering about with keen eyes beneath bushy brows. Geoffry Vernon heard this remark : ■ - • 'So you've took to snmmer boarders, hey?'from a clerk.

p Why, yes, my old woman thinks she'd like' try 'em a spell,' replied the old man, rubbing ,hxs horny palms together. Then Geoffry knew by intuition that he Was no other than Mr. Abraham Knolls, aad a vague sense of home-sickness stole ; .oyer him. Was this feeling due to the rickety wagon, with its inevitable buffalo . /skin, the awkward greeting of Mr. Knblls ---.pr the cold .shadow .of- night- gathering iiioslhout the hills ? ~ The wagon cre^kpd<on, ffirrr' v*W*Rea° dliKeiwere;left;far.h'ehijad. . HJ jfWhto Ghsoffry expressed iSurprise!, r at th©

distance inland, Mr, Knolls said impas sively. .

'We are out of the village 8 bit. You will like that all the better, young gent, if you are to get your health. It's all one township.' ' Where is the post-office ?' asked Geoffry. Mr. Knolls chuckled. 'Got a sweet heart, mebbe. There ain't no post-oflice within seven miles. The stage can fetch your letters, Sir, and we'll be coram' and goin' often.' A wild impulse seized Geoffry to leap from the vehicle and retrace his steps. What! and be laughed at by Uncle Geoffry for a baby ? 1+ would have been better had he obeyed impulse. He hesi tated ; the wagon creaked on : the damp

scent of pine-trees was wafted, from gloomy heights above ; the delicate fra grance of wild flowers ascended from the hollows ; a squirrel ran along the fence. .Nature was speaking to Geoffry. and although her language was but half intel ligible, like the rush of the swift little river in the ravine, he obeyed her. The way became more lonely and wild ; they had crossed a bridge, and the horses paused, as if from habit, at a spring brimming into a trough. A man emerged from the thicket, looked down the valley, and whistled a peculiar clear note. 'J hen he approached the wagon. The horses pricked their ears ; the yellow dog shirk beneath the vehicle apprehensively. Mr. Knolls was evidently disconcerted by this addition to the party.

' You back, Matthew ? I s'pose there ain't no use in askin' where you've been last'

' Wandering up and down the earth like Job daddy,' was the growling res ponse.

' This is my only son, Mr. Matthew Knolls,' continued the old man, turning to Geoffry. The latter stared at the intruder with all of a city boy's natural shrewdness of observation, and decided that the son was a rough, surly person, with the bushiest beard and funniest hair he had ever seen, nor was his appearance improved by a cast in one eye. 1 his scrutiny seemed displeasing to tbe object, who, scowling at Geoffry, inquired, abruptly:

'What are ye doin' with him ?'

'A young gentleman from York, Mat thew. Your mother wants to take sum mer boarders. The winter's been uncommonly hard on us hero,' snid the old man, in a wheedling, deprecating tone.

Through the gloaming the farm-house lights appeared, shedding a dim ray among the black trees. A matron stood

in the door, a large woman with a queru lous smile, and behind her a slender girl, pale as a lily, with goldeu hair, blue eyes that dilated as her brother Matthew emerged 1o view, and a small, obstinate mouth. Home-sickness pm sued Geoffry from the close sitting-room, where supper

was spread, to the parlour, a stiff and angular apartment smelling of varnish and dried leaves. In the chamber above the parlour, which was assigned him, low, plain, and clean, our traveller gazed dis mally at the lamp on the table, and then out of the window on the almost palpable darkness of night, wkeie the stillness was rendered only the more lonely by the hooting of ah owl or the trilling note of some insect. ' I am afraid it will prove an awful bore,' soliloquized Geoffry, with a yawn. The door had a lock, hut no key. He

extinguished tbe lamp, and sank into the depths of a feather-bed, which almost suffocated by its luxuriousness. Sleep succeeded, deep and dreamless. He

awoke with a start, his heart throbbing

! wildly. Hark! Was it the very .silence, an oppressive influence, which bad awak ened him ? He lay still and listened. The hooting of an owl was again audible; the curtain of tbe window flapped in the breeze. That was all. No; some object was moving slowly in the small room. For the first time in his life, fear, in a mysterious form, smote him, and the exclamation framed by his lips died away unuttered. The shape approached, beni. over, and touched him. Geoffry held his breath.. Was it ghost or robber? Like a gleam of light the remembrance of Mr Matthew Knolls and the yellow dog slink-

