What a Key Unlocked.

Thei were as handsome a couple as one would have wished ; indeed, many persons -who knew them both intim ately, said that Mr. and Mrs. Yiyian w ere'samples of what true marriage ought to be. On this bitingly cold January morn jcr n they were standing in the elegant library of their residence in New York, numerous evidences of aesthetic tastes surrounding them on all sides; yet, to have looked in their faces, it needed only a glance to tell you of deep abid ing trouble. She was a beautiful woman, this peerless Ethel Vivian, with a grave dignity about her that was perfection; with a rare, refined face, lighted by such winsome, violet blue eyes, fram ing the clear, pure complexion, pale cheeks and glowing scarlet mouth, with masses of pale, dead gold hair that had made her husband so madly in love only two years before. Now, two years, after one year of perfect happiness, when Ethel would tell her husband such bliss so unalloyed could not last much longer ; after six months more of vague suspicion, founded on the most shadowy foundation ; then, after the last six months of gradual, then rapid distrust, jealousy, anger— it had all come to this horrible open rupture. And on that beautiful winter morning Ethel Vivian and her husband had met in the library of their home for the last time as man and wife.

And the ponderous document lying on the table where the two had so often read together, was a bill of divorce. Yes, it had come to that—on en separation —and all because—why ? Ethel Vivian could have told you of Laura St. John's wondrous lace; she could have drawn you a picture of her with such perfection of accuracy, that you would hardly need to see her. _nd this is how Ethel would have described the woman who lay at the bottom of her life-long misery. A face, witching as. a Venus, with such a dainty, scarlet mouth, with the tiny, seed-pearl teeth peeping between her lips, just as the little dimple was called to her scarlet-tinted cheeks by the laugh that so often came.

Ber eyes laughed, too—those sun shiny eyes, that sparkled as though they were varnished; wondrous eyes of amber red, with such magnificent red gold lashes, that lay like a heavy shadow on her cheek ; perfect arched hrows, and hair that seemed a fairy gift, so perfect it was in texture, colour and grace.

Sometimes when she wore it hang ing, unbound and unbraided, just as nature had waved it, from the crown of her little, royally set head, to far below her waist, you would have taken Laura St. John for a sprite uncanny gnome, Ethel said; a nymph of rarest beauty, goodness and innocence.

Even after Edward Vivian learned how deceitful, how utterly unprinci pled she was, he forgave it her, because it was himself she loved. So, now that this beautiful demoness had so worked her plans that Edward Vivian was oftener by her side of an evening than at his wife's—now that Ethei had freely come to learn she was no longer necessary to her husband's happiness, she had requested him to let her go away; let him be. freed legally trom the bonds that had'grown so galling. Now, there the two stood, face to face, to coldly say good-bye. Ethel was deadly white as she took the pen her husband courteously handed her, to sign her name to that which, once signed, unwifed her for ever. But was it not better thus ? Had she a right to stay where she felt her presence was a burden—where she knew she was merely tolerated ? Then rushing memories of the days when she came there in the flood-tide of happiness came surging over her sore heart; she trembled violently; her cold fingers refused to clasp the pen; and, with one swift, piteous look JP in her husband's face, Ethel bowed her head over the divorce bill and *ept as only such a woman could weep at such a time. Mr. Vivian looked amazed, then surprised; then a sudden grave ex pression came into his eyes ; He turned away from her, and began to Promenade to and fro, walking with restless strides, the while fling jag qmck glances at the glorious head li ? efore bm- Then ' half reluct- Jwffi half angrily, he paused beside

T i A&m S° astor"sked, Mrs. Vivian j had not expected anything of this ™ I presumed you had arrived at Jour deliberate decision, and that thenceforth the past was only the P^t; the future—' w!- raised her white with its EiaU . , f uture ! The awful mid lonm\ f kless ' endless future that CSSiSiSTr Edward!Ed™d! St! 116 T al ,tryinS to BPeak calmly • 2 L. Bat folding and unfolding & Jjonß, chilly hands; but in he? very W^? ¥" Vain efforts at courage, iea^ pair that toucbed £is Ef^r¥,, ~"h6 had not called her Cii/r ? before > tha* it m er t0 J 161" YeT? soul t0 tear it forrti?°™-'_ tberc was no actual need Qt^ ligh! ly touched the q&T v"_ J* was at y°ur own re uu?sfc J tad it procured.'

