Inquisitive Mrs. Hooper.

She was one of those inquisitive old women, says the Boston Commercial Bulletin, who would seem always to have an interrogation point concealed about them. And as is generally the case with a person who is hard of hearing, her voice was painfully audible within the range of a sixteenth of a mile.

* Anybody sick at your house ?' she inquired of Mr. Sampson, the young dry goods man, who has been married about a year, as he measured off three yards of cheap calico, and asked er, with a subdued smile, ' Is that all ?'

' A—that is—my wife isn't very well,' said Sampson, growing red clear to the back of his ears as he noticed four ladies in different parts of the store exchanging significant glances. ' Hey ?'. remarked the good lady, with her hand at her ear, in a voice irhich started a horse that was hitched across the street.

'I said that my wife wasn't very well,' shouted Sampson, his face suffused with a lively purple, and the veins in the top of his head distended ; and as Mrs. Shepherd, who was buy ing flannel at the other end of the store, said something in a low tone to Mary Carter, who responded ' Te-he,' Mr. Sampson wished that he was a balloon.

' Oh-h !' answered the old lady in a tone of bigh-keyed indifference. * What's the matter with Lizzy now, cholry morbus ?'

' She ain't very well,' said Sampson; shan't I show you anything more ?'

' Hope Lizzy ain't going to be sick, continued Mrs. Hooper. *I see you a'go'ng for the doctor early this mornin', and ses I to Mr. Hooper, ' I wonder who is sick at Sampson's

Mrs. Hooper's voice penetrated to the precincts of the apothecary shod opposite, and Chandler, the clerk, took his place in the store door, and listened with a grin, while several small boys gathered round the door.

'JSo, I guess not!' shouted Samp son vaguely, and wondered if the thermometer wasn't up to 150 degrees in the shade.

' She ain't got the neuralgy, hez she ?' said Mrs. Hooper, untying the corner of her pocket-handkerchief, whence she extracted the price of the calico. Harker's boy, who is 14 years old, and lives opposite to Sampson, Bnick ered so long and loud as he heard this question from his post of observation in the store door that he grew hysteri cal, and was led forth by the tip of his ear into the street by Sampson's clerk, amid the derisive shouts of the other boys.

' Ghiess I'll ruu in on my way home.' said the unconcious Mrs. Hooper. * What did I understand you to say was the matter with her? Sense I got to be deef I ain't so quick at hearin' as 1 was,' and the old lady leaned over the counter with her left ear canted upward in an interrogatory manner. Fortunately Sampson's hired girl came breathlessly into the store and told him he was wanted at the house right off, and, as he grabbed des perately at his hat and fled, the domestic was immediately surrounded by the female customers, and, above the eager, half-audible whisperings of them all, was wafted the voice of the maid servant, the burden of whose answer was— ' she's-a' doin' nicely. It's a boy, and weighed eight pounds:'

Nothing but Jane.

She was a woman of forty—forty mournfnl lines on her face. One to sit off thirty or forty rods and take a fair look at; her would have said that she had lately been deprived by death of the following relatives : Three fathers 3 Two /mothers 2 Five uncles 5 Seven aunts...... 7 Other"relatives 17 T0ta15..... ..34 She sighed, deeply as she stood in front of the desk, and she rolled her eyes up at the fire-alarm card in a manner which plainly proved that life's greatest attractions were but dross to her.

'Your name is recorded here as Jane/ said his Honor, as he held np the warrant—' Jane what ?'

' Nawthing but Jane,' she sighed. ' It seems to me 'that it ought to be Mary Jane, or Betsy Jane, at least,' resumed the Court, ' but odds is the difference. How do you plead ?'

' Nawthing,' she solemnly replied.' 'Weir the charge is drunkenness. The officer said you were in a helpless condition, and you couldn't have told the difierence between a pronoun and an adverb, to save your neck. Have you any defence?' 'I guess nawt,' "was the mournful answer.

