SUPPLEMENT TO THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAR.

THE LOG OF THE MARY ANNE.

A TRUE STORY. The Kttle seaport and capital of Newfound land, St. John's, is known to the lieutenants and officers of Her Majesty's service aa the jolliest place in the world for a good living. Jhe livelong winter there is nothing but a series of brilliant balls and fetes, which cease only when bright Sol puts on his snow shoes, and travels up north to chase the frost and ice from the land. Jn tbe year of our Lord 1562 her Biitanic Jgajesty's frigate Bellerophon, pronounced by ihe tars Billy Ruffin, was ljiDg at anchor offSt John's. Her cfficers were idolised l-.y the ladies, who snubbed tbe unfortunate "civs" fear fully v hile they were in port. Arcorg all Ihe officers no one was better belovtd by both tar and lady than Charley Merten, a sub, and senior officer of the mid shipmen's mess. Eight bells have just rung out from stem to stern, and the mess is crowded with piping cadets and jolly subs, all pitching with right good will into the "grub." '•Say, Merton," asked a cheeky youngster, ' How goes your flirtation with Mra. Pemorest." 11 Hamilton, pull that youngster's nose for being impeitinent," responded the gentle man addressed. The unfortunate cub was forthwith seized, and bad his hands tied behind him ; then, while two others kept open his jaws, Hamil ton reached for a hot potatoe, and, breaking it in. two, popped one-half into his mouth, thus effectually checking at once bis cheek and his noise. Thus it will be seen 'chat Merton's flirta tion was known as well to his Bhipmates as himself. " One cell, gentlemen, and first cutter ordered away," said the quarter-master, looking in with a grin. "Allright, quarter-master. Say, where were you shot in the Crimean war." This produced a general laugh, for the hardy old sailor had received a very ignoble wound. "Did you ever hear how Nelson was buried, {gentleman ?" asked he when the laughter had died away. "Nc—no; how?" asked the youngsters eagerly, anxious to hear something new about their beloved commander. " It's too long to tell you now." "No—no. Heave a-head, old fellow." " Well, gentlemen, 1 fchort your hedica tion had been neglected. To the best of my belief—as I hain't had no book-learnin'—he was buried in a coffin." So saying he ducked and disappeared as a perfect shower of missies was thrown at his bead. " Are you off, Merton ?" asked Hamilton, as he saw him leave the -mess-room. " Yes, I am going ashore—got leave from the skipper this morning." » " The deuce you are ! Look here, old cbap, I want to speak to you. Come into Collinfield's state-room for a minute." When they were in the little six by four apartment Hamilton turned round, and, putting his hands kindly on his friend's shoulders, said :— "Look here, old boy, I don't want to pry into your affairs, but aren't you going too far with that flirtation." " Is this all you have to ask me ?" returned the other, with a look of annoyance. "That's all, old fellow. I thought I'd warn you for fear you might get into a mess ?" " Oh, Til take care of myself ; no fear of that." So saying, Charley Merton went up on deck, and thence into the boat, where he was speedily impelled towards the shore by the strong arms of the sailors. Passing out through the dockyard gate he was soon speeding his way up the hill towards the house of his inamorata. Gaining the house, he was speedily ad mitted and ushered into the.parlor. Seated on a lounge in the centre of the room was a beautiful girl-woman. One of those exquisite types of beauty which poets lova to rave about. Her features were fault lessly beautiful, rivaling in their classic regu larity the celebrated Psyche of the Naples gallery. Add to this a complexion, that one could almost see through, glorious masses of yellow hair, a stately, yet somewhat volup uous form, and you hare the heroine of our story. This splendid creature was married to one of, if not the richest men in St. John's. He was seventy-five when he married her, d had now been happy for two years. Meantime his wife's name was in every one's mouth. Her flirtations, her intrigues, her munificence, her reckless extravagance, while the old dotard who claimed the right to command her, acceded to her every, whim, and—thought himself beloved. Preserving a grave statelihess until the footman had withdrawn, Isabella greeted her lover with a studied bow. But when the click of the lock sounded his departure she sprang forward to her lover's arms, exclaim ing :— " Oh. Charley, my darling, how glad I am that you have come !" "Alas, dear/ returned he, kissing her warmly. "It is my last vist I We weigh anchor to-morrow." ;. * " You must not go; you must stay and come and see me for ever 1" ' ' r^tW. very finejin Jthe abstract,? Nearest

but in the concrete not quite so possible—l inuat earn my daily bread."