A little wailing cry interrupted him. 'I know, I know,' she moaned; I wanted you to do this; I want it still, because you love me no longer; because you love Laura fct. —' 'Mrs. Vivian.' ,Be was stern and icy again, she knew by the curt, sharp way he inter rupted her. ' This is not the first time you have , openly accused me of infidelity to you and loyalty to M iss St, John. Cannot a man express admiration for a beau tiful woman without a jealous wife using it as a weapon to destroy her own happiness ? Miss St. John would be insulted beyond measure did she for a moment suppose—' 'What?' ! It was a siren voice that startled them both ; and then Laura St. John, , herself, radiant in daintiest blue velvet and miniver costume, came laughing ', in, so sweet, so arch. 'My dear Mrs. Vivian, I am so delighted to—why—' ! For Ethel had arisen, cold and still, i , with no welcome on her white face, ! and only reproachful sorrow in her ! , eyes, _ . 'Miss St. John has no reason to be j delighted to see the woman whose life I she has blasted—whose husband she [ has tempted,' t Ethel spoke very deliberately, looked [ Laura full in the face; then she , turadu to her husband, in- whose eyes f there shone a red gleam that porten t ded wrath, ' Perhaps you will assure your friend f she is in the way just now,' she said, ' I \ have only a quarter of an hour to ? attend to our business.' And then Ethel consulted her watch t with an air of quiet; but, oh, how, under that cold exterior, were her t pulses leaping, bounding! Laura stood motionless, with an [■ ungloved hand resting on the library table, her scarlet lips quivering as if her heart was broken—her big, re j splendent eyes slowly -filling 0 with . tears, as she looked first at Ethel, then Mr. Vivian, as if to humbly { beseech them to tell her what it all , meant. She was very beautiful at t that moment, and she thought Edward, , Vivian appreciated it to the full; she . knew it when he turned towards her. ' I am sure you will pardon us Miss . St. John,' he said. *At this moment . Mrs. Vivian is particularly engaged. . _ Laura shot him a glance from her . liquid eyes. ' But I must come again and find [ out what she means ! 1 must know . why lam thus accused !' But her mission was accomplished ; and, with a thrill of gratification at her . heart, she bowed to Ethel and grace , fully departed. And Ethel Vivian, with icy-gleaming eyes, compressed . lip and unfaltering hand, now signed her name in full under her husband's. And so it was done—or undone. Two years—twice a twelvemonth— and Laura St. John was standing before her dressing-table, earnestly peering at the splendid reflection she made, with her personal beauty height ened by the chastely-rare bridal attire she wore, that was faultless, from the floating tulle veil, fastened by an orange-blossom spray and a glittering diamond aigrette, to the tiny, white silken slipper, with its rosette scintillat ing with small jewels. She was beautiful; she was triumphant, for she was successful; and this, her wed ding day, would crown her success. She managed well; according to the chart she had drawn for herself, from the hour she first saw and loved Ethel's husband, she had marched straight on, regardless of cost, regard less of anything but the ultimate result. Here it was, close at hand—not half an hour from accomplishment. Down in the saloon Laura heard low, musical laughter at intervals ; in the several dressing-rooms opposite she heard the wedding guests prepar ing to descend to the festivities, and she smiled at her own eyes in the glass, that at last she would marry Ethel's husband. And Ethel ? She had dropped suddenly from the social firmament. Like a meteor that comes flashing in dazzling light across the sky, and then plunges into black deeps of obscurity, so had Ethel dazzled delighted and disappointed the people. Now, after two years, she was to them as if she had never been. To Edward Vivian, if memories of her haunting eyes and quivering lips ever came, he never gave a sign, but deliberately wooed and won Laura St. John. Laura St. John herself? In the desert silence of her chamber, as she stood drawing on her gloves—for, with ! a pretty wilfulness that was irresist- . ible, she had driven her maids from ■ her—a graceful, ebon-robed woman ' suddenly, silently, swiftly glided across -j the glaring carpet and confronted her, ' ( with upraised veil, and cold clear eyes. 1., 'It is even I, Miss St. John. ( Surely you will not despise my con gratulations ?' ( Ethel's sweet low voice it was, and i-j Laura, after one slight start of great i ] surprise, bowed constrainedly, and j waited. I g ' I will not detain you more than a ' r moment, as Mr. Vivian, doubtless, is j r impatient for the moment when he j 0 may call you his wife. Under the i peculiar circumstances, Miss St. John, ■ r and to assure you that I bear you no D malice, may I present you with this ?' h

