SUPPLEMENT TO THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAR

Keyser's Dream.

How Me. Keyser -Anticipated Death. !Last December my friend Keyser dreamed one night that he would die on the 13th of January. So strongly was he assured of the fact that the "vision would prove true that he "began at once to make preparations for his departure. He got measured for a burial suit;, he drew up his will, he picked out a nice lot in the cemetery and had it fenced in; he joined the 'church, and selected six of the deacons as his pall-bearers; he also requested the choir to sing at the funeral, and he got them to run over a iavourite hymn of his to see how it would sound. Then he got Toombs, the undertaker, to knock together a burial casket, with silver-plated handles, and cu shions inside, and he instructed the undertaker to rush out his best hearse, and to buy sixty pairs of black gloves to be distributed among the mourners. Be had some trouble deciding upon a tombstone. The man at the marble yard wanted to shove off on him a second-hand one, with an angel weep ing over a kind of flower-pot; but Keyser finally ordered a new one, with a design representing a rosebud with a broken stem, and the legend, 'Not lost, but gone before.' Then he got the village newspaper to put a good obituary notice of him in type, and he told his wife that he would be gratified if she would come out in the spring and plant violets upon his grave He said it was hard to leave her and the children, but she must trj to bear up under it. These afflictions are for our good, and when lie was an angel he would come and watch over her, and keep his eye on her. He said she might marry again if she wanted to ; for, although the mere thought of it nearly broke his heart, he wished her, above all, to be happy, and to have some one to love her and protect her from the storms of the rude world. Then he, and Mrs. Keyser, and the children cried, and Keyser, as a closing word of counsel, advised her not to plow for corn earlier than the middle of March On the night of the 12tb of Janu ary there was a flood in the creek, and Keyser got up at 4 o'clock in the morning of the 13th, and worked until night, trying to save his buildings and his woodpile. Be was s© busy that he forgot all about its being the day of his death, and, as he was very tired, he went to bed early and slept soundly all night. About 6 o'clock on the morning of the 14th there was a ring at the door bell. Keyser jumped out of bed threw up the front window and exclaimed : ' Who's there ?' ' It's me—Toombs,' said the under taker. '"What do you want at this time of the morning?' demanded Keyser. ' "Want ?' said Toombs, not recogniz ing Keyser,; why, I've brought around the ice to pack Keyser in, so he'll keep until the funeral. The copse'd spoil this kinder weather if we didn't Then Keyser remembered, and it made him feel mad when he thought how the day had passed and left him still alive, and how he had made a fool of himself. £0 the copse said: ' "Well, you can just skeet around home again with that ice; the copse is not yet dead. You're a leetle too anxious, it strikes me you're not going to chuck me into a sepulchre yet, if you have got everything ready. So you can haul off and unload.' About half past 10 that morning the deacons came around, with crape on their hats and gloom in their faces, to carry the body to the grave; and while they were on the front step the marble-yard man drove up with the rosebud tombstone and a shovel, and stepped in to ask the widow how deep she wanted the grave dug. Just then the choir arrived with the minister, and the company was assembled in the parlour, when Keyser came in from the stable, where he had been dosing a horse with patent medicine and warm mash for the glanders. He was surprised; but he proceeded to explain that there had been a little mistake somehow.. He was also pained to find that everybody seemed to be a good deal disappointed, particularly the tombstone man, who went away mad, declaring that such an old fraud ought to be ramme.d into the ground anyhow 4, dead or alive. Just as the deacons left in a huff, the tailor's boy arrived with the burial suit, and before Keyser could kick him off the steps the paper carrier flung into the door the Morning Argus, in which that obituary occupied a prominent place. Anybody who wants a good reliable tombstone that has a broken rosebud on it, and that has never been used, can buy one of that kind at a sacrifice for cash, from Keyser. He thinks that bad dream must have been caused by eating too much sausage at supper.

\ A charitable divine, for the benefit of the country where hie resided, caused a oiuseway to be begun; and as, he was •■#y overlooking ifhe workmen, a cer ?;?.-■;.- Pieman, popsiug by, said to him, iw» «>;• b«R>:.-miir ', «y ery true,' replied the • f* le is subject to^disease,' said A iit^e.^ fruit-growers' convention. ~ - . .;t can you firid on an oak P' ■•- .:-"'■ ' ■-' firman. ''A.-corn,* was tlf4'

Lutie Rogers.

