"EVENING STAR" SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT OF ENTERTAINING READING.

AUCKLAND, SATURDAY, [JUNE 17, 1876

[Price • ONE PENNY-

L.31/1

Poetry

ASLEEP.

|„„hnams on hor flo°.ey locks of Bold ettm^cring in radiance ot light, °f ?«ho may not touch a single fold, #« I*|10 M ust envy them tho sight. _. thß chamber, filled with faint perfume ff'" liar half-opened lios and my one roao, F1! .Mleeu' The breeze th»t sweeps the room S he lies w rQwg stin fQI , her repo3e . dink-ring tapersheds a softer gleam, tt her maiden breast with mellow rays ; .milos as in » peaceful, happy dream— 3ho > m" Perchance of coming days. ..,, * 0 curves voluptuous, all hor form K if hid by shadows, half by light revealed, «]»« grace, and beauty soft and warm, laC"* In slumber deep is sealed. h,»i 0 sweetheart, it is hard to lio *Sh tho lattice, knowing thee above— /no we nothing save the far, cold sky, im w' yet grow so mad with love. atill 1 would not take ono little peep, 'x * would I fold thee cKse, or kiss or touch Air thine eyes, thy lips ; for though aßleep, «' ' j lore theo, dear, too much.

A TURNED-DOWN PAGE.

fl,M«'s»tm-ned-, ownpage, as some writer says, \ every human life— ■ Mdden story of happier days Otpeace amid the strife;

folded leaf that the world knows not— Atove-droim rudely cashed; The sight of a foe that is not forgot, aW the voice bo hushed.

foofaraistint sounds of a harp's soft string., I An echo on the air; The hidden pare may be full of such things, Of things th«.t once were fair. jura is a hidden page In each life, and mine A story might u->f old; Bnt (toencl WB<' afl(* nf tlw dream divine- It better rests untold.

'AGGIE.'

BY SHAMROCK,

Tho bud that opened with the spring In heavenly fields is blossoming,' No frost its lovely bloom shall stay, No night come o'or its endless day, No cloud shall dim the azure skiei. Which smile so brightly to her eyes. When Winter fled the waking earth Death gave our lovely snowdrop birth, Then froze the stem whereon her bloom Lift np the way into tho tomb ; That frail bud, left in stranger hands, Is blooming now In heavenly lands. Ah! who could wish It otherwise ? fio cold a world before me lies I cinnot grudge her heavenly crown, Or wish to briug our baby down From Heaven, to touch her velvet cheek, Or tench her pouting lips to speak. Dew blossom from a blighted stem : Bright ii thy mother's diadem. The whiteness of thy soul shall shine ; While of the spots that blacken mine Some may be pardoned of their shame, Since I have loved thee in God's name.

THE OLD GUM TREE.

BY DOR ISA.

Old gum tree, in the sweet spring time

I sought thy welcome. shelt«ring shade, And thought It but a pleasant chime

The wind among the branches played, And now thnu only raocks my pain With thy weird, melancholy strain, OH gam tree, when the summer came, The rose? drooped and would not bloom; On thy long roots they laid the blame.

And said thou fostered blight and gioom. And 'ere the spring again came round. Thy topmost boughs should kiss the ground. I looked on thy tall stem close shorn, Then on thy leaflets shaded blue, Tbeu on the window where at morn

Thou kept the sun from peeping through ; While I a slight reprieve mieht gain From weary hours of cough and pain. Old gum tree, then I craved thy life, I hade them scan the distant scene, From the fair Waitemata's strife, With thy long leaves of blue and green ; And then a rustic seat I made, Beneath thy mid-day summer shade. Old gum tree, when the sun went down, I leaned against thy giant stem, Wa'ching the golden crested crown

That formed a royal diadem, Or glinting o'er the waters bright, Seemed whispering a soft good night. Old gum tree, when my heart was sad, Thou seemed to stand my silent friend, And when tho sunshine made all glad. My eyes would watch thy branches bend, And fancy sw thy leafage dance, As if it read my brighter glance. Old gum tree, now the winter's near, And I lie helplesly below, I look upon thy boughs with fear, They were not wont to scan me so, But now the firms my vision weaves Are ghosts and satyrs 'mong thy loaves.

HORNET AND CORNET.

BY MAUCIK KLI/lOTT.