"You must—you shall not go. It is winter ; fearful storms are raging round the coast. And I, oh, Charley ! what should I do if they came and told me you were-dead ? Do not go, I beseech you. Last; night I had a fearful dream. I dreamed that you and I were somewhere in some horrible place, and I was cold as marble and could not move ; you regarded me with a fixed, stoney glare in your half open eye that was horrible. Do not go, darling ; you will be killed by the cruel sea, and then I, too, will die, for I have nothing left to live for."

" Live for? yes, you have your husband, and wealth, and luxury. Ah ! that we could die together, Bell, that we could be free from this guilty love of ours that is dragging us to perdition; that we could roam somewhere together in the great unknown land where love is only mutual, too sacred to be the sport of money or of lust. Curse the fates ! curse everything ! why did I not see you before you sold yourself to this man ?

" Forgive my violence, it was but the out. burst of a flame that will not be quenched. I came here to bid you farewell, to crush your beautiful image out of my heart, though it snap in the effort. Farewell, Isabel, I must have the courage to bid you farewell: no one knows of our passion, as yet, you are unsullied in the eyes of the world ; forget me, strive to kill your sorrow and be happy— yes happy, while I—oh, God—farewell my darling, my darling—"

" Stop, Charles 1 you shall not go. I care nothing for this luxury. I loathe the very air which Ido not breathe with you. I hate this splendid mansion. Listen to me, for I have resolved on a plan. I own in Prince Edward's Island a large farm in my own right, we will go. I am unknown, and there, where no pointing finger of scorn can point at us, we will live as man and wife. Our marriage has been registered in heaven, what care we for earthly ceremonies. There, un known, we shall, by good deeds, atone for our great crime, and work out the salvation we have imperilled." As the beautiful woman ceased speaking she leb her cheek drop on the breast of hei lover, and as his tempest-tossed heart leaped madly in his breast, he seemed still to heai the voice of the syren calling him to destruc tion. The sweet, low Boprano calling, call ing. He was deadly pale with his inward con flict as he tried to break away from her Circean charms. But she clung to him the stronger ; clung to him as the half-starving panther clings to its prey till the last morsel is devoured. What could he do ? She smothered every virtuous resolve with a passionate kiss, or a look, that sent the hot blood thrilling through nerve, heart, and brain, to smother duty and drown conscience. Her plan was quickly told—they were to go on board a brigantine called the Mary Anne, which sailed that night. He was to go instantly and make arrangements for their passage, while she prepared for an elopement. He left the house, and walked down Gowen-street, he scarce knew how. Reach ing the vessel, he found that it was to sail at eight o'clock that night, which hardly gave him time to make the necessary arrange ments for flight. Going to an hotel he procured paper, wrote his resignation an enclosed it in and envelope. It seemed like tearing out his heart strings, but, in the condition he then was, he felt he could dare do anything for the beautiful sorceress. Meanwhile, with smiling face, the wife went to see her husband. She had a reque3t ts make, a whim, would he grant it. " What was it ?" She said that she wanted to feel that she had unlimited wealth at her disposal, would he let her write a check on his bank ? The merchant smiled at her childishness, and wrote his signature to a blank cheque. "There, my dear," said he, "you can show that to your lady friends, and tell them that you can fill it up for thousands ;if you like." "How many ?" asked she. "Ten, twenty, and a hundred thousand if you like, my dear —there, run away, now I'm busy." With, beating heart she hastened to the bank. It wanted five minutes of the closing hour. The paying teller knew her, and was*all in a flutter. "I am going to tax your ingenuity now," she said with a winning smile that com pletely knocked the senses out of him. So saying she took up a pen, and with many a screwing of the mouth and effeminate squaring of the elbows, filled out the cheque for one hundred thousand pounds. The teller loohed at it and started with*^ gesture of surprise, theii looking gravely; a| her, he said, "This is an enormous aum, I must consult the manager about it;" She broke out into a ripple of laughter which startled every sober bookkeeper in the bank. " I knew I would break the bank," said she and again bur^putlaugniiig; The teller consulted eagerly with the manager. She caught the words "freak," " spoiled pet," then he came hack and paid her the money. , Six o'clock came, but her huHb*nd!ts|d not appear, and she became Murions. At lastjshe heard a ring at the bell, '«nd