She quietly reached out a small rosewood box, that was mounted with silver. 'The key is in the lock, you see, Miss St. John. Have I the pleasure of knowing you accept it?' Ethel set the box on the marble bureau-top, and then awaited an answer. Laura's cheeks were flushing slightly; her hands trembled as she essayed to button her glove, and busy thoughts • were speeding through her brain. What did it mean, this sudden appearance of Ethel ? Did it augur ill or peace as Ethel declared ? Dared this stately, calm woman in black attack her there alone, and wreak a discarded wife's just vengeance ? The thought was natural, and I aura's heart beat in tempestuous throbs. ' I will accept it, Miss fclmore, and thank ybu. And may I beg that you will allow me to finish my toilette ? I would not care to be too iale.' i This, with a wonder in her heart if j Ethel observed her cowardice. But Mrs. Ethel—Miss Elmore the law called her—smiled. ! ' Assuredly I would not have you too late. I dislike these words, too j late. To the superstitious they sound ominous. Adieu, Miss St. John; you will be detained no longer by me, or you might possibly be too late.' She bowed regally and left Laura shivering with vague unresb at the repeated words. A moment later and from her window she saw Ethel going rapidly down the street, her black veil fluttering like a death pennant in the brisk breeze. She drew a long breath of relief and then turned to the beautiful little rosewood box with a joyous laugh. ' Natural curiosity tempts me to see what her present can be. Possibly some horrid snake bracelet, or a dagger for my shawl or something equally delightful.' She lightly turned the little silver key, and bent her radiant face over the lid. She saw a tiny vaporous smoke wreath roll upward for an instant, and then— The terrible noise of the explosion brought the horrified guests to her door, and they found her lying in her burial robes, fresh in her goodness-like beauty, dead. On the pink velvet carpet, her eyes fixed in a stare that was frozen horror, Edward Vivian bent over her, and knew for a surety what had wrought it, though no lip then, or afterwards, ever uttered a name in connection with the diabolical engine, whose silver key had unlocked the portals of death's domains to Laura St. John.

The Family Next Door.

There is a family moving into the house next door ; we can bear through our blinds the carriers of the furniture move along the walk. All the talking we hear is done by one voice. It is the man of the house, anjd he has got a little son. We need not look out of the window for confirmation of this impression. His words establish it as clearly as the eyes could witness, and we know just what is being done out there as well as if we stood in the very midst of it. Every time he speaks we dot it down on an extra sheet of paper, and so far he has made the following utterances : ' Put that whip down.' ' Get out of the way.' ' Don't climb up there.' 'Take your shoes off that bedstead.' ' Shall I speak to you again ?' 'Do you want to break those things ?' ' Come out of that.' ' Go away from that horse ; do you want to get your head kicked off?' 'Do you hear me, or shall I speak to you again ?' 'Hey, there! what did I tell you about that horse ?' ' Now you sit still there, and don't you dare to move an inch, or I'll break every bone in your body.'— Daribury News.

A Title for a Fortune.

We learn (says the New Torh Sun) that the Dowager Duchess of Montrose has sent an agent to the United States to procure authentic information re specting the estate of the late Mr. Paran Stevens, the former landlord of the Revere Mouse, in Boston, and the .Fifth Avenue Hotel in this city. The duchess wishes to ascertain what is really the solid value of the fortune left by .Mr. Stevens, and in what kind of property it consists. This know ledge is sought, of course, with a view of coming to an intelligent conclusion respecting the policy of a matrimonial alliance between the family of Mon trose and the family of Stevens. It is well known in society that the present Duke of Montrose has for some time past been deeply sensible of the beauty, talents and accomplishments of the heiress of Mr. Stevens; and much has been said of the probability Df an engagement between them. Douglass Beresford Malise Ronald Sraham, fifth Duke of Montrose, was Dorn in 1855, and is now 23 years old. Be is a nice, well-looking young 'ellow, but in rather reduced circum itances for a duke, and the expected narriage would make him much i •icher. The Montrose family is one j »f the oldest in the Scottish nobility, i rat it may gain new vitality as well as 1 iches by an alliance with one of the 1 irilliant and successful younger fami- ] ies of the new world. • |1

The Emigrant's Dream.