BY ACANTHIO. I. The lamplight shone on a bevy of merry girls, radiant in the freshness of youth and delightfully cool-looking nsuslm dresses, young gentlemen, in all the muadane respectability black cloth bestows,chatted, jested and sang with, these angels in the parlour, ■while in an adjoining room the elder members of the party drifted to gether and discussed various themes pertaining to the town and its society. There was of course some boring. It is equally obvious that flirting could not have been wholly unknown. There were some who regretted the breaking up of the festive throng; and couples to whom the walk home in the moonlight was the most interesting feature of the occasion. Among the latter were Allan Winfield and Lutie Rogers. After a few comments on events of the evening, they walked on in silence. The perfect beauty of that summer night, so keenly felt by each, could not be wholly enjoyed while through themind floated the scenes time had already torn into gaily coloun d rags. ' How strange seems the idea of moon light in our bustling country towns,' mused Lutie aloud. 'It harmonizes with the trophies and memories of history crowned and art-hallowed Italy; but differs so from our other surroundings that it seems to belong rather to the past than the present.' ' Yet it is the contrast between the noisy, active days of our country, our new coun try, in which everything seems yet to be done, and this peaceful gleam Jairly sur prising the heart into relaxation, which gives more positive, because more con scious dflight.' ' I do not know, but this little town does seem transfigured. All that was harsh and sharp and new is toned to picturesque; sounds are deepened, and the freshness of this soft air makes to day's noontide heat seem as last winter's cold blasts.' 'It certainly will be hard to realize to-morrow, in the midst of pressing business cares, that this evening, with its mild radiance is indeed a part of our world." *As it is now to realize there is such a thing as care or sorrow. How 1 wish it were always moonlight, I weary so of this practical world in which duties are so dull, and amusements so commonplace. In this serenity one's thoughts are free ; all that is repugnant to ease and natural tastes is forgotten, nnd the selfishness of our reveries seems refined almost to religion.' Allan looked pityingly at the fair face of the speaker, for well he knew there was a burden on her spirit whose weight had long been felt, but he would never have breathed his thoughts in words; so they talked on in a general way until they reached her home. It was a small frame building, from which the brown paint was much worn, and which had never possessed the domestic cosiness nestling around many humble dwellings. Still the small front yard was filled with flowers, and a red honeysuckle clambered on one side of the door, and feathery cypress waved from a trellis on the other. The place was pretty enough in summer dress. 1 What a charming little garden,' said 411 an, 'I suppose you spend many hours here.' 'No, this is all Fannies work,' said Lutie, rather wearily. ' She is devoted to her flowers.' ' You will have the generosity to bestow one on me ?' 1 Certainly,' and Lutie disappeared for a moment, and returned with a sunflower from a clump which grew in the back ground. •Ah! Miss Lutie, how can you thus ridicule my love for floral beauty ?' 'Is it not a noble flower? Take it home, examine, admire, and wonder at its perfection,' said Lutie, loftily. ' As well ask me to escort my landlady's fat cook to a concert. Give me something emblematic of yourself.' 'Of myself! what could that be ?' 1 This delightful heliotrope, perhaps.' ' Exhaling incense so freely from among the homely, rough leaves, by which it is > surrounded. That is my favourite flower, | and always reminds me of my good sister Fannie. It has nothing in common with me.' ' I must own your spirit is not veiled in [ so meek a form. This is a more fitting type;' and he culled a dainty half opened rose blooming alone on a little bush. >j ■ ' Skilful diplomacy, but your flattery to me will not appease Fannies wrath, for that is her cherished favourite. She has watched its unfolding for days.' ' I think she would know her flower safe in my keeping,' said Allan with an eloquent glance, which set Lutie to examining the plants near her with sudden fervour. Just then Fannie came to the door ; and in a few moments Allan left, and Lutie joined her sister in the sitting room. 1 Did you have a pleasant time ?' asked Eannie, as she resumed her mending. ' Delightful, and Mrs. Williams and others regretted your absence very much,' and Lutie ran on with incidents of the evening for some time, when Fannie rose, and going to the window, looked anxiously . forth. {It is a lovely night.' Lutie joined her, but her eyes rested on the little plundered rosebush as the object of stropgest attraction. 'You had better retire,' said Fannie, ' it is growing late.' • I'm not in the least tired, and wnnt to look at the night.' ' No, you need rest, and I must insist,'. said she, firmly, as she resumed her work. . Lutie turned, surprised at the tone of authority, and replied.' ' C6me with me then, instead of putting out your eyes over that stupid darning.' 'No, I will sit up a little longer. You know I dislike to lay aside an unfinished task.' Lutie went np to her sister, and looked straight in her. eyea, her face suddenly pale and rigid f fig father—out ?' * He has not returned; but is probably delayed; let us hope,' was the quiet answer, but there was little of hope in the sad tones. - 'O Fannie, can he again fall back into Jiis o!4 haM|s P What a curse to us all is his desirable weakness.' ' Lutie, wait till you are certain.' + ;