running down stairs met Merton. His face 1 was as white as a sheet. " Come without delay," said he ; " the vessel sails in ten minutes !" Jtle almost carried her from the house, little dreaming that he wss carrying away one hundred thousand pounds also. They had but turned the corner of the street when a man rushed up to tbe door of her house and frantically pulled the door bell. " Where is Mrs. Demorest ?" " Gone out," said the footman. " Where !" "Hi don't know, young man." 11 But," great heavens, man, put some life into yourself and find out ! Mr Demorest is dead !" " What do you mean !" "He died a quarter of an hour ago ; the j doctor said as how it was happleplixy." ; * * * * See, far —far out of her course, buffetting groaning against the furious northwest gale, a small vessel. Her spars and rigging are wrapped in ice. Her foremast haa gone by the board as she labors on in the face of a hurricane, with a lee shore and breakers under her lee. See the snow storm envelop her ;it lifts again. She is nearer the shore than before. Louder, fiercer, rings the blast. Ha ! ha ! tearing the canvass out of the bolt. Ha ! ha ! shrieking aloft in wild fury, and grasp ing with giant arms tuns of solid water to into the doomed vessel. Again the snow storm lifts and we see her lifted for a moment on the crest of a huge wave, and thea a struggling despairing crowd of humanity are buried in the wave. Two forms clinging to a plank alone ane saved from the dreadful vortex of the sinking ship. Two forms are perched on the 1 rocks, midst the ice, and left there to freeze to death by the receding waves. 1 One of them recovers first, and seizing his companion bears the senseless mass to a place of safety. Morning breaks, and the man discovers that he is on an island half a mile in circum ference and covered with snow and ice. No ' thing remains of the wreck, he goes to tho beach and looks for food. He sees a small object, picks ib up, and discovers that ifr is his journal, which had been lying on the cabin table when she struck. Hideous mockery !—Away, miles upon miles in the distance, he saw land that seemed to mock ' him with Tantalian torture. He shrieks in wild despair, and his com panion follows his example. Nothing to eat, nothing but ice and snow —ice and snow ! Nothing alive on this gor geous wilderness: —they starve to death. * * * ■ ♦ About two months after the elopement of Mrs Demorest a fishing vessel driven out of her course, landed some fishermen on Tickele-e-else, one of a group of numerous small islands off the coast of Labrador, called the Seal Islands. In the centre of the island they discovered a corpse half-buried in the snow, frozen stiff holding in his hand a pencil—a journal lay buried in the snow. By the man's side lay the half-eaten corpse of a woman with not»s to the amount of £100,000 in her pocket. The awful tale that pocket-book told will never be known.

LOST IN THE BUSH.