' Well, vp 1 you go for thirty days. That will tone you up, strengthen and invigorate the system, renovate the blood, and when you come out, you'll leave this melancholy expression be hind, and carry a grin like a boy up a peach tree. Stand back, Jane, and give the remainder of the public a chance to nibble at the baited hook of law.'

T"A lawyer In a court of Memphis, Term., being called a liar by the counsel on the other side, picked up the court bible and knocked him down, after which he pounded him lustily. A sheriff was called in to sepa rate them^aud they were fined $50 «*chon the spot. • ■*ur '■' '•■* " "'.

What a Man Wants of a Wife.

The Philadelphia Times says: 'It is not to sweep the house, make the bed, darn the socks and cook the meals, chiefly, that a man wants a wife. If this is all he needs, hired help can do it cheaper than a wife. If this is all when a young man calls to see a lad send him into the pantry to taste the bread and cake she has made, send him to inspect the needle-work and bed-making, or put a broom into her hand and send him to witness its usa Such things are important, and the wise young man will quickly look after them; but what a true man wants with a wife is her companionship, sympathy and love. The way of life has many dreary places in it, and man needs a companion to go with him. A man is sometimes overtaken by misfortune; he meets with failure and defeat; trials and temptations beset him, and he needs one to stand by and sympathise. He has some hard battles to fight with poverty, enemies, and with sin; and he needs a woman that, when he puts his arms around her, he feels that when he has some thing to fight for she will help him to fight; that she will put her lips to his ear and whisper words of counsel, put her hand to bis heart and impart \ inspiration. All through life, through storms and through sunshine, conflict and victory, through adversity and through favouring winds, man needs t a woman's love. The heart yearns for it. A sister's or a mother's love will hardly supply the need. Yet many seek for nothing further than success in housework. Justly enough, half'of these get nothing more; the other half, surprised beyond measure, have gotten more than they sought. Their wives surprise them by bringing out a noble idea in marriage, aud disclosing a treasury of courage, sympathy and love.'

New Poem by Longfellow.

At Bowdoin College.. Maine, there was a reunion of the surviving members of ths class of 1825, which consisted of quite a galaxy ofoable men, incluiPnfi the poet Longfellow, and the ocpafion still further made memorable W the reading of a poem by Mr Longfellow, which is full of exqnisite tenderness, grace, and pathos. It is entitled, •morituri Salu tamas,' and will be read witß almost equal interest and delight on both sides of the Pacific. Mr Longfellow asks for the old class-mates not present. ' Where are the others ? Trices from the deep, Caverns of darkness answer me, ' They sleep!' I name no names—instinctively I feel Each at some well-remembered grave will

kneel, And fi < m the JEEcnpticn we the -weeds and

moss, For every heart best knowetb his own loss. I see the scattered gravestones gleaming

white Through the pale dusk of the impending

night; O'er all alike the impartial snijset throws Its golden lilies mingled with the rose. We give to all a tender thought, and pass Out of the graveyards, with their* tangled

grass, Unto these scenes frequented Bjjj our feet When ire Tvero yosijg and life waa fresh sjid sweet."

Probably Mr, Longfellow's belief that there is work for age tt> do as well as youth is the most remarkable part of the poem. He says :— 1 Whatever poet, orator, or sage May say of it, old age is still old age : It is the waning, not the crescent moon-— The dusk of evening, not the blaze of noon— It is not,strength, but weakness of desire, But its surcease, not the fierce heat of fire— The burning of consuming element, But that of ashes and of embers spent, In which some living sparks Mfc still discern, Enough to warm, but not eaoflgh to barn, What then ? Shall we sit idly down and say The night hath come, it is no longer day? The night hath not come, we *re not quite Cut off from labour by the failing light. Something remains for us to do or dare— Even the oldest tree some frni.s may bear, For age is opportunity no less Than youth itself, though in another dresa ; And as the evening twilight fades away The sky is filled with stars, invisible by day.'

American Advertising.