'Talk not of love,' said Katydid, ' To me, my gay young Hornet, Unless you straightway learn to piny My songs upon the cornet. 'They are but two, and simple ones— You've hoard them Mr Hornet- Awl ho who wins my favour, must Perform them on the cornet.' To woodland green ho quickly flew, That poor, unhappy Hornet; And in an old oak branch he sat, And practised on the cornet. The birds peeped out their little nests ; What are yon doing, Hornet .' They laughing asked; he, sad, replied, ' A-playlog on the cornet.' The squirrels ran clown and bokod at him tel Spacious 1 Mr. Hornet, Why do you make that, funny noise V I practice on the cornet.'

Th«' crickets sang their shrillest strains. The locust quizzed the Hornet; But still he tried to play the song 3 Of Katy, on the cornet.

But all in v*in ; he had no ea- Jior music-hapless Hornet— And only scpieilts and groans and moans Came from that wretched cornet. At last ho blew a mighty blow— . Mad as the middest Hornet ; Off flow his hCHd-ofT flew his tall I — He never learned the cornet!

Our Parish Clerk.

BY JOHN PLACEMAN.

The country parish clerk, like tlie parish beadle, is passing into tbe cloud-land of tradition, and is rarely wanted in the present day. In looking back over a number of years, memory points to one of thoso remarkable individuals who fitted tbis important office and kept the foremost store in a pleasant little village among the far-famed Surry Hills, and whose sonorous 'yah-men' was recognized even by those of the villagers who could not see the old clerk, whose person was hidden from view by the massive pillars of the quaint, old village church. , Old Charley Chinny had said ' yah-men' in his corner-seat, facing the venerable Vicar for more than half-a-century. The old clerk was born, and ultimately buried within the shadows of the church. He was altogether a singular man, whoso heart was in his purse, and who felt nothing of the ' still sad music of humanity.' Sometimes on summer Sundays, when the sun was warm,' old Chinny' would feel dozy, and would break out in the wrong place. He would then silontly apologize by a sharp shake of the head, and to restore his equilibrium he would take a huge pinch of Scotch snuff out of his waistcoat pocket, (for he would never carry a box), and then he would stare round upon the congregation to see if his misadventure had caused any surprise. The village whero Chinny lived was in ono of those rural districts, which have been frequently referred, to by the excellent John Evelyn, William Cobbett, Leigh Hunt, and Jane Austen. The village where the old parish clerk sounded ' yah-men,' and sold dip-candles has been accurately described by Albert Smith in his ' Pottleton Legacy,' 'Charles Chinny, tea-dealer and parish clerk,' ha 3 been in his grave for moro than twenty years, or I should not feel at liberty to chronicle his singularities. To toll the bell, supply the church with candles, and participate in certain wedding and burial fees, were among the absolute privileges of Charles Chinny, and these be was careful to reserve for his own special use. Many anecdotes of the old man anecdotes yet linger among the villagers. He was accustomed to_ give out the Psalms, and on one occasion, when in the middle of the first verse, he saw two mice following each other across the heavy beam that helped to sup port the church. The old clerk had just been dozing, and to the astonish ment of the people he cried out ' there goes a mouse, there goes another.' The people stared and wondered, but seeing nothing, turned their eyes upon their prayer books, while the old man shook his head violently, and took another pinch of scotch snuff. On another occasion, a ' dust' went the wrong way and brought on a large cough and a few tears; he was then in the middle; of a verse, and on recovering himself, snuffled out 'go on, go on, you know what I mean,' and the choir of rustic singers went on without the assistance of the old clerk. I mUst give the old man credit for his economic style of living, which, no doubt, had something to do wityhi3 excellent health, and which the following lines illustrate :—

•Taketho open air, The more you take the better, Pollow nature's lawa To the very letter. Let the whiskey go, Drink the pure, cold water, Health you'll then enjoy As I do, and my daughter. Charles Chinny, our parish clerk, had one daughter, her name was Martha. She was not handsome, nor prepossessing, nor scholarly, but Chinny considered her the prettiest girl in the parish. He guarded her outgoings with jealous care, and resolved, if possible, that Martha should not have a husband. This however, was a vain and unnatural resolve, girls will marry when they get a chance in spite of the admonitions of parents. The old man told Martha that marriage was slavery, and a resignation of personal freedom. ' And yet father,' Martha would archly say, ' you married twice.' A shoe maker, an industrious sober man, who was reputed to be a first class ladies shoemaker, set up in the village. Martha wanted boots, was advised to try the new Crispin, and one fine evening, she crossed the sill of the shoemaker's shop. He measured Martha duly for a pair of handsome side springs, making allowance for her soft corn. Mr Twister was very polite, dressed neatly, had travelled much, and as he had an observant eye, ho could tell many stories of travel in a fascinating and racy manner. He was on the shady side of thirty-five, but age was nothing in Martha's eye, he was a very nice young man ! A walk across the meadows to Windlesham church on the next Sunday afternoon was suggested, the little church where the father of Dean Stanley preached for two years. The old clerk's ears were at length shocked by the news that Martha and Twister had been seen together in happy converse nnder the elms. The old man stormed, and with unmentionable