Some years ago, whilst working at the junction of the Slate and Aorere rivers, in Collingwood, a friend aaked me to heip him to ground-sluice hia claim at a place called the Quartz Ranges. In order to commence work on Mon day, I started one Saturday morning with my swag, but being unacquainted with the track—which was rather difficult to find —I struck into a wrong one, and after four hours' walking found myself on Rocky river, a branch of the Slate. I was there told of a short cut through the bush which would fetch me to Quartz Ranges in about three hours. After dinner I started, and having travelled through a rough country till night fall I concluded I was lost. To make the best of it I rigged up one of my blankets as a tent; and, after lighting a fire and carry ing some fern underneath my tent, I lay down for a sleep, hoping to find my way to a track next morning. About midnight it came on to snow, and extinguished my fire, so I had to lie hungry and cold till next morning, for I brought no tucker, and had only a plug of tobacco to solace myself with. At dawn I rose, packed my swag, and started once more in a perfect snow-storm. I tra velled all day, wading (I believe the same river) several times and urging my way through deep gullies and over hills till I was again overtaken by night. Ag I had tasted no food since I had left Reeky River, I tried to^deaden the pangs of hunger by chewing tobacco, which was but a poor substitute for a "siaare meal." I laid down at nightfall, rolling myself up in my blanket, for the snow had ceased; and, being utterly exhausted, slept soundly till late next, morning. , I thpn shouldered nay swag, and resumed my weary journey.' About midday it Snowed, and I soon became utterly paralysed with^ cold and hunger ; .but, though barely able to stagger, I kept on, knowing that to lie down was certain death. About an hour and a half after it started snowing, to my great joy, I atruck a track, .and threw my swag

info the bush, patting a stick up to mark the place where I left it, and shortly after saw a smoke rising from behind a small hillnncra r the track. I made for it at once, and, as I d rew near it, my strength seemed suddenly to fail, and with a last despairing effort I " cooed " as loud as I could, and sunk to the ground insensible ! "When I recovered my senses 1 was lying in a comfortable hut stript naked, and two stalwart diggers were rub bing my famished body with snow. A third was frying some cold pudding, and when I waß sufficiently able to take food he fed me like a baby with a tea-spoon, for I was too weak to lift my hand to my mouth, and moreover shook as if palsied from the terrible agony caused by the quickened cir culation of my semi-congealed blood. For three days I lay hovering between life and death, attended night and day by my kind preservers, who took watch and watch by my bedside, and treated me as kindly as if I had been a brother. It was fully three weeks before I was able to return to my work, and several months elapsed' ere I fully recovered from the effects of being " lost in the bush." . . Mata Kite.

AN EXTRAORDINARY STORY.

THE WONDERFUL LOVE OV A.N ENGLISH GIRL. DIES FROM UNREQUITED AFFECTION. (Correspondent of the New Yord Graphic). London, October B.—A veiy strange story \ was told to me the other day. In a town I not far from London there lived a young lady who wag handsome, tolerably wealthy, and more than usually well-educated. Her father waß an invaiid; her mothor was an incipient, cold, and heartless woman. Two years ago a physician of London was called to attend tne father. In this way the young lady saw him. He paid no attention to her —his mind was engrossed with his profes sional duties. A few weeks ago this doctor, after paying a visit to hig patient, was some what surprised by beiag asked by the young lady to give her the favour of a private inter view. She took him into a drawing-room, and led him to the further end of the apart ment. "Doctor," said she, " I suppose that gentlemen of your profession are accus tomed to receive strange confidences. I have a confession to make to you." He supposed that the impending confession had something to do with the state of her own health or with that of her father, and he begged her to proceed. '" You will, how ever be scarcely prepared for what I am about to say," she continued. " Bat I wish you to hear it. It is now just two years since I first saw you. You have scarcely exchanged a word with me, bnt I have learned much about you. lam not mistaken in believing you unmarried." '" No," said he " I am not married." And your affections are not engaged ?" "Well, then," she replied, "I will cot ask it, but I must make to you my confes. sion. I love you with all my heart. I wish you to marry me. I loved you from the first moment I saw you. I said to myself, I will wait for two years, if he then speaks to me I will known what to say. You have not spoken, and now to speak. I say I love you with all my heart. You are necessary for me. Will you marry me." The doctor, who, although not a very old man, was twice the age *of the young lady recovering a little from his surprise, tried to turn the matter off as a joke ; but the young lady was very serious. "No," said she, "I am in very sober earnest. I know all that you may say or think as to the indelicacy of my proposal, but 1 cannot help it. I ask you once more, can you love me, and will you marry me ?" "In sober earnest, then," he replied, "I cannot marry you." " Then I shall die," said she very calmly, add she left the room. The doctor had heard people say before this that they should die, and he left the house without attaching much importance to the prophecy, although wondering greatly at the other portion of this interview. A few days after this the young lady was found dead in her bed. ■ " Two letters laid upon her dressing table. One was addressed to her family solicitor. It recalled to his mind a promise he had made her. She had gone to see him, and had asked him to make out for her a paper transferring the whole of her property to a person whose name she would not then give him. He was to prepare the necessary paper and send it to her to fill up the blanks , and to sign. She had done this, and she 1 now enclosed the paper, filled up and signed. Every pennygof her prdperty was given to the doctor, and the solicitor was instructed to make the transfer to him, to ask no questions, and to take no receipt. The other letter was to the doctor. "I told you I should die," riid she, "and w]*en I you receive this I shall be dead. For ten days I have taken no food nor no drink; but that I does not kill tne, and now r have taleri , poison. I have no reproach to make to you, I bat I could not live without your love. l When I am dead look at my heart. Yon [will see your name th*e. I have two re i quests to make to you. Go to my,solicitor? 1 and take what he has for you, and then go gooff.on a holiday to Italy for afew months. The other request « that you never ask .where I am buried and- never come to my grave." " • ■ fk^-'S ' There was a pos^^ortem examination^ ■ mad* of the young lady'a body. X)b W