BY JOHN BLACK-lAN.

3_ the heart of the world of London, As o'er-wearied in sleep I lay, A soft voice stole in on my slumbers, Ere the roseate break of day. It spoke of the sins of the people, Their vanity, folly, and pride ; It seemed like the voice of the Saviour, Who sorrowed, and suffered, and died. Outstretched was the city before me, With its bustle, splendour and show ; Its marts, streets, mansions and churches, And purlieus of shadow and woe. The parks, with the still, shining waters, The birds, and the musical trees ; And thousands of sweet-smelling flowers, That moved in the health-giving breeze.

High over the scenes were the heaven., And the fathomless realms of space, Where nothing of sin, want or sorrow My limited vision could trace.

Then the voice to my spirit whispered, My doubts and my dreamings above, " Yon scenes are of earth and benighted, Uncheered by my spirit of love." I turned on my moon-lighted pillow, And, with tremulous words, I said : " Oh, speak, I will list to thy message, Be it from the living or dead." Then thevoice, softandsweetagain whispered, "Oh mortal—worn, troubled, andtcssed—

My sheep from the true light are strajing, My young lambs, perchance, may be lost. " In the. crush of your wondrous city, Your city of revel and scorn— There are thousands ready to perish, And thousands in rags and forlorn. " Men blindly prope on in the darkness, 'Mid voices of wisdom unheard, Tar better a life in the forest — The life of the bee and the bird. "Your streets, lanes, byways and alleys, Are full of my wandering sheep ; Oh, where are their pastors and teachers ? They surely have fallen asleep. " The form, and the glitter, and vestments, And music so pleasing to youth, Have taken the place of devotion, And nearly subverted the truth. " Few point to the still, living waters, Few lead to the pastures of green, Where llowers of peace have been gathered, And lights of the ages have been. " Men gather the gold for their missions, And oceans and lands traverse o'er, To carry the truth to the heathen, And slight the forlorn at their door. " Their temples of sin are e'er open, Their haunts of temptation and {.lare, While numerous places of worship Are -till as the slumberous air. " In the skirts of populous London Are homes fraught with fever and pain; From dens in its pestilent shadows Come sounds of life's stress and its strain. " In garrets, with paper-patched windows, Wrong marks misery's features with scars, And light never beams through the casement, Not even the light "of the stars. "Go forth 'mong the hills of New Zealand, Where souls are as dark as the grave ; For those I have sorrowed and suffered— Go forth in my spirit and save. " Go forth 'mong, those bush-covered vaiLys, Where hearts gold-encrusted, are cold ; E'en there in the midst of the gold-fields, Are sheep that have strayed from my fold. "Awake," cried the voice of my visioD, " .Nor wait for the logic of schools, Nor listen to indolent dreamers, Asleep in their systems and rules; " There's work in the world for the willing, And trophies for hearts that are true ; And sin-haunts that need to be lightcJ ; And souls to be kindled anew."

A Strange Story.

The Count St. Germain, the Hero

of Bulwer's Weird Novel

A writer in All the Tear Bound says : We catch the first glimpses of the Count St. Germain in Paris, a century and a quarter ago, filling the Court and the town with his renown. Amazed Paris saw a man —apparently of middle age—a man who lived in magnificent style, who went to dinner parties, where he ate nothing, but talked incessantly, and with exceeding brilliancy, on every imaginable topic. Bis tone was, perhaps, over trenchant ] —the tone of a man who knows perfectly what he is talking about. Learned, speaking every civilized language admirably, a great musician, an excellent chemist, he played the part of a prodigy, and played it to perfection. Endowed with extraordin ary or consumate impudence, he not only laid down the law magisterially concerning the present, but spoke without hesitatiou of events two hundred years old. His anecdotes of remote occurrences were related with extraordinary minuteness. He spoke of scenes at the Court of Francis 1., as if he had seen them, describing exactly the appearance of the king, imitating his voice, manner and lan guage — affecting throughout the character of an eye-witness. In like style he edified his audience with pleasant stories of Louis XIV., and regaled them with vivid descriptions of places and persons. Hardly saying in so many words' that he was actually, present when the events happened, he yet contrived, by his graphic power, to convey that impression. Intending to astonish, he succeeded completely. Wild stories were current concern ing him. He was reported to be 300 years old, and to have prolonged his life by the use of a famous elixir. Paris went mad about him. He was questioned constantly about his secret of longevity, and was marvellously adroit in his replies, denying all power to make old folks young again, but quietly asserting his possession of the secret of arresting decay in the human frame. Diet, he protested, was, with his marvellous elixir, the true secret of long life, and he resolutely refused to eat any food but such as had been specially prepared for him—oat meal, groats, and the white meat of chickens. On great occasions he drank a little wine, sat up as late as anybody would listen to him, but took extraordinary precautions against the cold. To ladies he gave mysterious cosmetics,