'I know it; and so do yon! He never j lingers unless—Oh! Fannie, what right has he to blast our lives; to render us scorned by our inferiors ; until the com m< nest attentions shown us seem like a charity.' • He is our father.' ' Our shame, our degradation !' I Lutie, beware, lest your words have more of sin loan his conduct.' 'My words harm no one; his deeds have stripped our lives of all happiness !' ' You never spoke in this w«y before.' I 1 never realised it so before. I had bowed myself under the burden; and could bear it; but when he reformed, and kept his pledge so long, I began to find joy in living. Even when he came home last week from Mobcrly, and told us he Lad again yielded, but vowed never to listen to the voice of the tempter again, I borored and believed him, and now, while J was so enjoying this evening, you were here, locking anxiously for my father's return ; and he —carousing with the basest of the town !' Fannie rested her hand on the burning forehead of the excited girl, while her own grief was momentarily lost in pity. She well knew how hard was this trial to that, proud, sensitive nature ; but she only said yently : ' Try to think not of yourself at all now but pity his greater misfortune,' Lutie's head drooped after one glance into her sister's eyes, sad, but lit with a faith which looks beyond the present. She listlessly crossed the room and leaned back in an arm chair. But the bitterness did not die away :it consumed in silence. Fannie had resumed her work ; but her fingers trembled as the needle plied in and out. Some time after, the gate opened and closed, voices were heard, then a shuffling, uncertain step approached, Fannie opened the door. Mr. Rogers, who had been very hilari ous while with his companions, felt con fused in the presence of his daughters. Fannie led him in ; Lutie turned not her head. ' Fine night for a walk. Came by Williams' —thnupht I'd look in ; but the house was all dark. Confounded rough walking—sat down onee —got so drrfl'ul tired. Winfield fame along and walked home with me. Wants to get on the good side of the old man, 1 guess —eh Lutie ?' The girl sprang forward, her eyes blazing with anger ; but she could not forget, in his presence, that he was still her father. With a low cry of agony, she suddenly turned find If ft the room. 11. A plain, but not cheerless room, con taining a writing-desk, a table strewn with books taken from a case in the corner, a little green sofa and a few chairs. The occupants wt re two young g< nilemon, who seemed intently absorbed ; one in wri'ing, tlio other in study. This was the firm of j Winfield & Miller, attorneys-at-law, j whose joint shingle swung at the foot of the stairs. ' Al., are you going to the festival to night ?' inquired the studious Miller ' Well —yes,' responded he of the pen and ink ; ' shall 1 see you there ?' ' I guess so, only I'm a little unfortu nate about company. I meant to escort Miss Carter, but somebody's ahead of me.' ' I am an object of your wrath, then, as I shall have the honour of attending Miss Carter.' 1 The deuce ? Well, you're always insured; that's the natural result of money and good looks ; but I was late on the field ! and nearly all the girls have escorts by this time. Ive just >ent a note to Lutie Rogers. Ah ! here's the answer now,' as a boy pushed wider the half-open door, • Humph! she regrets !' was his ejacula tion after glancing over the missive. Winfield bit his lips to restrain a smile. ' She cannot attend the festival. I saw her shopping this morning,' pursued Miller. ' There must be some reason | when a girl refuses to go to an entertain ment where they are as rare as in this poky place; and she doesn't get many invitations since her father is in the gutter again. I haveo't seen her at the lodge or anywhere for at least two months.' ' If Miss Eogers keeps out of society, rest assured that she does so from choice, for I know she has not lacked invitations. Miss Carter was quite ' put out' by her refusal to attend her croquet party last I week.' And as this young lady was a favourite, and wealthy, Al. judged the effect was complete without the further ! information that Lutie had declined his escort both on that occasion and this. ' Dont't you think Miss Lutie is rather singular ?' asked Miller, after a reflective pause. ' Singularly pretty and free from affecta tion.' ' That's true, but she's rather hard to understand. She's lively in company, but a little too sarcastic sometimes for my notion of a woman. And now this freak of staying at home; but I expect they are pretty hard up.' ' I know nothing of their private affairs, nut consider that Miss Eogers' graces and talents fit her for any position in socirty and she is certainly above those snobs, who, by their petty slights, try to make her lot harder.' ' Well, Al., you seem somewhat interes ted, but I'll overlook your fling at me, for lam sorry for the girl myself; but that s the way the world over. ' The sins of the father,' &c., and he is a hard case, lately. I was caught in the shower on Tuesday, and stopped at Mrs. Wells, and while Mamie and I were at the windows we saw him staggering along to wards home. It was late, and the old man was soaking wet, and measured his length on the ground quite frequently. It was a sad sight.' 1 How did Miss Wells regard him?' ' Oh. she was disgusted &■ d shocked, and said, among other tilings, that she did not see how anyone could have any thing to do wifh the family of such a man.' ' And you answered ?' ' That it was a great shame in him, but I didn't see how the young ladies were to blame; and you know I sent the note to Lutie this morning, if she wasn't first choice, instead of Mamie, who I am pretty sure, would not have declined.' ' You're all right, if you are a little conceited,' said^ Al.. witu an approving smile. 111. There was a merry group in the green yard in front of a comfortable farm-house.