breast, over her heart, deeply imprinted in the flesh were the initioals of the doctor's name. The characters seemed to have beeD made there two or three years before. They were probably imprinted by her own hand on the day when she first saw him.

HOW GUNNER GOT A SPEECH.

Max At>eler tells this : Brown and Gunner, two politicians down in my neighbourhood, were both invited the other day to address a meeting at an agricultural fair, and botn accepted. Brown is a very careful man and he always writes out his speeches, and fre quently reads them from the manuscript; while Gunner, who is very ready, always pitches in without preparation aud trusts to luck for the result. On the night before the meeting the two roomed together at the hotel, and as they were going to bed Gunner saw Brown place a roll of paper on the bureau. After he got into bed it oc curred to Gunner that this must be Brown's speech, and then a happy thought struck him. He waited until Brown began to snore, then he got softly out of bed, seized the speech, crept out of the room and went down stairs. He sat up all night learning the speech, and as he had an astonishing memory he had it by heart by breakfast time. Then Gunner went back to bed for a short nap, and Brown had no idea that he had been absent. When the meeting was opened Gunner insisted on speaking first. As he began, Brown was surprised to observe that Gunner's speech began exactly as he did, and he smiled at the odd coincidence. Presently he ceased to smile and began to be astonished ; then an expression of pain overspread his face; then he became hot and mad ; and finally, in a paroxysm of rage, he leaped up and tried to stop Gunner. But the audience took the part of Gunner, and called for the police. Then Brown sat down nearly choking with wrath, and when Gunner, after uttering the last words of Brown's speech, coolly concluded by introducing Brown to the audience as the next speaker, Brown bouncing up and shaking his fist under Gunner's nose, shrieked, "111 not make any speech after you, you mean, sneaking, low-lived, mutton-headed thief, but I've half a notion to butcher,' you," an then he fled amid roars of laughter from the audience. Gunner and he don't speak to each other now.

SOME FUN.