ing under the wagon came to his bind-. Ihe shape moved away a^ain softly, and it seemed to Geoffry that the door was

locked from the outside

Yes, he w as a

prisoner. After that the silent house became permeated with sound ; a muffled reverberation, like the swinging of a

massive portal, shook the walls

Sunshine chased away every sinister shadow. In the sparkling, dewy fresh ness of the morning the farm-house was a common-place dwelling enough,surrounded by green meadows, dilapidated barns, cackling fowls, and browsing cattle. Even the morning brightness could not conceal traces of poverty, however, in the running to waste of impoverished land. Geoffry's door opened readily. He laughed at his fears, and when Mrs. Knolls inquired how he had slept, made a careless response. He was ashamed of his cowardice. The gal Milly served him at table, while her mother talked aimlessly, in a rambling fashion, of the fresh butter, weather, and scenery. Milly's face, ot pearly whiteness, wore a repressed expression, and there were shadows beneath the eyes. A curious girl, Geoffry reasoned, going about like an old woman, or a machine wound up by stern duty to a task. Lilac bushes shielded an open cellar door outside. Geoffry, smoking a cigarette, plucked a spray, dropped it, and ran down the steps to recover the flowers. Mr. Matthew Knolls was dragging a bag across the cellar floor, Milly touched Geoffry on the arm. 'Would you like to go over the farm ?' Geoffry retained two vivid impressions of that. day. The girl Milly,' in a straw hat bound about with grasses, resembled Ophelia ; yellow hair escaped in tresses on her neck, and the blue eyes wore a startled, troubled expression. She walked along quietly, petting the cattle, and followed by the chicken*. When they reached the brook a crimson flush swept over her faca as a cheerful voice said.

' Good-morning, Milly.'

The speaker, a handsome young man, in a red skirt, with a scythe over his shoulder, had so much the aspect o_ an eager: lover that Geoffry moved up the hill slowly... 'lie was. surprised to see Millv place her hands over her ears, as if refusing - fo. listen,, and run after him.; Geoffry observed her closely. Milly s ifyysit-C'i?'''''l'3"f- r :yn '°:' •"-''■'

inherent honesty and goodness were legibly written on the transparent fairness of her face.

j ' Your brother is not a farmer; his hands are too white. What is hep' demanded Geoffry, abruptly. I'He is mother's only son,'she replied, / simply.

' look here ; I don't believe in ghosts you know, but somebody csme into my room last ni/,.ht, and then locked the dcor outside.'

Milly plucked the daisies a moment, in silence. 'Go away,' she said, suddenly. ' We did not expect him back when ye advertised.'

This was the first impression. T_e second was even more startling. Geoffry spent the afternoon following the brock above the house with a fishing rod. Watching the sunshine glance through flu' quivering leaves overhead, and the brown waUr swirl about rocks, Where tiny planls clipped their blossoms in the spiaj, Geofl'ry wandered on, until be discovered a man on the opposite bank, ri hi' man, wearing a velveteen coat, sol wiih his back to the observer, reading a newspaper. Geoffry was about to hail him, when the stranger laid aside the newspaper and consulted a chronometer of red gold, with an azure shield on the cover. Geofl'ry again beheld his grand father's watch ! He was so entirely overcome by this discovery that his wits forsook him. The watch stolen, forever lost down on the sea-board, worn boldly up here ? The man bad moved away. Geoffry crossed the brook just in time to sec him enter the farm-house. What was to be done ? He spent an hour, Hushed, excited, and bewildered, recalling every possible aid of similar experience. Should lie boldly claim the article ? Who would take his part if he did P Milly and the mother were easily cowed by tbe son. This son was evidently a bad man, pos sibly in league with robbers. Geoffry returned to the farm. The fowls were going to roost; the cows were being milked. It must be a nightmare. He went: to his room and threw himself on the bed, He could not face these people nniil be tad deckled wbat to do. He declined supper on the score of headache. Mrs. Knolls made him sip tea, and left him for the night. At eleven o'clock he rose, imbued with a sense of dangerous adventure. He would recover the watch ai d go away. Cautiously he made h barricade before tbe door, of the table nnd two chairs, then taking his hat and pocket-book, opened the window and slid lo the ground. Milly was speaking in the kitchen.