The Americans are far in advance of us in poetic advertisements, and some examples given by ' Harper's Magazine' show that their genius in this line leaves little to be desired. What, j for instance, can be more striking than the following blast of a trumpet blown by a tailor in his own honour r1

Oh. come into the garden, Maud, And sit beneath the rose, , And see me prance.around tlie beds, Dressed in my Sunday clothes. Oh, come and bring yonr uncles, Maud, Your sisters and your /met?, And tell them Johnson made my coat My waistcoat and my p" r.l ; . Again, a tobacconist thus advertises his establishment in the following beautiful stanza:— , • Gaily yonng Ferguson bought his cigar, Bought It at Mul' j fi an's, where the best are, , When he wants fins-cut or snuff for his nose Gaily young Ferguson purchases tljoao. Perhaps, however, for exciting tender and holy emotions j and exalting the soul above the earth, nothing in modern poetry can be found equal to an advertise ment of a provision shop, which runs as follows :—

Ob, say not I love you because the molaaues, ; You purchased at Simpson's wa3 goldon and clear-, The syrup, the sugar, the jelly in glasses, The crackers, the mack'rel.l know waro not dear. I But when you came to me with Shnpxou'a ewakoJ i galmon, . And showed me tits samples of Limbing or chtsc«\ I fe.t that his claim to be cheap was not gmnmon ; I loved you, and said so, dear Jane, on my knees. This mingling of poetry and provisions supplies a great want, for j as has been truly said by Fuller. ' Poetry is music in words and music is poetry in sound; both excellent sauce ; but they have lived and died poor that made 'them (their) meat,' Poets now-a-days1 no longer happily depend, like Chatterton, on the snules of the gr.eat; but with grocers for their patrons may grow fat upon song.- «£aU Mall, Gazette/

Too Late! Too Late!

Asa pawnbroker in a populous suburb of London, I have had occasion to see painful and sometimes not unpleasing phases of society. Just to give an idea of what occasionally comes under the notice of persons in my profession, I shall describe a little incident and its consequences. One evening I stepped to the door for a little fresh air and to look about me for a moment. While I was gazing up and down the road I saw a tidily dressed young person step up to our side door. She walked like a lady—and let me tell you that in nine cases out of ten its the walk, and not the dress, which distinguishes the lady from the ser vant girl—and first she looked about, and then seemed to make up her mind in a flurried sort of a way, and in a moment more was standing at our counter, holding out a glittering some thing in a little trembling hand covered with a worn kid glove. My assistant, Isaacs, was stepping forward to take the seal, when J came in and interposed. The poor young thing was so nervous and shy, and altogether so unused to this work that I felt for her as if she had been my own daughter almost. She couldn't have been above eighteen years old — too fragile and gentle a creature. 'If you please, will you tell me,' she said, timidly, in a very sweet, low voice, trembling with nervousness, 'what is the value of this seal ? ' ' Well, miss,' i said, taking the seal into my hand and looking at it—it was an old-fashioned seal, such as country gentlemen used to wear, with a ooat-of-arms cut upon it — - that depends upon whether you want to pletigu.it or sell it outright' 'I am married, sir,' and she«aid the words proudly and with dignity, though still so shy, and seeming ready to burst out crying, 'and my husband is very ill —and—and '--Mind then the tears wouldn't be Kept hack any longer, and she sobbed as if her poor little heart would break. ■ There, there, my dear.' I said to her./ don't cry. Hjw-ill 0.1 l coxao right in time/ .And I tried to comfort h( i 1 as well as I could in my own rou"ii and-ready way. 'I will l en d you. ma'am,' I said to her at l ls t, 'a saves reign upon this seal, and if you wish to sell it perhaps I may be able to Bell it for you to -advantage.' J^A go I gave her a pound. It was mor e than the thing was worth as a pledge, and she tripped away wit V.a lighter bearrt and many thanks to i;.c, and I thought no more of the matter at fc Je time. ° The very day, the day before Christ man, there came into ou^ place of business a very eccentrio gentleman who had called upon us pretty often before, not for the sake < t f pawning anything, though. ho was generally dressed shabby enough, too,'' but he was a collector—one of thcge who are mad upon old chma and cariosities of all sorts. • Anything in my way, to-day, Mr. Davis ?' he said, in his quic]j energetic manner, with a, jolly urn-Hi , : p.or\ liJe face, and putting down the cigarette he was smoking upon the fcdge of the counter. The Eev. Mr. Broadraan is a collec tor of gems, and rings and seals, and, in fact, of any stones that have heads or.figures engraved upon them. And I had been in the habit of putting aside for him whatever hi this -way passed through our hands; for he gave us a better price than, we should have got for them at the quarterly sales. ' Jhefact is, Davis/ ho used to say to me, ' these things are invaluable —many of them are as beautiful, on a small scale, as the old Greek sculp tures j and some of them $yen by the same artists. And they are made no longer, you see ; for in thin busy nine teenth century of ours, time and brains are too precious to be spent on these laborious trifles.' Now although I had no stones of the kind he wanted just then, it entered into my bead that I would tell him about the seal which had come into my possession the evening before. . • I toid him the story somewhat aa T have just told it to you. He listened attentively to M I said. U hen I had done, he looked at the seal and said: I observe that. it has the heraldic emblem of a baronet.' He then con gratulated me upon the way in which I had acted. He asked, too, for this young lady's address, which she had given me quite correct; and then he left the shop without another word. You must give me, leave to tell the rest of. the story in my own way, al though it may be a very difFerent way from that which the reverend p era on age employed in relating it to me afterwards. It seemed that it was a runaway iriatch. :jK country baronet's sort had fallesn in love with the clergyman's daughter, m the village; whoro his father lived; and they ran away to gether and got married. They then came up to London,.,these two poor young things—for neither his iVcher, norhec's either, for the matter of' that, •aould have anything to say to the match—he, full of hope of'getting on in the literary arid artistic line; and she, poor creature, full 0f trust in him. j •.The project of living by literature did not turn out what was expected Tie young fellow, without experience ojf friends, spent much time going atout from one publisher to another, ajid sending his writings to the editors of the jrarious iaagazines-r-which, I