words, declared that Martha should not marry a shoemaker. Martha answered inwardly that she would, though this of course was only said in her heart. Mar tha was now olosely watched, and hope was entertained in the household that the love-passion was dying out. Martha slept in a small room overlooking the garden, the window of which was overgrown with ivy. Twister eyed tho little window of Martha's sleeping room, measured the garden wall, and resolved to conquer every difficulty in the way of a shoe maker's love. Each evening after to go ing down of tho sun, and when tho old clerk's bed-room dip was extinguished the shoemaker scaled tho wall and under the quiet stars told Martha how much he loved her, and that, as she was of full age, her inexorable father could havo no lawful command over her. Difficulties of course were in the way, and extreme caution necessary, but love, true and faithful

• Through all impediments still forcod its way.'

On leaving the spot, Twister invariably took the garden rake in his hand, and, walking backwards, raked out the traces of his footprints, so that the old man could have no suspicion of what was going on among his ro*e trees. The little dog knew Twister, wagged his tail, and licked the hand that brought him the bachelor's mutton - bone, and 30 all things were as peaceful as the night.

The arrangements were completed while the unconscious clerk slept in the adjoin ing chamber. Spring time at length dawned and night no longer sheltered the porseveiing lovers. Evsry thing was now prepared by tho persevering lovers, and early one sabbath morning in the rosy month of May, when the old Clerk's garden was fragrant with flowers and murmuring with bees, Martha was missing at the breakfast table. There was a great commotion in the house ; Martha was called, but she made no answer; her sleeping room was entered but Martha was not to be found. Martha had disappeared, and all at once the truth flashed upon the old clerk's mind. There was an ominous, unopened letter lying upon the drawers, addressed to Charles Chinny Esq, which was eagerly opened and read. It was from Twister and signed with his horrid name. It ran thuo:

Honoured Sir.—Ba not disconcerted nor ■wax angry ab your daughter's absence, but piously attend as usual to your church duties. Your daughter ia safe, yea, happy in my care. Martha haa been sweetly disobedient to your wishes, but, like a good, christian man you will forgive her. You have been a consider ate father, save in respect of the heart. Girls cannos alwaya obey a doating father, and especially when the higher la wof love demands higher obedienco. I hopo therefore that you will not bristle up when you learn that we are properly welted together. Wo havo long loved each other; in fact, ever since I had the pleasure of taking the measure of Martha's symmetrical little foot. Do not despair, you have other sources of comfort, and might reasonably say ah-men to our mar riage. Bub I, had I lost Martha, would have loss my awl and must have pined over a double dip in the solitude of my workshop. That shop will no longer be solitary, since your daughter's bright eyes will be a light to my dwelling, and her voice a mu3ic in my home, sweeter, far sweeter, than the mono tonous tinklings of my lapstone. Whatever may arise out of the fortunes of this day, we are indissolubly tied by h._a,T:b-strings, strongly nailed by cupid, and believe me the unfold ing of our wedded career will indubitably last. Ours is a binding which, according to the rights of the church of England, cannot easily be unbound. We shall still cherish the reminiscences of our moonlight wooings under the ivied window in your pretty gar den. There we mutually exchangad vows of constancy, fixed the happy day, and did all the rest of the business without even ventur ing to disturb your parental slumbers, or troubling you for your advice. Pray bear with us, forgive your daughter, and pardon your thrice happy son-in-law. — Soloman Twister.