to preserve their beauty unimpaired ; to- men he talked openly of his method of transmuting metals, and of a certain process for melting down a dozen little diamonds into one large stone. . hese astounding assertions were backed by the possession of apparently unbounded wealth, and a collection of jewels of rare size and beauty. Erom time to time this strange being appeared in various European capitals under various names, as Marquis of Montferrat, Count BeLa mare at Venice, Chevalier Schoening at Pisa, Chevalier Weldon at Milan, Count Soltikoff at Genoa, Count Tzarogy at Schwalbach, and finally as Count St. Germain at Paris; but after his disaster at the Hague, he no longer seems so wealthy as before, and has at times the appearance of seeking his fortune. At Tournay he is ' interviewed' by the renowned Chevalier de Seingalt, who finds him in an Armeniau robe and pointed cap, with long beard descending to his waist and ivory wand in hand—the complete make-up of a necromancer. Saint Germain is surrounded by a legion of pottles, and is occupied in devoloping the manufacture of hats upon chemical principles. i-eingalt being indisposed, the Count offers to physic him gratis, and offers to dose him with an elixir which appears to have been ether; but the other refuses with many polite speeches, it is the scene of the two augurs. Not being allowed to act as a physician, Saint Germain determines to show his power as an alchemist; takes a twelve-sous piece from the other augur, puts it on a red-hot char coal, and works it with the blow-pipe. The piece of money is fused and allowed to cool. 'Now,' says Saint Germain, ' take your money again.' 'But it is gold. 'Of the purest.' Augur No. 2 does not believe in the transmutation, and looks on the whole operation as a trick; but he pockets the piece, nevertheless, and finally presents it to the celebrated Marshal Keith, then Covernor of Neuchatel. Again, in pursuit of dyeing and other manufacturing schemes, Saint (Germain turned up at St. Petersburg, Dresden and Milan. Once he got into trouble, and was arrested in a petty town of Piedmont on a protested bill of exchange; but he pulled out a hundred thousand crowns' worth of jewels, paid on the spot, bullied the Governor of the town, and was released with the most respectful excuses. Very little doubt exists that during one of bis residences in Russia he played an important part in the revolution which placed Catherine I. on the throne. In support of this view, Baron Gleichen cites the extra ordinary attention bestowed on '■* aint Germain at Leghorn, in 1770, by Count .Alexis Orloff, and a remark made by Prince Gregory OrlofF to the Margrave of Anspach during his stay at Nuremberg, After all, who was he? —the son of a Portuguese king or of a Portuguese Jew ? or did he, in his old age, tell the truth to his protector and en thusiastic admirer, Prince Charles of Hesse-Cassel ? According to the story told his last friend, he was the I son of a Prince Rakoczy of Transyl vania, and his first wife, a Tekely. He was placed, when an infant, under the protection of the last of the Medici. When he grew up and heard that his two brothers, sons' of the Princess Hasse-Kheinfels, or Rothenburg, had received the names of St. C harles aud St. Elizabeth, he determined to take the name of their holy brother, Sanctus Germanus. What was the truth ? One thing alone is certain, that he was a protege of the last Medici. Prince Charles, who appeared to have regretted his death, which happened in 1783, very sincerely tell us that he fell sick, while pursuing his experiments in colours at Eckrenforde, and died shortly after, despite the innumerable medicaments prepared by his own private apothe cary. Erelerick the Great, who, despite his scepticism took a queer interest in astrologers, said of him, 'THs is a man who does not die.' Mirabeau adds, epigrammatically,' He was always a careless fellow, and at last, unlike his predecessors, forgot not to die.'