need not say, were always ' returned with thanks.' And then he fell ill; typhus, I fancy, brought on by insuf ficient nourishment, and bad drainage, and disappointed hopes. The registrar general doesn't give a return of these eases in any list that I am aware of. But we know something of them in our line of business, neverthless.

It was just at this time that Mr. Broad man found out Mrs. Vincent — for that was the name of the young lady who came to my shop with the gold seal. Cambridge Terrace is not very far from the Angel at Islington, and there, in a little back street of small, respectable houses, inhabited by junior clerks, with here and there a lodging-house, Mr. and Mrs. Vincent lived.

They were rather shy at first of a stranger, and a little proud and haughty perhaps. People who have seen better days, and are down upon their luck,|are apt to be so. But the parson, with his pleasant ways, and cheery voice, soon made it all right; and in a jiffy, he and Mr. Vincent were talking aboub college, for they had both been to the same university. And there was soon even a smile, too —a wan smile enough—upon the poor invalid's sharp-cut, thin face, with the hollow caraway eyes, which looked at you as if out of a cavern. He was a wreck of a fine young fellow, too; of one who had been used to hunting and shooting, and all tlo fine country sports, which make broad-chested, strong-limbed country people the envy of us poor, thin, pale townsfolk. Mr. Broad in an came direct to me when he left them. 1 did not live far off, and he thought that I might lend them a neighbour's help. 'Davis,' said he, ' that poor fellow is dying ; I can see death in his eyes.' ' What is he dying of ?' I asked. Be looked at mo steadfastly a moment, and I could see a moisture in his eye, as he said, slowly and solemnly: ! of starvation, Davis—of actual want of food.

' A gentleman starving, in London, in Islington, a baronet's son, too! Why, it's incredible.'