' I shall not desert mother, and I will never many John Townley. He's an honest man, and we are not fit for him.'

' it's hard to be so poor,' interposed the voice of Abraham Knolls. ' Matthew's chose his own ways, Milly.'

• If the city chap's abed, it's safe to turn the key on him,' growled Matthew.

The yellow dog sniffed at Geoffry, who patted the animal on the head re assuringly. At the same moment a figure approached, raised the cellar door, and descended the steps. Geoffry fol lowed recklessly, feeling sure that this was (he man in the velveteen coat. The cellar wasmouldyanddark; the man groped among the barrels, and struck a match as he reached a door at the end. Curiosity held Geofl'ry spell-bound. The rays of a lantern fell on an inner cellar, where silks, laces, and furs were heaped in confusion. The seals of the great watch dangled from the miscreant's pocket. Geoffry's eyes flashed. The lad sprang forward, dashed aside the lantern, and wrenched away the watch. Pure temper lent him requisite courage for the bold deed. As he rushed up the steps again a shrill whistle sounded in the cellar, followed by responsive movements in the house.

He ran along the road, climbed the first hill, and paused to look back. a light was visible, flitting from window to window; a faint sound indicated the crash of forcing his bedroom door, then the lamp was stationary in his window. Heavens ! if he were there facing Ivjatthew Knolls and his confederate after learning their secret I A second lantern twinkled in the barn; somebody was saddling a horse for pursuit. Geoffry fled, all the knights of romance of whom be bad read trooping about him. He was alone in the night. If once Matthew Knolls overtook him, Uncle Geoffry would never know. A sob rose in his throat; he was in tbe clutch of brutal men afraid of his revelations. The sound of horse-hoofs struck sharply on his ear ; he glanced wistfully toward thenearest house. Should he rouse the inmates ? Instead, fie ran on, hiding in a thicket as the horseman galloped up, and a doctor's gig

passed. 'I am looking for a lad sent to us,' said Matthew. He's flighty sometimes, and his friends want it kept quiet. If you see him, pick him up doctor.' ' Dear me !' said the doctor, and drove away. Geoffry's heart stood still. The rider went on slowly and cautiously, thus check ing advance. Would Matthew Knolls ride between him and the lake until day light, when he could be recognized? If he was pronounced crazy in advance, the other would surely claim him. Seven miles becomes a pilgrimage when one is on foot and tracked by a mounted man. Geoffry knew that he must make the distance before dawn. He became an elusive pursuer, walking on when the horse's steps were distant, and yet this measure required great alertness, for the rider paused to listen, and occasionally dismounted to examine the ground. Oh, the darkness, the frightful loneli ness, the danger lurking everywhere ! A misstep might hurl him into the ravine below ; a fall reveal his proximity to the enemy. Once Matthew wheeled about suddenly, and waded his horse in the rivu let to drink. Geoffry clung to the plank of the bridge, thus outflanked, within reach of his whip. Dawn, cold, pale, yet deepening, with the village and lake close at hand. A tavern on the edge of the wood lured the rider, the keeper, just arisen, accosted him. Five minutes for liquor, Mr. Mafc the'w Knolls, while a lad ran down the hill waving his hat to the steamboat already in motion, and sprang on board with the withdrawn plank. Uncle Geoffry, sipping his coffee, was astonished by the advent of his nephew, who produced the watch. ' I found it!' Then followed • excited explanations. .•..-. .. ~--■.

The two Vernons, accompanied by a detective, returned to the Knolls farm house.

' There is a cool thief, with a cast in one eye, who comes from these parts.' said the officer. ' He's been a mendicant sailor, a burglar, and a pickpocket in town. I didn't know he smuggled and robbed on the border, though.'

' That is Matthew Knoll, and he must wear false whiskers,' said Geoffry.

Ac the farm all was peace. The cellars contained cider and vegetables; the son had vanished ; the old people were ner vous and dejected. Milly bad gone to her aunt's until tbe wedding. Yes, she was to marry John Townley after* all.

' You must have been dreaming,' said Uncle Geoffry. Geofl'ry the younger held up the watch in dignified protest. ' I did not dream this back, Sir.'

' Well, you have earned it.' In after years when illness attacked a sensitive organization it came to Geoffry Verno-a in the delirium of fear, when Matthew Knolls, desperado, was pursuing him through the awful darkness, with solemn hills above and tbe rush of waters far below, and sometimes, across this darkness, gleamed a girl's face, like Ophelia's, yellow hair drooping on neck, and blue eyes for ever terror-haunted.