[To be concluded next ic-eelc]

The following good joke is told on one of tho Cornell professors : A few days since one of the professors prepetrated a pactical joke upon himself worthy to be cherished in the archives of the institution. He had occasion to visit a small closet in which the janitor keeps his tools, situated in the basement, near the engine. Nob wishing to be disturbed while there, he locked himself in and slipped fhe key into his pocket. During his manipu lations he forget that he had the key in his possession, and upon trying to got out imagined himself the victim of some mali cious physicist. He waited some time for his tormentor to repent, and then became exasperated. Ha pounded the door, kicked, wept; and swore through the key-hole, but in vain. The ianibor had gone down town, and there was none to heed his cry. In the course of the afternoon he returned, and accidentally discovered the mighty fallen into a sullen fit of distrust, and destitute of all confidence in humanity. When the pro fessor sat down to his newspaper, after supper that evening, aud, happening to pub hia hand into his pocket, found the key to that closet, he immediately went into the back yard and ran a wheelbarrow back and forth over him self for an hour.

New State of Things in Rome.

A coekespondent to a French periodical wrote some time ago about tho new state of things in the Eternal City, after the Italian government had taken possession of it. An extract from his article m\y perhaps give a somewhat lucid exhibition of how things are there now. With regard to outside life and stir on the streets, Eome presents nothing peculiar; its appearance is about the samo as that of Naples, Florence, or any other largo city. Common people work, and the middle class is occupied in money making. What the aristocracy is doing, I do not know; but it does not seem to be con spiring, at least if wo judge from tho number of elegant carriages, that during the day fill tho'.narrow Corso. Instead of the grave dignity, and reserved serious ness, which formerly drew thegattention of strangers, you can see on all faces a cer tain patriotic satisfaction, occasionally bursting out in loud expressions of joy. You feel, that a fresh wind is blowing over .Rome, and over all Italy, and that a new era has begun for this beautifu and.

An indisputable fact is the satisfaction felt by, I will not say the majority, but by nearly the whole population at the now state of things. If you ask the first ono you mcct —country folk or townspeople, educated or uneducated, women of the common people, or young boys, you will not find one in ton who does not range himself on tho sido of King Victor Emmanuel, and approve of tho eleva tion of Rome into the Capital of Italy. The Pope however has his partisans ; for the bulk of Italians have remained Catholic; although they do not frequently visit tho Churches ; but the majority even of them who entertain no hatred against the clergy, wish for a reconciliation between the Spiritual and the Temporal Power. Many Italians are still dreaming about this ' connobia' between both, which was the favorite idea of many great statesmen. In the shop-windows of all art-dealers is to be seen (greatly shocking to a certain class of the faithful) a photograph, representing King Victor Emmanuel, arm in arm with Pope Pius IX. If the Romans are delighted at the eleva tion of thoir city, thoy have besides their just national pride a vory practical reason. The case is this. In a year the population of Rome has incroasod a third, and a con siderable amount of land at the foot of tho Avontine.Hill is being covered with build ings, and will be capable of housing fifty thousand labourers. Although by order of the Pope, .tho ceremonies of the Holy Week were not celebrated in tho usual manner in 1872, the arrival of strangers was greater than usual. When I arrived I could hardly get shelter. Thero was no room in the hotels. Home has become a meeting-place for royal and princely families, from the whole of Europe. This is a colony of Englishmen, Americans, Russians, Frenchmen and Germans ; in a word, of people of all nations. It is easy to understand what a lively trado and circulation is the result of that. All real property has risen highly in value. Hero, as everywhere else, production is increas ing in proportion to the spread of the market, and as the middlo classes become richer, the prosperity of the masses increases. Tho local administration is improving; the city becomes daily more healthy and fresher. Tho municipal authorities have warmly embraced the new ideus, and support with the greatest energy the endeavours of the government. The excavations iv the Forum are continued with great activity, and have thoroughly changed the appearance of the old Campo Vaccino ; the palaces of the Cxsetrs are again coming to the light of day, and tho smallest streets are uncovered with great care. A splendid railway station, quite worthy the new capi tal, is giving life and traffic to a district, that was lately like a desert. At the entrance to the Corso stands a palace, with the words 'Savings Bank' ins-ribed upon it. The streets are being made broader and the squares regular. It is intended to cut canals loading out of the Tiber, in order to prevent its tremen dous inundations. The authorities are earnestly endeavouring to find out means whereby to cenquer malaria, that pesti lence, which for centuries has spread its devastation over the Roman Compagna, one of the most fertile plains in the world.