Veni, Sanote Spiritus.

Holy Spirit from above, Shine upon us in thy love, With thy heavenly radiance. Father of the poor below, Who dost every gift bestow, Light our hearts to gladden us. Of the soul the dearest guest, Of the heart the sweetest rest, Sent of God to comfort us— Freshness for the summer's heat, In our tears a solace sweet, Sweet repose in weariness—. Let thy faithful in thy sight Feel thy cheering, heavenly light, Warming and enlivening us. Oh ! without thy quickening power We must perish in an hour, Everything condemning us. Wash away each guilty stain, Water with thy gracious rain, In thy mercy healing us. Move our stubborn lips to prai.e, Warm our coldness with thy rays, Call us from our wanderings: Them who on thy grace depend, Them, thy faithful, ever send Sacred seven-fold peace with thee. Give them virtue's best reward, Give salvation with the Lord; Give them joy unceasingly. King Robert of France, 1450. • • 'I don't care much about the bugs,' said Warmley to the head of a genteel boarding-house, ' but the fact is, madam, I haven't the blood to spare; you see that yourself.' '..;,:■■' _,_.. :■__.:.

True to the Character.

' I say, girls,' said a little blue-eyed, flaxen-haired boy on' Second-street yesterday, ' let me tske your candy and we'll all play chicken.'

' Is it nice ?' inquired a half dozen six-year-olds in chorus.

' .Nice ! you bet it is Let me show you. Now, I'll lay the candy down here on the step, and you all go down there and come up when you hear me call like a rooster.'

The girls retreated and gathered in a group about fifteen feet on, while the boy got on his knees, with his head over the candy, and began to call and strut and flap his arms like a rooster's wings.

' Cluck, cluck, rat, tat, rap, cluck,' and all the girls came running up and ben_ to pick up the candy, when the little fellow opened his mouth and took it all in at one gulp.

' Oh, you mean boy,' they cried, ' you have taken all our candy.'

' That's 'cause I played rooster,' said the boy; ' roosters always call the hens up when he finds a grain of. corn, and then picks it up himself.'

Bijah Reproved.

[From the Detroit Free Press.]

1 Bijah, were you brougbt up among beatbens ?' sharply inquired bis Honor.

_ he Court had cut a hole in a lemon and was slowly sucking the juice while the Clerk was getting the warrants ready. Bijah had been watching him for two or three minutes, licking his chops and wearing a hungry expres sion.

' I guess I was —I was born in .New Jersey !' replied the old janitor. 'J his being his Honor's native State, he laid the lemon on the desk, propped it from rolling off with his pen-holder, and remarked:

• Mr. Joy, you are getting old and sassy. It grieves me to see it, but I realize that it is so. You have got to turn over a new leaf or the silken cord of friendship which has so lo_?g united us shall be severed.'

' Is it any harm to see a feller suck a lemon ?' exclaimed Bijah.

' Mr. Joy, this world is full of harm. This very lemon, plump and fair as it appears to the eye, may cause my death within one hour. You may now open Court and call out the prisoners, and I hope the words I have spoken may make a deep impression on your heart. If you have ever a monument the funds will come from my wallet, and I shall not care to remember any thing but your good deeds and your big feet. Bring out the vicious and the unfortunate, and let the cotillion commence.'

Talking like Mamma.

1 Jack !' screamed a bright-eyed, golden-haired, fair-faced little girl, of not more than six Summers, to her younger brother, who had dumped himself under the wall, where he was digging sand with a strip of shingle ; ' Jack, you good-for-nothing little scamp, you aie the torment of my life! Come right into the house this minute, or I'll take the very hide ofTn you ! Come in, I say !'

' Why, Totty,' exclaimed her father, who chanced to come up at that moment, ' what in the world are you saying? Is that the way you talk to your little brother ?'

' Uh, no, papa,' answered the child promptly, and with an innocent smile. 1 We was playing keep house, and 1 am Jack's mama, and I was talking to him just as mama talked to me this morning. I never really spank him, as mama does me sometimes.'

Jgoy^at theij'S^^^^ Satwcflay, SesieiaJwagj, 1575*.