LIFE OR DEATH.

A lexas Kangeb's Best Shot,

Wilson and Cameron stood apart from their companions. With folded arms and thoughtful faces, they watched the shadows of night steal over lake and chaparral,

' A n hour like this casts a spell upon my spirit,' said Cameron. 'I love to see tbe glare of day fade and give place to tbe dim, placid twilight.' * I have similar feelings,' replied Wilson, ' but I like night best when advanced toward the small hours, and the moon and stars are brightly beam ing '

Cameron made no reply, and the parties remained silent. Wilson was the first to speak.

' That's a heavy rifle of yours,' he said, glancing at the weapon upon which Cameron was leaning. ' I dare say it has been of service to you in its time ?'

' No money could induce me to part with it, because I have proved its metal on various occasions. Did I ever tell you of an adventure that ) once had near the Bed Ixiver?'

' You never did ; I should like to hear it,' said Wilson.,

'-■everalyears ago,' resumed Cameron ' 1 was hunting near Cross Timbers, not far from Bed Kiver. The Indians were then troublesome, and frequently committed their depredations on the frontier settlements; but 1 was fond of hunting and cared little for them, willing to trust to my own courage and ingenuity in any emergency that might occur. I canied this same rifle, and was called one of the best shots in the country.

'Many people said the piece was too heavy for common use ; but I was used to it, and it didn't seem burden some to me —and when 1 fired it was sure to do the right thiDg, for what animal could carry off an ounce and a half of lead, skillfully sped on its errand ?

' Having discovered Indian signs one day, I thought it best to change' my hunting ground, and so put a con siderable distance between me and the spot, and encamped on a wide prairie, bounded on the east by the Cross 'J imbers. ._> ot long after this event, 1 was sitting on the bank of a small stream, resting my weary limbs after a long and fatiguing hunt, when I was fiied upon, and received a slight wound. ' 1 was fortunate enough to discover the marksman, who proved to be an 1 ndian, of what tribe i do not remem ber.

' I instantly shot him dead, and then perceived that he was not alone, for one of his brethren was with him, who made good his escape. 'tme day, not feeling very well, ] returned to my camp sooner than usual. 1 lay down to sleep, but could not. 1 felt uneasy and nervous, and so arose and went on the prairie.l The grass was not very tall, and the hot sun of the season had dried it until it was crispy, and rattled as I walked through it.

'I ascended a gentle swell, and looked around me. Ihe scene was a grand one. On one hand were the Cross Timbers dimly seen in the dis tance, resembling a dense wall of wood built by human hands, while in every direction the prairie stretched away until lost in the distance. The sun was getting low, and looked like a sunset on the sea.

'As my eyes wandered from point to point they were suddenly fixed upon a solitary figure several hundred yards distant, at the foot of the long swell or roll upon which I was stand ing. ' He stood in an open space, and lat first wondered how that could be, as the grass was so high in every other place; but the affair soon explained itself.

' More careful examination showed me that the solitary object was an indian, and his object in .packing up the dry grass was he was going to fire the prairie! ' It was doubtless the same fellow that had escaped at the time I had been fired on. He had discovered my retreat, and was about to ..revenge himself in a singular manner .... 1 he wind was fresh toward^me, andjif the _ grass ..set., on, fire, no power on|eart_t could havej saved me,

for the fleetest horse could not run fast enough to escape from its devour ing flames. A terrible dread of that kind of death came over me.

• I stood like one fascinated, and gazed at the preparation of the savage. He stood in the middle of the open space he had made, with a blazing torch in his hand.

' Innumerable thoughts rushed through my mind in an instant of time. I was never so completely paralyzed aud stupefied in my life. The power of thought seemed to be the only power left me, and that was stimulated to an unnatural degree Ihe past, present and future were reviewed and speculated upon in that brief and broken fragment of time in which the savage stood waiting for the brand" to burn more brightly before he thrust it into the grass.

'Yes, my destiny was to be burned ! Some hunter or traveller would find my body charred or blackened; and others, after a time, would pass my bones bleaching in tbe sun.

' You must remember that all these ideas and reflections ran through my mind in the shortest appreciable space of time ; for you must know that the sudden prospect of great danger, from which there is no apparent means of escape, imparts to the brain a horrible faculty of thought, of which the mind at rest can form no possible conception.