At the same time, whilst the external condition is ameliorating, morality is im proving. There are no more to be seen in Home, those masses of beggars and idlers who occasioned the well known words of Bro*3se : ' You can imagine what a city must be, one-third of the population of which consists of priests, another third does next door to no work, and the remain ing one-third is absolutely idle.' Home was at that time a city exclusively for pleasure and religious ceremonials. People went there not less for tbe mas querades during the carnival than for the splendid celebrations during tho Holy Week. The spiritual monsignori, and

tho doubtful ladies were the most noted of all; cardinals, priests, and church dignitaries made laws for fashion and gavo the tone to society. The dandies of that time were none other than the Princes of tho Church, more foppish, more licentious, and more worldly, within the full meaning of tho word, than the Abbes of the French Court beforo the devolution.

Now-a-days tho military element' has driven tho clerical into the shade; you meet moro soldiers than monks, more officers than monsignori. When a gar rison regiment or a battalion of National Guard is inarching along tho street, preceded by its band, the windows are filled with spectators, women and children crowd to see the defenders of their oountry and the martial music rouses the national feelings of tho masses, and their warm southern blood. The spectacle, new to the Romans, finds its way to their fancy far more than tho old church pomp to which they were brought up. They prefer military reviews to the ecclesias tical processions ; a colonel atracts tho attention of the populace far more than a bishop, and the bersagliere from Piedmont, with his great feathered hat, is looked upon with more interest by .the passers by than a Dominican or a Carme lita with white or brown gown, shaved head, and sandals on his naked feet.

Slender Feet.

Paeisian women are noted for.thoir tiny feet, narrow ankles, and arched instep. We learn every day that the small, arched foot is a sign of nobility—a rule that admits of many exceptions. Generally, the aristocratic foot is fine, slender nervous, delicate; tho foot of the plebeian is generally short and gross. The Euglish havo tho flat foot; tho Russains have enormous feet, as heavily attached as those of an elephant. For this reason, it is said, a Russain princess invented trailed robes. The fascinating forms and manners of the 'ladies of Cadiz,' the themo of old ballads, retain all thoir famous celebrity, Everyone has heard of their dark, gleaming eyes ; their pretty hands, ' skilled' in the ' nice conduct of the fan'; their feet dainty and fairy-like, 'of which a glimpse is one of the last precious favors accorded to lovers sigh and tears'; and, more than all, their walk- The beauty of feet docs not consist in their smalluess so much as in their symmetry and grace of outline, and in their being short and extremely small. Tho feet of the Venus de Medicis excite tho admiration of everyone who looks at the beautiful statue. In the outline of thoir extremity they approach the elegant form of the ellipse, and are founded from tho proportions of nature, that of six to one between the feet and the body, the standard of measurement adopted by the large body of the sculptors of antiquity. The natural projection of' the second toe, which gives the foot its elliptic form, is arrested in its development by compression of the boot or shoe, and thus its beauty.is marred and its elastic tread impeded. There is always a similarity in the natural shape of the thumb and foot of. the same person. , ,

Very likely:—There's a boy up town who swallowed a can of concentrated lye two yeara ago, and although his mother made him carry a hatchet in his pocket and a picture of G. Washington over the foot of his bed, she has never been able to get truth out of him since. She wants to know what to do with him, Oiled strap in liberal doses ia gooe, but wo think this a desperate case. Bet.er let him read law, and trust a merciful Providence. But the chances are a hundred to one that he will be elected to Congress for some L/emocrafcic district in the course of twenty years.

Should.—The Vancoburg 'Kentuckian' remarks : A farmer lives on the average sixty-five years, a printer thirty-three. The former should pay the latter promptly. Great Cruelty.—Mr. Spinner' 3 resignation was great cruelty to the counterfeiters who have auceeded, after years of labor, in imitat ing his signature. .Now they must learn a new one. •

1 What kind of man is Squire Simmons, any way ?' ' Well, you've seen those snow, storms along early in winter, when there's a good deal of wind and not much sleighing ? That's the sort he is.'

Two young ladies in the library one after noon were discussing a preference expressed by one of them for clean shaven men, when the other was heard to remark : ' I don't object to a man with a reasonable quantity of hair on his face, but I wouldn't like to marry a buffalo robe.'

Love is like a hunter, who cares not for the game once caught, whicn he may have pursued with the most intense and breathless eagerness. Love is the strongest in pursuit; friendship in possession.

Love is indeed heaven upon earth ; since heaven above would not be heaven without it; for, where is not love, there is fear ; but " perfect love casteth out fear." And yet we naturally fear most to offend what we most love.

Delicate.—A Kentucky p a p er endeavors to pay a delicate compliment to a favorite actress by calling her.a sweet little red hajred chandelier kicker.'