The hot August day was ending in beauty. Coolness was returning, lurking in the long shadows which were rapidly encroaching on the patches of sunshine. Lutie Kogers and her friend Ella Field were acting a rustic part; their chairs placed against a dense back-ground of arborvitse, their feet buried in the grass, their laps filled with flowers. Mrs. Field was chatting gaily with the rest, while the smoke from her husband's ci^ar curled lazily around his rose and myrtle wreathed hat. This picture of peaceful mirth and freshness was complete—as it would not hays been without the two aeree able young gentlemen, whose sallies of wit kept the group in a state of laughter, which threatened to become chronic. Ella had, a week before, carried off Lutie almost by main force, and the poor child, surrounded by teace and jollity, aided by the reaction of youthful spirits long imprisoned, had succeeded in laying her sorrow on a shelf, and was really enjoying her visit; and being vastly petted, was naturally very sweet and charming. Henry Field had gone to town that day ; and, as fate had ordained, returned with his intimate friend, Al. Win field ; who was a great favourite at the farm-house. Lutie, ignoring thoir late reserve, was as free ms of old in her manner to him; though she had few words for any but Henry, who was carrying on a desperate mock flirtation with her. But the sun went down ; and good Mrs. Field said all must go into the house, as the dew was frilling. A few days later and Allan Winfield came again. He and Lutie had known each other for two years, which time had elapsed since he had left the house of his father, a wealthy tradesman in a neigh bouring town, to start in his profession, lie had been attracted to Lutie by her sweet voice and pretty face, in the church choir; and they were friends, from the start; until the cloud, long lifted, had again fallen over Lutie's home ; when the reserve, born of pride, which she had adopted, made them seem estranged. There was a spring at a little distance from the farm-house. It was near the base of a sloping, free-covered hill, and the issuing little rill ran into a pebbly creek below. On the opposite side of the tiny valley rose a steep, high bluff of conglomerate rock, its ruggedness totally at variance with the verdure everywhere around. '1 lie four young people were standing by this spring late in the afternoon of another August day. Were they lost in rapture at the b( auty of the spot, or did they indulge in a geological discussion of the formation of the precipice opposite ?' Alas for the ' foolishness' of youth, they were merely like merry boys and girls, picking up the Missouri stones at their feet, and striving to throw them over the top of the bluff. Of course the girls could not acc'-xnpHsh the feat, and after grace fully failing a number of times, resigned therbsleves to admiration of the very superior manner in which the young men sent the missiles to their destination. But even this sublime sport must have an end, so Henry proposed to return to the house,and, by somestrange chance, walked with his own sister, leaving Al. and Lutie behind, and as the distance between the two couples constantly increased, Al. suggested that they need not follow at all. but that Lutie should rest on a tree which had fallen by the stream' She complied, and he stood near, leaning gracefully against a limb of the tree, where he could look right down in her face. ' You have enjoyed your visit, Miss Lutie?' 'Yes,' she answered, 'I believe these are the two happiest weeks of my life.' ' And you will return to-morrow to a sad, cheerless home.' Lutie looked up in surprise, not un mixedwith indignation ; but her eyes fell when she met his glance. ' Y"ou will fling off this respite even as you laid down your burden of care for a brief season. You will again withdraw from your friends, and yield to the sorrow of your lot, you, whose heart was made for merriment, for sympathy, for Jove.' Lutie was mute. He knew her well Her soul did indeed recoil from the life before her. ' And so your life is sacrificed, when it lies so easily in your power to leave that scene for ever, and live your true life among those who would gladly strive to make you happy.' No answer; Lutie's downcast eyes were fixed on the water which rippled noisily among some miniature boulders. She heard not its murmur. A deeper music filled her heart. She feared to listen to her own reason, lest it should deny her this happiness in her grasp. ' You knew I loved you. You would not let me speak of my love. You chilled you repelled me by your pride : but, Lutie, your true eyes have lately told your secret in spite of you. You do love, and you have listened to me. Will you be my wife ?' Poor Lutie. She had not wished to speak before; she had not the power now. Her face was deadly pale, and her eyes filled with tears; but when she looked up into that noble young face, and met the eloquent glance of his dark eyes she rose and stood before him. • How can I refuse the happiness which has come to me ?' was her passionate cay. * I am afraid—it may not be right—but you love me and I love you !' And Allan was satisfied with the answer he received.