' I closed my eyes in prayer, and commended my soul to God; but it was impossible for me to close my eyes against the one great abeorbing idea in my mind—that of being burnt up like the vile reptile that crawls in the woods.

' My lips closed, and as they did so, my eyes rested upon my trusty rifle; it was the first time I had thought of it, for the distance was great between me and the enemy ; but now it looked like an old friend, the only one that had the power to save me. ' I embraced the thought that the sight of my rifle called vp —a species of joy which is nearly overpowered by an agonising feeling. One chance still remained: a small chance, it was true, but still a chance; and despair cannot paralyze and subdue the heart while one faint hope remains. I lifted the instrument upon which hung my destiny. As my glance ran over the intervening distance, I felt how desperate, indeed, was my pros pect of life, for a hundred good marksmen might try their skill in vain in aiming at an object so far off.

Then 1 remembered that my weapon was of an uncommon calibre and weight, and would throw a ball further than any I had ever seen. I recollec ted, also, that 1 had loaded it that very day with uncommon care, and for a long shot.

' The Indian moved the torch, and was about to apply it to the combusti ble materials ; there was no time to lose. The rifle came to my shoulder quick and firm, and I braced my nerves for a steady aim with a strong effort of the will. I looked through the double sights, and the muzzle covered the Indian's head. My heart seemed to stop beating, held in the grasp of that terrible suspense. ' t was but an instant —then the rifle sent an ounce and a half of lead on its mission, with a crack that was unusually loud and sharp, and a recoil which threw me back a few paces.

'The smoke curled away, but I dared not look. I passed my hanc slowly across my forehead, for my brain was throbbing painfully. Every moment I expected to be greeted by dense smoke from the burning prairies and to hear the hissing of the burning flame; but nothing of the kind occur red, and I ventured to look toward the spot where the savage had stood with his torch : 1 took courage; re loaded my rifle, and hastily walked toward the place.

' I reached it—the Tndian lay upon his back, the brand half extinguished beside him; an ounce and a half of lead through his head. I sank down, overpowered with gratitude and the various emotions which such an inci dent was calculated to inspire me. 'This was the greatest shot I ever made, and probably shall never equal it againi ' Can you wonder that I am attached to my rifle ?' 'Not at all,' said the captain, earnestly. 'I should never part with it, if it was mine.'

WATER-YETT.

BY JOHN BLAOKMAN.

O'er yonder lofty sun-tipped hills, Within a swarded hollow tet; In Nature's lap a homestead lies, Which bears the name of Water-Yett. Health dances in its quiet glades, And Beauty all the lano scape dowers, And basks in every shady nook, And _ estles in the blushing flow. rs. The sheep on herby slopes repose, The cattle biowse br shallow streams; And qp the waters of the sea, A lustrous pathway brightly gleams. Spring birds hold concert i<> *he trees, And finil.ht eve a safe retreat, Where no ruoe breaks of noisy mirth, Disturb the calm of Water-Yett. No finger-post directs the eye. To that still home where Ellen dwells, Nor e'er, is heard across the fields, The pleasant sounds of village bells. No temple proudly lifts its scire Above, those scenes, unknown to care ; And yet that sweet, sequestered place Is full of silent praise and prayer. At evening's traiquilising hour. , There comes upon the evening breeze, The low of kine, the c*w of rooks.j And whispers of the darkling trees. A stranger's face is rarely seen — Th^ stranger, sadly forced to roam Ahear'that hospitable pl*ce— That semblance of a Scottish home. .Tia sometimes seemly to escape From fev'erith life, its pain and fret, And lounge upon the grass and flowers, That breathe (of peaceiat Water-Yett.

CHANCELLOR KENT'S PRE DICAMENT.

lIOW A BACKWOODSMAN" CAUGHT HIM

IN AN EQUIVOCAL SITUATION.

L. B. Peoctob, author of ' The Bench and Bar,' contributes to the Buffalo 1 Courier' an amusing incident in the history of the great jurist. Early in June, 1815, Chancellor Kent and his wife, in a private car riage, left their home in the city of New York on a tour to the ' county of Genessee,' as western New York was then called. At that time, though the distance did not exceed 370 miles, the journey was more toilsome, protracted and dangerous, than a trip from JS ew York to Oregon now is. On the fifth day out the couple lost their way, and night coming on, believed themselves doomed to spend it in the open forest, exposed to all its horrors and dangers. But just as Kent brought the horses to a halt, a light suddenly gleamed out of the interstices between the trees a short distance ahead. Pushing on ward once more, they found themselves in a few moments in front of a com fortable log house standing near the roadside.