' isot at all,' said Mr. Broadman, ' these are the very people who do die of starvation in Xondon, nd in all great cities. Not the poor, who know where the workhouse is, and who can get at the relieving officer, if the worst comes to the worst; but the well-born, who have fallen into destitute poverty, and who carry their pride with them, and dive into a buck alley like some wild animal into a hole, to die alone. Mr. Vincent wants wine and jellies and all sorts of good things, if help hasn't come too late. £Jo, no, my friend,' he con tinued, putting back my hand, for 1 was ready to give my money in a proper cause. ' No, no ; I have left them all they wont at present, Davis. But I'll tell you what you can do ; you can, if you like to play the good tamaritan, go and see them and cheer them up & bit. Mrs. Vincent hasn't forgotten your kindness to her, I can assure you. .And I think.her husband would like to thank you, too, and it would rouse him up a bit perhaps.' And then Mr. Broadman told me, shortly, something of what these two poor things had gone through—she, loving and trusting him so; and he, half mad that he had brought her to this pass, and could do nothing for her.

Mr. Broadman wrote that very day to the baronet, a proud, hard man, I'm told. But the letter he wrote back was soft enough, and melting to read; it was so full of human nature, you see—the father's heart swelling up at the thought of getting back his son, and bursting through the thick crust of pride which had prevented him from making the first advances. And the parson says to me: ' Well, Mr Davis/ he said, ' there are many people kept asunder only for want of somebody to go between them, you see, and make peace.'

And 1 said, partly to myself: ' Why shouldn't L hristianity itself be such a general peacemaker as that ?'

' Ay,' replied Mr. Hroadman, 'if people only believed in it properly.' That very day we got the baronet's letter, I was on my way, in the after noon, to Cambridge Terrace, to pay my respects to Mrs, Vincent—and I'd had sent in a few bottles of good old port wine from my own wine-mer chant—at least, as good as can be got for money or love, Well, when I got near the door, I saw an old gentleman walking up and down, a little disturbed apparently, in his mind at finding himself in such a queer locality, and as if looking for something or some body. A short, rosy-faced person he was, clean shaved as a pin, and very neat and old-fashioned in his dress; and with a sort of air about him which marks an English country gentleman wherever he may be. Well, we soon got into talk, for I'd spotted the bar onet in a momont, and he was anxious to find out something about his son, as soon as he heard that I knew a little about the young couple.

' And you do not. think, sir, that my —that Mr. Vincent is dangerously ill?' said the old baronet; and there was a sob in his voice as he spoke, and his hand trembled, as he laid it upon mine.

1 Here is the house, sir,' I said,' and you will be able to judge for yourself.' We went in. At least the baronet went into the room, trembling in every limb with the excitement of seeing his son. But whenj he set eyes on ,|him.

' the poor old man was so startled that he could hardly speak. His son saw him, and tried to rise, but fell back feebly into his chair. 'Dear father,' he murmured weakly, stretching out a thin, trembling hand, ' forgive.' But the father was on his knees by the chair in a moment, clasping his j son's head in his arms, and fondling him as he had done when the man was a baby.

' What have I to forgive ? You must forgive me for being so hard, my dear boy, and get better soon, Wilfred, my son, my son!' I too had come into the room; I could not help it, I was so interested and excited. But I saw that in the young man's face which made my heart sink in my bosom like lead. The young wife saw it, too, and gave one, two, three sharp screams, as if a knife had been thrust into her side.

Mr. Broadman saw it; and quietly kneeling down, commended to Ood — as web as he could for sobbing—the soul of His servant departing this life. And I—well, why should I be ashamed to confess ? —I knelt down too, and cried like a child ; for the young man had died in his father's arms, at the very moment of reconcilia tion.

Berrying.

On one dewy autumn morning— Call it fate or what you will- Half a score of lads and maidens Went ft-berrying o'er the hill, And it somehow chanced that Kitty — Pretty little Kitty Lee, Jus'o the sweetest little fairy— Picked from fche same bush as me.