As soon as the baby's teething begins, the romance of married life ceases. No woman can feel any sentiment for a man who travels round in his night-shirt of a hot summer's eve, with a squalling infant dangling over his shoulder. It is then that she stops calling him ' Darling,' and descends to such commonplace observa tions as ' John Camfire, be careful how you hold that baby.' Quite a sensation was crested in one of the negro churches on a recent Sunday. The preacher was expatiating upon the sin of intemperance and denouncing all who were engaged in the traffic, when a bullet headed negro, who bosses a low-down gin mill, raised up and said : ' Here parson is you 'iuden to me in dem conflections you'se making up dar ?' The preacher promptly said they were for ' whoever the cap fitted.' ,Dats all right, den,' said the wrathy fellow, 'kase, ef you meat me I'd peel you !' and then sat down just in time to escape arrest.'

Strangers "Within Our Gates.

The ' World.' in an article on Foreign Princes in England, says : —The Prince Consort was looked on by many as a foreigner, but in reality no one had a more thoroughly English heart; no one identified himself so completely with our interests; no one has left so strong an impress of his mind on English art and social life as Prince- Albert. We owe him much, and it is a matter alike of shame and regret that our gratitude should have been chiefly posthumous. Of all the strangers, indeed, to whom our gates have been opened not one has con ferred such benefits on England. Let us, however, turn from the dead to the living. Of all these perhaps the best known is the stalwart general who commands the Home District. Prince Edward of Saxe-Weimar came to England as n boy, and went through the Royal Military College, Sandhurst, like any other lad. He enter ed the Guards, and after a time became adjutant, which is no sinecure, especially in the Household troops. In the Crimea he shewed a courage, a presence of mind in emergencies, and a cheeriness under privations which became his rank, and earned him the respect and affection of all those who confronted death with him. His love match with a daughter of the house of Lennox completed the tie be tween Prince Edward and his adopted country. Another of the strangers within our gates is Prince Christian, brother of the head of that line with the curiously composite designation of Sles vig-Holstein - Sonderburg-Augustenburg. Born in 1831, he married, when thirty five, the Princess Helena, some fifteen years younger than himself. A major general, a Knight of the Garter, and a Koyal Highness by warrant, he is offi cially an English pirnce. He is admitted by all who know him to be the most simple minded and mannered man living. His marriage has been a happy one and, the royal couple live in the most domestic, quiet, and unostentatious fashion at Windsor. I^ot given to taking his fair share in conversation, neither ill-natured nor foolish remarks have ever been attri buted to him. Yet those who know him well like him greatly, and apply to him that thoroughly British commendatory phrase ' a good fellow' while those who merely see him on state occasions admit that he is manly and gentlemanlike in his bearing. All our princesses are popular, but not one is more universally liked for the genial, cheerful, kindly heart and manners which are the characteristics of the house of Cambridge than the Princess Mary. The cousins only of the Sovereign, the Commander-in-Chief and his sister have ever been less fettered by etiquette than the Queen's own daughters. Both have always taken an active part in pro moting charities, and the Princess Mary has contributed by her patronage largely to the success of many bazaars for the benefit of the poor, sick, and miserable. Full of spirits, shewing her sunny heart iv her face, always amiable, and fond of fun, the Princess Mary was simply one of the most popular ladies in Europe, and she and her brother constituted a valuable