A woman, apparently 30 years of age, with a lighted candle in her hand, comes to the door.

'My good woman, myself and my wife, the lady in the carriage with me, are travelling on our way to Canan daigua, but we have lost the way ; night is upon us, and we can go no further. Can you give us shelter for tho night, some supper, and something for our horses ?' asked J- ent.

'We are poor folks,' said the wo man. ' and I'm alone. My man is chopping over in the Billings settle ment, three miles off, and he *von't be home in an hour. You are strangers and I don't—but you look like iespec table people, and I guess you can stay here. I'll give you something to eat if it aint quite so good, and I'll fodder your horses, too. Your woman there had better get out and come in, while i. put the horses in the stable.' Mrs. Kent obeyed. The horses were unharnessed, led to the stable and fed. • In a short time the woman prepared a homely, but acceptable supper for her guests. When the meal was finished she said :

' I s'pose you're tired and want to go to bed. That's our bed in the corner there, but you can sleep in it to-night. I and my man can sleep overhead. I'll jest set his supper on the table, when he comes in he'll eat it, but it won't disturb you. Then he'll come up to bed where 1 am.'

So saying, she placed her man's evening repast on the table, lit another candle, then ascended a ladder leading to a sort of scuttle hole, through which she crawled. In a few nor&ents she was in bed lost in sleep.

The travellers also retired to rest. ' Tired nature' hurried them swiftly on to the land of dreams. Suddenly the chancellor started up, exclaim ing:

' Bessie, that outside door is not fastened. Presently the man of the house will return, and seeing me here in bed with you he will of course think you are his wife, and, Bessie, he won't relish that. Being a wood chopper*, he will have his. axe with him, and before I can explain matters the chancellor of this State will stand a pretty good chance to be chopped to pieces- not a pleasant thing to think of, Bessie.'

'It is a bad matter. While he is chopping you up he may include me in the exercise. What can you do ?' said Mrs. Kent.

' I tell you, Bessie, what I'll do. I'll push that table against the door. When the man comes it will take him some time to remove it. While he is dok g so 1 can explain matters to him,' said the chancellor.

Accoidingly he arose, took hold of the table to push it against the door. While in the act he heard heavy foot steps approaching ; the next instant a man of gigantic size, in his shirt sleeves, wearing a bear-skin cap on his head, pushed the door open and entered the room. The first object that greeted his sight was the chancel lor, with no clothing on him but his shirt. G-lancing at the bed, he saw, as be supposed, his wife there, and the situation became painfully apparent to bim. !Furious with jealousy he exclaimed:

' Who the misohief are you, in my house in your . shirt tail this time of night?—you! I've caught you, who ever you are.'

'It is all right, my good sir,' said X ent trying to explain matters. ' It's all right, I am ' 'All right! All right! Ton' be bio wed!' thundered the man. ' I see— didn't expect me home. Thought you'd fasten me out when I did come —was going to have things all your own way here, hey ? but ) caught you —happened around in the nick of

time.'

' ]?ray let me explain, sir,' said the chancellor. ' Myself and my wife there——'

'Tour wife! Tour wife ! Groo4 heavens ! what a bold cuss you are. I know who you are now. Tou're l-am Fliekner, that used to court my wife, as I heard tell. Kow, fliekner, what have you got to say to yourself, you cuss?' ' . -.

'My name is not Fliekner." It is James h ent. lam the Chancellor oi the state of New Tork. lhat is my

wife Bessie, that is in the bed there. Your wife is up-staifs all right. There is your supper on the table. Eat it, for gracious sake !' cried Kent in a hurried manner.

I ' Chancellor of the State of New York, hey ? What the dickens is the Chancellor of the State doing in my house this time of night in his shirt tail?—pretty way to get out of a scrape—lay it to the Chancellor of the State, hey? If he should catch you in the house as I have caught you he'd chancel you. I say you are Sam El-'ekner. and I'll lick life out of you' said the man, advancing toward Een,t with a fist that looked like a sledge hammer. At this critical moment his wife put her head down the hatch way, exclaiming, ' Hold on, Jim ! I'm up he_e, all right. They have lost their way ; I guess they are good folks and I've given 'em our bed ; eat your supper and come up to bed; don't make such a bear of yourself. If I hadn't been sound asleep when you came all this fuss wouldn't happened.' Ihis address brought matters to a proper understanding. The man apologised for his hastiness. Said he didn't believe his wife was that kind of a woman, although at first things looked awfully against her; besides that, he knowed Sam Elickner was a cuss.'