A depraved punster says he shall smoke if he chewß, too. It waß a bright boy who told his teacher that there were three sects— the male sex, the female sex, and the insects. " I am afraid you will come to want," said an old lady to a young gentleman. " I have come to want already," was the reply. " I want your daughter." When a Connecticut deacon nudged a som nolent worshipper with the contribution box, the sleepy individual awoke partially, smiled, murmured " I don't smoke !" and dropped off again. I clasped her tiny hand in mine ; I vowed to shield her from the wind, and from the world's cold storms. She set her beauteous eye on me, and with her little lipa said she, " An umbrella will do as well !" A schoolboy spelled " sob," and when asked to define it, blundered out : v " It means when a feller don't want to cry, and it bursts out itself." Another defined a comma as " a period with a tail." Portly old swell (on reading Prof. Tjndal's speech)—" Dear me! Is it possible ! Most 'xtr'ord'nary I—(throws down the Review)— that I should have been originally a ' Pri mordial Atomic Globule 1'" Quilp Bays that while domestic broils may not always be beefsteaks, yet when he is in trouble he always goes to his wife for conso lation and gets it. He says that only a wo man can hem the ragged edge of anxiety. A young man' has been arrested in New York for sleeping in a standing position. He would stand on the street for hours at a stretch, with his eyes closed, and not move a muscle. It is hereditary. His father was a policeman. • As a river boat was loading at La Crosso a large grey mule refused to go on board. The mate sung out to a deck hand, "Twist his tail and he'll come." Like Casabianca, that deck hand obeyed orders, and, like Casabianca, he nobly died. "Do you know why you are like the third term ?" said Susan Jane to her brother, who lingered to talk with her Adolphus after the old folks had retired. "No, I don't." " Well," replied his saccharine Bister, "it's beciuße you're one too many." ■ It remained for a Washington navy-yard man to develop originality in a love affair. He didn't ask for a lock of hair, or purloin -a photograph; he slipped in at the back gate one night and stole from the clothes line and carried home, pressing it to his aching bosom, her—her—well, it was an undergarment. A French gentleman on coming home from the theatre was surprised at the hubbub in the porter's lodge. He soon learned the cause — his mother-in-law had suddenly expired. He invited the persons present to note that he had just returned from the theatre, as he wished to be in a position to establish an alibi. A country, paper engaged a reporter to travel and send by wire all important news. The reporter was » novice, and Mat from'

Squan Beach, N.J., the following important news to his paper : " A New Yoik judge is down shooting here." The editor in charge telegraphed back to his hireling: " Loan yourself to him for a target, and !" The

reporter's obituary is now in type.

FOR THE LADIES.

_ o THE SOCIAL BANK OF OLD. MAIDS

A whiter in the Pall Mall Gazette says"*of old maids:—"There was a time when 'old maids' were looked upon with an eye of pity, if not contempt, and it vas thought that marriage alone gave women any claim to consideration. Of late years, however, there has been a change of opinion in this respect, and unmarried women not only rank as high in general estimation as their married sisters, but bid fair soon to surpass them. Nor is thia to be wondered at. A very few years ago it was a rare sight to see a married woman dancing at any ball given in the London season, whereas now wives dance with greater pertinacity than their sisters or daughters, and balls are even given expressly for married women. The character of the British matron has, in fact, completely changed ; instead of be ing grave and decorous, she has become a hopping, skipping creature, delight ing every one by her grace and activity, but at the same time losing in weight, moral as well as physical, what she gains in enjoy ment. In the meantime, the spinister is rapidly rising—scorning flirtation, she leave vain pursuits to the wife and mother. The Emperor of China has set a good example in I the encouragement of spiDisters. According to a Shanghai journal he has just decreed that special honors be paid to two old maids, one of whom lately died after a life of devo tion to the memory of her betrothed, while the other, who is still living, declined in her youthful days to make a most tempting match, on the ground that she could not leave her homa. Some few old ladies in England have an equal claim to recognition of their merits, and it would both elevate and appease them if they were in like man-

ner rewarded."

MERRY SWISS WASHING.

The "Saturday Journal" says: "To a smoke stained Londoner the exquisite purity of the homespun Swiss linen is a constant wonder and reproach. And yet scarcely a wonder, if he chances to sit by the lake side, say at Brienz, on a Sunday morning, and watch the proceedings of the little Swiss maiden, in a straw hat and black bodice with the silver chains, who is plying her occupation of laundress. She has paddled her boat far out into the lake, and is letting ifc drift with the current. In the boat, beside her is a pile of freshly-washed linen, glistening like snow in the sunlight. But its whiteness does not content her.' As the boat moves along each piece of linen is thrown into the lake and trailed slowly through the blue water—blue as ever painted. Still she is not quite satisfied. She takes, perhaps, three or four handker chiefs in her hand at a time and literally throws them overboard in such a manner that the spectator on the bank cannot but breathe a fervent hope that they may not be his own property ; but before he has time to frame his wishes into words she has caught them again with a dexterous sort of legerdemain, and the process is repeated again and again. And all the while the black-velvet-bodieed maiden, with the glist ening silver chains and pins, snowy sleeves and round white arms, if she be a trite Brienz maiden, is singing like a very night-

ingale."