SUPPLEMENT TO THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAE



; A ME RI CAN SEWING , MACHINES. 1 THE "HOME" SHUTTLE-LOCK STITCH. THE PERFECTION OF MECHANISM. ' SIMPLE, COMPACT, EFFICIENT, DURABLE, AND COMPLETE? I sews with the least possible amount of labour, and a girl of twelve years can run it without fatigue. It is a Triumph of Mechanical Genius. "THE HOME" SHUTTLE is the only practical Low-price Lock-stitch Sewin Machine ever invented. This Unequalled Machine uses a straight needle, makes the "Lock-stitch (alike on both sides), has a self-adjusting tension, and is adapted to every variety of sewing for family wear, from the lightest muslins to the heaviest cloths, And will even Sew Leather. It will hem, feU, bind, cord, braid, seam, tuck, ruffle, hemstitch, and gather. This machine wiU sew on and gather at the same time, and win work equally weU on Silk, Linen, Woollen, and Cotton Goods, with Silk, Linen, or Cotton Thread. It is not necessary for us to endeavour to detract from the merits of any other machine. We claim to seU The Best Family Sewing Machine in the Market, WITHOUT SEGABD TO PIIIOE, And we feel confident that whenever persons wishing to buy Sewing Machines give the " Home" Shuttle Sewing Machine fair trial, in competition with other machines, wiU have the preference. With the Machine is furnished—Hemmer, Braider Shuttle Bobbins, Oil Can, Ott, Screwdriver, Five Needles, Guage, Table Clamp, and directions for use AU securely packed in strong case with hinges PRICE:— Complete in box .£4 10 With Table and Treadle .;" £6 16 With Table and Treadle, Half-Cabinet, with Cover, Lock and Key ' Some thousands of these machines have now been sold in New Zealand, and they have given the utmost possible satisfaction, as testified to im numerous testi monials, which we forward on application In proof of their superiority over all other machines we guarantee them for five years. To be had at all sewing machine-depots And of aU Storekeepers Throughout the Colony sole importers : L. D. NATHAN & CO., AUCKLAND. JJ O L E T. _W '££,££"' *^*>«- *» to Queen- Samuel cojghrane a son, , Anettoaeen.



pHEAP Ci KAEING-OUT SALE OF DRAPERY & CLOTHING. H. ATKINS HAS COMMENCED A CLEAEING-OUT SALE OF HIS IMMENSE STOCK! I THE WHOLE STOCK IN EVERY ! DEPARTMENT HAS BEEN RE-MARKED- A REDUCTION OF 12J to 25 PER CENT. HAS BEEN MADE. HE 1 dLANCE OF WINTER DRESS MATERIALS WILL BE SOLD REGARDLESS OF COST! FRENCH MERINOS, WINSEYS, HOMESPUNS, BLA CX SILKS, COLOBED SILKS, SILK VELVETS, VELVETEENS, BLACK LUSTRES & MOURNING GOODS, REDUCED 12% TO 15 PER CENT! A CHEAP LINE OF BLACK SILK VELVET (MANTLE WIDTH), AT 12s. .(3d. PER YARD, WORTH 20s. MANCHESTER GOODS, C oneistJng Sheetings, Quilts, Long Curtains,. Tabus Linen, Huckabacks, and all Furnishing Goods, Reduced 12j to 15 per cent. an overstock of 300 pairß blankets, Reduced 12% to 20 per cent. CRIMEAN SHIRTINGS, FLANNELS, Ac. Reduced 12% to 17% per cent. FANCYGOODS, HOSIERY, 4c., At 12% to 20 per cent. Reduction. UPWARDS OF 3,000 YARDS OF MOSS TRIMMIN& TO BE CLEARED AT ONE PENNT PER YARD. A VERY HEAVY OVERSTOCK OP ' - CLOTHING, TWEEDS, SHIRTS, AN GENERAL OUTFITTING, REDUCED 15 TO 20 PER CENT. ■ - .': .oi N.B.—The STOCK of CLOTHING hag een RE MARKED considerably BELOW WHOLESALE PRICE. -.-::'■ •■ <;|» ALL GOODS AT THE _.AME'/rATE._P REDUCTION. t__ THE SALE 18 A GENUINE ONE The STOCK must be REDUCED some Thousands : of Pounds before TAKING STOCK H. A. T KIN S, (Late Hay & Honevman). ,/ \ ' .-k-w.s .''•'■-■ . . _~«« f'€.HiJVs £ .. >-y-'_ . i cj__ks