link between the Court and the aristoc racy. When, therefore, she contracted a marriage of affection every one was pre pared to like the husband of her choice. His Serene Highness the Prince, now Dnke, of Teak, when he came to England in 1864, very favourably impressed all who met him. He was young, good-look ing, and on public occasions his handsome figure and face were well set off by the becoming uniform of a lieutenant in the Austrian cavalry. It was said too that he had served in the field, and English men are always disposed to like a prince who is a soldier in reality as well as in nams, Thus he was liked as much for his own sake as for that of his bride. The Prince of Leiningen, cousin of the Queen, G.C.8., post captain in the British navy, and commanding the royal yacht Victoria and Albert, is, outside the navy and the Isle of Wight, less known than some of the German princes who have made England their home. His relationship to her Majesty had no doubt something to do with his obtaining the Grand Cross of the Bath, but several medals proye that an order of chivalry is not out of place on his breast, and form a suitable setung for the star. Not only is the Queen's cousin a working sailor, but through his marriage with a Princess of Baden he is connected with the Duke of Hamilton, Of late those who study the doings of royalty mnsthave frequently noticed the name of Prince Louis of Battenberg as sharing the amusements of the Prince of Wales. This young prince —he is only twenty —is a in the Boyal Navy. His family history is somewhat romantic. His father, brother of the Grand Duke of Hesse and the Empress of Eussia, when paying a visit to' St. Petersburg, fell in love with one of his sister's maids of honour. This youne lady, daughter of a Polish noble man, Count Haucke, 90 captivated the susceptible heart of Prince Alexander, that despite all opposition he married her. Every one likes young Prince Louis, and the report that there is a probability that he is destined some day to obtain the hand of the Princess Beacrice has been received with satisfaction. Our list closes with Prince Victor of Hohenlohe, better known as Count Gleichen. A nephew of the Queen/.he. as a boy, entered the royal navy,saw much active service,and eventu ally attained the rank of post-captain, when he retired. Simple-mannered, unassuming, clever, he is beloved by all who know him, and is perhaps one of the happiest princes living. Falling in love with the daughter of Admiral Sir George Seymour, father of the present Marquis of Hertford, he sacrificed everything to his affection, and married her. Being seriously ill at Devonport, where Sir George Seymour was admiral, his future wife shewed him such, womanly kindness during his sickness that when he recover ed he asked his fair nurse to be his wife. Neither has ever had reason to regret the breach, of etiquette thus committed. He was not rich even for a private gentleman and her dowry was insignificant. More over, their marriage placed him, according to royal views, in a false position ; for a prince cannot contract other than a morganatic marriage with a subject. He sank the prince altogether, and assumed or was granted the title of Count Gleiehen. Unable to raise his wife to his own rank, he! voluntarily sinks to hers. Boyal chronicles contain few instances of such romantic affection; and the utter absence

of consciousness that he is doing anything out of the way has secured him the esteem and affection of all his relatives and friends. The Queen has granted him apartments in St. James's, and there he pursues the modest career of a sculptor, and if any one of our readers should like to possess a bust of him or her self by a royal artist of no mean talent, that wish can he easily gratified. To sum up Prince Victor is as fine a specimen of a thorough man in the true sense of the word as any country can produce, and England has reason to be piouithathe is her adopted son.

The Baroness BurdettCoutts.