DUSKY BELLES IN WASHINGTON.

The Washington correspondent of the Cin cinnati Gazette writer — "There are some very beautiful coloured girls here just of that cafe an lait color so exquisite when accom panied by features.'. One pretty Creole married an officer of the Freedman's Bank, a coloured man, who formerly played the piano for private germans, etc. He built her a fine house, and took her to Niagara on the bridal trip. She was married in a white satin dress, with orange blossoms and tulle vail! Another girl, so nearly white that the African blood would never be suspected, was highly educated and an accomplished musician. Her eyes were large and lus trously black, like those of the Spanish woman; her hair as purple as the raven's wing; her complexion creamy, with the faintest suspicion of coleur de rose; her lips full and scarlet; her form graceful and rounded; her hands and feet wonderously tiny. Her father intended to take her abroad, where his pedigree.was unknown, ,or if discovered foreigners would not show the horror of negro blood evinced by Ameri cans ; then he hoped his daughter's beauty, accomplishments and wealth might attract Caucasian wooers. But-alas ! for his fond hopes, true to her race she married a black man, son of a restaurateur, and broke her' father's heart, as well as his pride."

When a Baltimore husband gets col^a^d careless and forgets his hpme^hjfffwife puts up a letter "from an ,adn|»*€iv" asking her to elope, and all_|fc<v*nd the husband's early love repuri* a» «oon as he finds the

THE TOWN CLOCK.

I have a friend who dwells aloft Above the city's noisy din, And if by search yon find him out, Be certain you will find him in. The inword workings of his mind By looks or words you cannot trace, The movement of his hands alone Betray the index of his face. His great mind's free from care or crime, Of love, of favour, or dislike; He's always working up to time, Though very often on the strike. And many tales he has to tell Of what goes on to all around, And to the rake or city belle, He giveth forth a warning sound. And to the city's heedless throng, Amidst the mart or lanen so grim, The same tale he cloes tell to all, And all the town look up to him. He stands alone, he needs no wife, No clothes, no fi re, no food to eat; He's far above both Fire and Life, . And with Assurance at his feet. Alone he .works, and few there be Who climb to see him up the stairs. But once a week does Bartlett come To wind up all his late affairs. He gives no credit, but he goes on tick; He is rarely fast, and but seldom slow, And like a bankrupt he has learnt the trick To wind him up is but to make hi™ go. His head is light—but I'll close this letter, Though I've not told you yet what he's done: And I am off—he mutters " you had better;" He's getting angry, he has just struck one.

GRANDPA'S SOLILOQUY.

It wasn't so when I was young, We used plain language then; We didn't-speak of "them galoots," When meaning boys or men. When speaking of the nice hand-write Of Joe, or Tom, or Bill. We did it plain— we* didn't say, " He swings a nasty quill." An' when we seed a gal we liked, Who never failed to please, '■■';,'• We called her pretty, neat and good, But not " about the cheese." Well, when we met a good old friend • We hadn't lately seen, We greeted him—but didn't say, '' Hello, you old sardine!" ■ ; The boys sometimes got mad and fit ; We spoke of kicks and blows; But now they "whack him in the snoot," And "paste him on the nose." Once when a youth was turned away From her he loved most dear, . He walked off on his feet—but now " ... r He. " crawls off on his ear."- ' We used to dance when I was young,, And used to call it so; But now they don't—they only " sling The light fantastic toe." Of death we spoke in language plain . l - That no one will perplex; But in these days one doesn't die— Ha " passes in his checks." We praised the man of common sense j ; His judgment's good, we said; But now they say, " Well, that old plum Has got a level head." It's rather sad the children now Are learning all such talk; They've learned to " chin" instead of chat, . "• And " waltz" instead of talk. To little Franlne yesterday— My grandchild, aged two— I said, "You love grandpa?" said he, -■ ■~" " You bet your boots I do." The children bowed to strangers once ; It is no longer so— The little girls, as well as boys, Now greet you with " Hello !"; • \ Oh, give me back the good old days, • When both the old and young Conversed in plain, old-fashioned words, L:>. •»-. And slang was never " slung."