And the juicy berries crimsoned Kitty's little finger-tips. Till they matched in winy richness The wild crimson of her lips. And the rippling sunshine, mingling With the soft autumnal air, Netted with their fairy fingers Golden meshes in her hair. Filmy lace and soft blue ribbons Like a halo round her float, With the daintiest little ruffles Running round her snowy throat. And her smile - ah, how ib thrilled me With a tender, happy awe ; Oh, ahe is the sweeteat fairy That you ever, ever ssw. " Nonsense?" Ah, you never saw her, Or you would have wished with me That you were a ripened berry, To be picked by Kitty Lee. But what use to tell the story ? You have guessed it long ago ; Little witch ! —is she I wonder, G!ad as I that it is so?

" Thought I knew the sex?" Ah, yes ; but I had never then you see, Rambled through the new-mown meadows, Berrying with Kitty Lee. Should this meet the eye of any Just such self-conceited churls, Take my warning—never venture Out a-berrying with the girls ! — California Mail Bag.

Going to the Dentist.

I like to come acroßs a man with the toothache. There's something so pleas ant about advising him to stuff cotton in it, to use camphor, creosote, pepper mint, and ' relief,' that I always used to feel better after giving it. I have been there —had an aching snag, and I know just how it feels. It used to wake me up at night, and make me mad at noon, and set me to swearing early in the morning. I didn't meet man or woman but what they advised me. One said that a hot knitting needle pushed down on the root was excellent; another said that opium was an excellent thing, and others said that it must be dug out by the dentist. If I sat down to dinner that old tooth began to growl. If I went to bed, or got up, or went to a party, or stayed athome.it growled just the same. It wasn't always a growl, sometimes it was a jump that made my hair stand up, and again a sort of a cutting pain that made me make up faces at the baby, and slam doors, and break win dows. 1 ate cotton, peppermint, cam phor and opium until I got black in the face, and that old snag kept right on. 1 put bags of hot ashes to my feet and cheek, applied mustard, held my head in the oven, took a sweat, and the ache still ached. .After the third week neighbours didn't care to let their boys pass my house, and hawkers and book canvassers went round another street. I was becom ing a menagerie, and at last I decided to have my tooth out. I decided to, and then I decided not to I changed my mind four times in one afternoon, and at last I went. 'J he dentist was glad to see me, he said that if he could not take that tooth out without hart ing me he would give me a million. It got easier as he talked and I concluded not to have it pulled. I started downstairs, but a jump caught me and I rushed back. He said he would look at it, perhaps it did not need pull ing at all, but he could kill the nerve. By dint of flattery he got me in the chair. Then he softly inserted a knife, and cut away the gums. I looked up and said 1 would kill him, but he begged me not to—said the cutting was all the pain there was in it. He finally got me to lie back and open my mouth, and then he slipped in his forceps and closed them round the tooth. ' Ohsordorordonbordosoforsor !' I cried But he didn't pay any attention to it. He drew in a full breath, grasped the forceps tightly, and then he pulled. Great spoons ! but didn't it seems as as if my head was going ? I tried to shout, grappled at him, and then he held up the old snag and said: ' There I guess you won't feel any more ach ing.' I leaped down and hugged him. I promised him, ten, millions; I told [him to make my house his home for

ever; I bugged him again, I shook hands with everybody in the street, kissed my wife, bought the baby a dozen rattle-boxes in a heap, and it seemed to me as if the world was too small for me, I was so happy.

SUPPLEMENT TO THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAft

Printed and published by the propietprs,-. George McCullagh Keed, of 8t George's Bay, ' and Henry Brett, of Parnell, at their General Sttam Printing Offloe, Wyndham-street, in the City of >nckland Konday,|October 2,1875



QHOICE QOODS TOB THE SPHIHG & SUMMER TRADE. W. RATTEAT Has much pleasure in announcing that he h»s OPENED, Ex [' Flechero,' 'John JBennio,' and other late arrivals, HIS USUAL SHIPMENTS OF NEW AND FASHIONABLE GOODS FOB. THE PRESENT SEASON, Which have beencarefullyboughtimthebestENQLisH and Forxion HousES,fcnd will be SOLD AT MOST MODERATE PRICES. NEW ZEALAND HOUSE, 68, QUEEN-STREET, ACTCKI.AND.