The chancellor went to bed. The man sat down to his supper, and when it was finished retired quietly to his bed up-stairs; and soon all the in mates of the house were wrappel in slumber. The next morning the hostess prepared her guests a comfort able breakfast Ber man repeated his apologies of the last night, gave them careful directions regarding their road, and with many good wishes bade them adieu.

TAKE YER OWLD RATS.

A Leeds theatrical celebrity has a repute for economy and shrewdness, which every Yorkshireman gleefully appreciates. Bis house being infested with rats, a certain rat-catcher was sent for, who, having done his business, for which a hard bargain had as usual been driven, sought his employer. He had a bag over his shoulders Con taining the result of his labour. - _he celebrity chanced to be in the drawing room, where, hearing his voice, the sturdy rat-catcher sought him and his pay. 'Yon've left no rats behind,' sternly asked the employer, slowly taking out his purse. 'Noa, sir/ answered the rat-catcher, for he did not consider the pay liberal or even far and was consequently, not too amicably inclined. ' And what are you going to do with all those rats in your bag?' 'Weel, aw mun mak'a livin', tha knows, eny hoo, soa aw sells 'em,' replied the man moodily. 'Sell them ,' echoed the other, quickly, the light of a brillant new idea irradiating his countenance. 'Sell my rats ! What right have you to sell my property sir? I agreed to pay you to catch my rats, I did not> say you were to have my rats when they were caught. Kow look!, here my man. I'll pay you at once; but first, how much are you going to allow me for my rats ?"J he rat-catcher's patience was exhausted, he strode from the door towards Mr.——, and, in abrupt reply to that able manager's anxious inquiry, he suddenly with an angry oath, threw the bag upon the carpet's velvet pile, and catching up the lower end of it, with one violent shake scattered the rats pell-mell one over the other at his employer's feet, crying, in the midst of the squeaking, scratching and scrambling of the frightened animals which ensued, 'Nab, then, tak' 4he blowed owd rats and twist them raand the neck.'

THE FADED VIOLET.

Yea gar. it me long years ago, In the shadowy evening time. While the clouds stole round the mountain tide, And the bells rang out a chime. The bloss ms listened at cur feet,. The ttees stooped from above ; You said, " This flower wiU say for me All that my heart says—' Love.'" 'Tis long ago but I hare yet That little faded violet. And life was at its blithest then; ■. The world ne'er seemed so blight; For the sweetest stoiy ever told I listened to that night; And often, often when alone, I've kissed ay violet blue, And said, 'E'en as I keep my flower So will my love be true." Ah, me! I have it hidden yet. That little faded violet. We parted lonsr, long months ago, ■ With not a sigh to tell , . That once, in far-off happr days, - \ We two had loved so well. We parted with a few ceid words— We two, who oft had'said Not all tbe world should cotae between. Ah. well! the love wahdead— The love was dead: but yet, but yet, I keep my fatal violet. -T.B.—The Blue Violet is the emblem of Love.

Why He Did It— TheEaston 'Free Press ' says that Joshua wasthe first man who ever took a newspaper. He stopped the 'Daily Sun.' We suppose he did so because the war news did not suit him.

No "Use.—A little girl was sent to the pasture to drive home the coW. While thus engaged she treated;herself to climb ing an unnecessary fence,'frbpi Which she fell and was severely . scratched and bruised. On returning home she was asked if she cried. when sbefell..'. « Why, no,',she replied, ' what Would have been the use P There was nobody to hear inc.'

Editorial Sorrows.—An American paper begins a forcible appeal to its delinquent subscribers with this touching sentence ' We must dun or be done.'- '

To no one is hot weather so; severe as to the bashful young man who wears paper collars. These oppressive evening are just the ones he is invited ou.toparties;-»nd the look of borr6r"<fo-his face kshe feels his collar dissolving into'pulp. and erouib hng down his neck,^a___otc-?errwell be counterfeited.: : ; „. f _.r;,.