The 'Young Englishman' is publishing a series of short biographies entitled. ' Notable Living Women and their deeds :'. and the number for June gives, under this beading, a memoir and portrait of the Baroness Bardett-Coutts. The father of this distinguished lady, Sir Francis Buxdett, w»s a noMe politician in his day, and for a period the idle of the London populace. At one time, having qttarrelled with the House of Commons, he resisted the Speaker's warrant for his arrest, and barricaded the House; but after defend ing the Legislature for a couple of days, he was carried off' to the Tower, and lodged there until the' prorogation of Parliament. In 1835 he joined the Conservative party. The grandfather of the Baroness, Mr Thomas Coutts, estab lished a banking business in the Strand where the house of Coutts and Co. still exists—and amassed a large fortune. His first wife was a domestic servant, named Elizabeth Starkey, the daughter of a small Lancashire farmer, but a woman of superior character. The mar riage was happy and fortunate. One of the daughters married the Marqtris of Bute, and another the Earl of Guildford, The third was united to Sir Francis Burdett; and the youngest daughter, Angela Georgina Burdett, born in 1814, is the lady who has been honored by the Queen with the title of Barone3s. as a tribute to her kindness of heart and unbounded benevolence. After the death of his first wife, Mr Thomas Coutts, the banker, married an actress, Miss Harriet Mellon, to whom he left his whole fortune, amounting to £900,000. His widow married a second time, under her marriage-settlement reserved to herself the full control of her immense fortune; and at her death, in 1837. she bequeathed her wealth to her first hus band's favourite grandchild, Angela Georg ina Burdett, who then became the princi pal partner in the banking house of Coutts and Co., and assumed, by royal licence, the additional surname of Coutts. Her life has since been devoted to useful and benevolent work. She has busied herself in improving the condition of the poor. Maay years ago she began a sewing school for adult women in Spitalfields ; she helped forward emigrants where it seemed to be desirable ; she established a home for the restoration of fallen women; she has subscribed for the building of new churches and schools in destitute localities ; she has endowed, at an outl »y of nearly £50,000 three colonial bishoprics — those of Adelaide, Capetown, and Briiish Columbia; she founded an establishment in South Australia for the benefit of the aborigines ; she erected modern dwellings in the squalid region of Bethnal Green, which are let at low weekly rentals to upwards of three hundred families ; and in the same district she built the Columbia Market, which remains a monument to her liberality, even although up to the present time it has not met with the success which she fondly anticipated. The funds for Sir Henry Jane's Topographical Survey of Jerusalem were supplied from the same purse, and the donor offered to restore the aqueducts of Solomon, which of old supplied the city with water, but the scheme was abandoned, Government hav ing failed to countenance and assist the work. In 1871 the offer of a peerage was made through Mr Gladstone to Miss Burdett-Coutts, and accepted after some hesitation. In 1872 she was honored with the freedom of the city of London — 'the first female name,' said the Chamber lain, ' ever recorded in the lists of those whom the citizens have so delighted to honor.' A friend of the writer of this memoir has calculated that the wealth of Lady Burdett-Coutts, if told in sovereigns would weigh thirteen tons, and fill a hundred and seven flou<- sacks. The honor and esteem which have crowned her life are acknowledgments not of her wealth, but of the manner in which she has used it. As the Lord Mayor of London observed, the Baroness has devoted her princely income to the furtherance of good objects. ' not for the mere luxury of giving, but accompanying it by painstaking care and practical judgment to see, as far as possible, that the gifts are well bestowed, and the object in view accomplished.'

The Jack Sheppard of America.

The New York 'Times' gives the following account of the career of a remarkable criminal:—A horse and truck, owned by Messrs Overton and Co., of Pine-street, were standing the other day in front of the Custom-house, when a young man accosted the driver in the usual manner, and asked him if ie could carry a case of goods. While the driver was looking for the case the thief stole away the horse and truck, and a case of tooth and nail brushes, valued at 500 dollars. A horse and truck, and three cases of tallow, valued at 400 dollars, and owned by William H. Diamond, were also stolen on the day following, under similar circum stances. The boldest robbery of all, however, was one on Messrs Arnold and Constable. One of their trucks had been loaded with a case of dry goods valued at 500 dollars, and was being driven down Broadway \to the Cortlandstreet Ferry, when a young man hailed the driver and asked him iflhe would cart a case of goods to Jersay City. On the turckma-" answering in Ihe affirmative he was in formed that the dwse was on the second floor of a building near by. No sooner had he entered ithe buildxng than the thief closed and pltdlocked the street door, and drove awayjfith the horse and truck and goods. Il#tectives Eing and Lyon, who were ddfailed to investigate the matter; becarao convinced that there was