T> W. DYSON, BEING ABOUT TO REMOVE TO THOSE (COMMODIOUS AND QENTRAL J>REMISB6 IN COURSE OF ERECTION tN Qtjebn-Street, IS NOW HOLDING A CLEARANCE SALE OF GENERAL DRAPERY AND CLOTHING, LADIES' AND BABY WAKES. v Having determined to Clear out his preßent Stock at an ENORMOUS REDUCTION, to enable him to open with an ENTIRELY NEW STOCK, in the New Premises, UNDOUBTED BARGAINS will be given for a FEW WEEKS. 03" THE FIRST DELIVERY OF SPRING GOODS, Comprising the Latest Novelties, are also included in this CHEAP S-ALE WP" Observe— R. W. D V S 0 JN'S Temporary Premises, OPPOSITE DICKEY'S, IRONMONGERS, Next Brookes' Boot Shop. DIBLES ! BIBLES ! BIBLES ! EDWARD WAYTE IS now OFFERING his CAREFULLY-SELECTED STOCK of FAMILY BIBLES lAt a Reduction of Fifteen Per Cent. B3T Before making your Purchases, call and see Dores' Celebrated Illustrated Family Bibles Casßell's Illustrated Family Bibles Collins' Illustrated Family Bibles. FAMILY BIBLES From 255. to £15 15s. All Offered at a Reduction of Fifteen Per Cent. 'EDWARD WAYTE, @P^pOO, Queen-street September 15,1875.



pHEAP CLKARING-OUT SALE OF DEAPERY & CLOTHING. H. ATKINS HAS COMMENCED A CLEARING-OUT SALE OF HIS IMMENSE STOCK! THEJWHOLE STOOK IN [EVERY f DEPARTMENT HAS BtiKN RE-MARKED* A REDUCTION OF 12£ to 25 PEE CENT. HAS BEEN MADE. HE 1 Ah AN CM OF WINTER DMSS MATERIALS WILL BE SOLD REGARDLESS OF COST!' FRENCH SIERINOS, y ; ■WINSEYS, HOMESPUNS, BLA CX SILKS, COLOEED SILKS, ' .< SILK VILVETS, VELVETEENS, BLACK LTJSTBES & MOURNING GOODS, HEDUCED 12# TO 15 P E X C E N T! A CHEAP LINE OF BLACK SILK ' VELVET (MANTLE WIDTH), AT 12s. 6d. PER YARD, "WORTH 2Qa. M ANCHESTER GOODS, C cneiEtiDg Sheetings, Quilts, Long Curtains, Tabi^e Linen, Huckabacks, and ali. "; fuenishing groods, reduced , - 12J TO 15 PEE CENT. AN OVEBSTOCK OF 300 PAIKS BIiANKBTS, Seduced 12>^ to 20 per cent. CRIMEAN SHIRTINGS, FLANNELS, fttt^ii. Reduced 12^ to 17>^ per cent



FANCY GOODS, HOSIERY, &c, ; At 12)4 to 20 per cent. Reduction. UPWARDS Of' 3,000 YARDS OF MOSS TRIMMDHi jg TO BE CLEARED AT ONE PENNY PER YARD. A VERY HEAVY OVERSTOCK OF CLOTHING, TWEEDS, SHIRTS, AN GENERAL OUTFITTING, REDUCED 15 TO 20 PER CENT. ' K.B j—The STOCK of CLOTHING has een RE MARKED considerably BELOW WHOLESALE PRICE. ALL GOODSjAT THEjsAME K^TE OV REDUCTION. l^, THE SALE IS A GENUINE , ONE The STOCK must be E EDUCED : ; some Thousands of Pounds before TAKIN&iSTOCK. H; 1 A T X I N S, (Late Hay & Honkyman).-