WAIF FROM HANNAFORD'S DIARY:

SHEWING -WHAT ODTEN IS THE SAD ENDING OF THOSB WHO WILL GO STAB GAZING..^- I've mounted many an Auckland hill, And paced o'er many a plain; I've scrambled to Mount Eden's top, V ' And then—slid down again. One night with back prone on the earth On heaven's blue vault I gazed, Noting .the fix'd and twinkling stars > - '. ■ Till I was almost dazed. : But one orb in particular ■ *' * Entrancedme_with its glow; ' It far above the firmament, ■ - I very far below. ■ - : ; I murmr'd, oh! bright Evening Star Thy pure and placid rays Remind me of Balf's lovely song : " The light of other days!" Have you 'mongstjyour inhabitant* i'™*^ (Thus I the orb addressed) Such rare types of humanity As ours? No ! I'll be blest 3 Have you a Julius Togel or Jai S. M. in your midst ? . ~ We have two samples here below Would knock you into fits I Heve you upon your breezy hills, r • Or down in feriUe plains, / Johnsonian Green'aways like our* '. Or f champions'Miie •George Stainett Have you a Ijuckie-Bichardson, Or such like Vogel's pet, Have you a cheekier man than Reed, . More wide-awake than Brett? Have you a clothier like Sam Coombefc " . A draper spruce like Vaile; '»: ': . . Have you a Thomas Russell, or-^ A Trans-Pacific mail f Have you such mutton growers there, ■ , Or mangel wortzel men, As our famed Epsom Joseph May ; -■■■-. , Or Retmuera Wren? Have you a Creighton-Buckland-Wood lake ours ? (In eflSgy. . t , • We some time back on Barrack-hill Cremated all the three!) : - •:■ . Come, come reply! Well have you thea : : :. Amongst you any " sharps" That can surpass in villainy " ■ I ! Our " Riggers of Green Harps'?" I sighing rose, and wished that orb Had been my place of birth:- ' ; But as it wasn't, so I'd view Its namesake on the earth; ' ■ , ~ The mundane one's in Wyndham-fitreet, - Moist curious tis yet true, If you walk into that said Stab 3 , That Sxab 'ill walk into you!. I niou&ted a broad flight of stairs, Then"stopp'd-7-e'er on I sped, ■-■■■-, ■ (The pigeons meanwhile perched aloft Dropt blessings (?) on my head.7 • Whereat some merry Devils—who Were busy making Pte— Did cachinate—the which I quell'd • ' ; I*rom out my frowning eye! - I turned o'er long past printed files Of Auckland's Ev'ning Stab, ■ ; -/. i To prove if work and motto bom Were really on a par. • .? . - r For the cause that lacks assistance. : : I sundry leaders read anent Roads, Sewage^ JBailways, Dbckß, ' : : Gas, Education, People's Parks, ; . Wr ; And themes on Auckland's flocks. Tor the wrong.that needs resistance. >^*^ Its thunders huri'd on all degneptr. Of Auckland's shameless 'jlHaapt''^' • (Cazali's ghost, stand forth f— attest , - - ■Its truth!—Oh! yji»*3reen Harps!) Need lin deta|V«*urther go ' • /- To prova»i**™otto right ? And yOu^n promised to achieve j^!*^lone with all ite might,! . ■ jf^fuiiSL the files aside, and then t?"^ Did saunter down the Btahv ; Fesling with it in outspoke truth . • ■None other did compare.'' - I cast one look around, and then • Did backwards outward go, ■ ."• ':'->, 1 And'gainst a RtrNNEB ran and fell i Prone downwards with an Oh I ; - - ; With mutter'd curse I rose and ran ■ a \ 1 Full skelter to HigA-stbeet " With hands on Poesenniskie's panti " Brißk rubbing of their w»t« ■■-.■■■■■ ■■ • .■.■"■..■■■'; ~'t ■'.■ ■ : ■ ■'.*' ■:•-.: : : .