but one man capable of aucc^i, earring out these robCS, t^ Mahoney alias 'Jack Shepp^S remarkable criminal is known i • deeds all over the country. He h K^ imprisoned in almost every State 8' Union, and from his success in P from confinement, earned the nameS"^ Sheppard. He was born in this r t •* 1844, and his mother, an estimable w for many years kept a stand in Wa-v ton market. When a boy of eleven S * be escaped from the Tombs by ann • ' himself through the bars of his S^B dow. Agam convicted, and sent to?*' Sing, he escaped from there. On b« again arrested and sentenced to BlacW> 8 Tsland, he escaped from that instihr also. Next imprisoned in PhiladehVv he astonished the gaoler by ««». • ' during the night Arrested by S? Superintendent Jourdan for burglary ]T compromised with the authoritiesif entering the army and promptly desertin? At the close of the civil conflict he *» again arrested in this city, and sent I Sing Sing, but escaped by breakin! through the roof of the prison. Soa time after he was arrested, again for bonded-warehouse burglary, and le-stn tenced to Sing Sing. He was barely j« prison when he effected another escape driving oiat of the prison gates in a con! , ductor's waggon while under fire of tta guards. Again arrested for a burglar* in Boston, he was sent to the States prison at Charlestown. Mass.. whf-re he served | out his full term. On his release he vent 'to Philadelphia, and in company with some others hired a store next to the lace and Italian cloth warehouse ■of H. M Way and Son ; cut through the wall, and packed up 5000 dollars' worth of goods which he sent to New York by the Adams Express Company. He wag arrested, with a companion named John; Hathaway, while endeavouring toohtaia the goods, by detictives Walling and M'Dougall, and locked up in the Central Office on the morning of April 9,1872; he escaped from his cell the same afternoon,' completely out-witting the doorman in charge. Hathaway was sent to Philadel phia and convicted. After escape from the Central Office, he went to Chicago, was arrested for burglary, and sent to Joilet State Prison, from which institution he escaped a few months ago. and resumed his former occupation. Detectives King; and Lyon diligently scoured the city W search of Mahoney, and finally learned that he had been seen in the tenth Ward. They called Detective Wood to their assistance, and seeing Mahoney in, Delan cey-street," near Chrystie, arrested and handcuffed him. He offered no resistance but laughingly said, ' You've got me again, just my luck, isn't it?1 He was taken to the police head-quarters, put in a strong cell, and a guard placed over him. Should he not be identified for the1 truck robberies he will be taken to Phila-i delphia, to answer for the Way burglary,

Varieties.

- He had a jockey style of cap on, a leather band around his waist, his trouser legs tucked inside his boots, and was, aged 15. ' Milk and spelling-matches for babies,' he exclaimed, curling his upper lip ; ' but as for me, gimme football!' Dean Stanley, at a recent newspaper press dinner in London, told how St, Jerome never went to a public meeting or iDto a pulpit^without having ten reporters in his suite, and that it was even, said that St. Augustine always had sixteen with him. The Caledonian Line.—Scene—Mother* well Junction. —Arrival of a train from Glasgow.—Porter on the platform-?; ' Motherwell! Motherwell!' /Pleasant; face irom a third class carriage looks oht and replies —' She is very well, I thank you.' Cheek kills fewer men in America than in any country in the world. Why is the capital of Turkey like a • whimsical patient ? Because it's constant to no pill. Storekeepers in the villages tyf Nor thern Wisconsin are using grasshoppers wings for awning. L , 'Allow that Job was .patient,'; said an1 old farmer, 'but he never seen a'deter mined Shanghai hen settin' on a nestof biled eggs.' A party of belated gentlemen, about a certain hour, began to think of home and their wives' displeasure, and urged » departure. ' Never mind,' said one of the guests, • fifteen minutes can make do difference ; my wife is as mad now ai she can be.' Mrs. Snob is expecting a visit from Lord Vaurien: Mrs. Snob-Has no one called, Mary ?' Mary (freshly caught) —'Oh, yes, mum; there was a party as said he was a lord, but I wasn't to M took in; I told him if he didn't book it I'd send for a policeman, and slammed the door in his face,' If a man wishes to cruelly lacerate the, feelings of an acquaintance he remarks: 'A cow regards your feet with com placency,' and upon being questioned vrny» he answers : ' Because she would see at,» glance that her-hide wouldn't have to i>« cut down very much to make shoes for them.' ■! A lumberman being but poorly V& vided with materials of sustenance for h" men, fed them with pork cooked with tnfl rind upon it. A young man cf the com pany, not liking that outer portion of tW food, was observed by the host to «* carefully removing the outside covering- Whereupon mine host said,' Young man, we eat rind and all here.' To which :«»:.; youth replied, * All right, old man; A* j cutting it off for you.' First Chicago Boy—'l say, ■'Tvovffy there is no water. It's frozen every where.' Second Boy 'Bully! Majl * we wont have to wash ourselves » middle of spring!' ; .Little Girl—And O, Major Dyer. A»' had such a lovely dress on—green, W know, but something the color of""°J^ I dear me !—of your whiske/s.— L;Kp decline to print the major's. aym speech, made immediately afterward..! ~ Scotchman > (to English Touri«t)<| ' Toot awaa, ma man ' toot awaa.-dinnaJ.. boast sac much aboot yer.-am ■ conning, dinna ye ken that it was, only «» Breetin till Scotland cam't ye, an thenj became Great Breetin ?--Ay, an f ■ remained Great ever since. Yea «»» pair lot left to yeneli I'm