Sicilian patois, as [& hand pi jd my • sleeve. I turned, and saw beside me a ragged imp of a girl of some twelve or thirteen years, with bare feet and uncombed hair, like the mane of ahorse, whom I knew to be the granddaughter of the reputed witch, Assunta, and who seemed to own no Christian name, since she was always gpoken of as the ' Gazza.' * The grandmother sent me. How Ive run !' And the quick panting of her young lungs confirmed this, ' Make the best of your way to Catania before it . catches you.' ' Before what catches me r asked 1, astonished. •The gulf—the gulf of fire! returned /the girl, impatiently. ' She wishes you naught but good, signor, so she sent me, but don't tell those hounds with the heads of swine,' and she shook her first with a stealthy hate at a carousing group of our sulphur-seekers, and tten Worj I could demand an explanation was gone, What did this portend ? I turned my eyes towards the barren track that lay, cinder-strewn, beyond the greenery of the forest, and saw something like a fiery serpent come slowly crawling along the ground, in an irregular course, the black-and-gray ash-heaps reddening as it advanced. Slow and silent, on it crept, an d presently I saw the dry moss and dead leaves on the outskirts of the wood suddenly take fire as though the flaming breath of the giant serpent had kindled them. And then I felt that mischief was indeed on hand, and uplifted my voice to the utmost to give the alarm. A mighter voice then mine drowned my feeble accents. There was a roar as if a thousand cannons had been fired at once, and then there soared up to the sky a cloud of red-hot ashes, falling in a fiery rain on lawn and wood, while moss, grass and brush and even entire trees began to crackle. Nor was this all, for the treacherous crust of the volcanic mountain heaved and cracked, opening out into flaming fissures, which, in the form of a circle rudely traced, seemed threatening to surround us. An indescribable period of panic ensued. The gay picnic party broke up, and its members, mixed pell-mell with the terrified sulphur workers, hurried headlong down the hill-side, some on mules, but most on foot, abandoning the late scene of festivity and absorbed in the one impulse of self-preservation. It was to no purpose that I endeavored to preserve something like discipline among our own men. Fear was too strong for my efforts to be avilmg, and inspector and visitors, guide, servants and miners, seemed to contend in the frantic race for safety. 'The gulf!—the gulf of fire!' such were the words that repeatedly reached me as the crowd hurried down the steep and winding road, and I know this pliraso to indicate ons of those occasional outbreaks of the volcanic forces below, by which a fresh crater is established. My first intention had been to preserve the money and stores which belonged to the Government, but already tho huts were burning, and the disorder so general that none heeded my summons. I should have followed the retreating mob, when, turning my head, I beheld a spectacle which caused my very heart to ceaso beating, so great was the horror of it. Some fifty yards off, on the other side of a fiery chasm, that seamed the earth like the gaping mouth of some monstrous beast of prey, stood alone the pretty English child, with golden hair hanging in wavy ringlets, who had previously attracted my notice. She had strayed, doubtless, from her friends in the con fusion, and now stood, to all appearance, amused, but not alarmed, as she gazr:d at the bright hues of tho incandescent sulphur, now cherry red, now saffron, then palest pink, or darkening amethyst, that bubbled at her feet. It was fearful to see that innocent young thing, so uncon scious of her danger, smiling as it were in the very jaws of death. Had the risk been a greater one I could not have resisted the impulse which prompted me; and almost before I had time to realize what I was doing, I had bounded across the glowing fissure and snatched up the child in my arms. Then for the first time she began to cry aloud: ' Oh, mamma, mamma, help me ! Hastily I did my best to soothe her, and the sound of the familiar English words and voice, and my assuranco that I had come to take her to her mother quieted her, but aa I turned to retrace my steps a dense cloud of suffocating smoke arose, cutting off all view of the plateau, and when it dispersed, I found the chasm had widened to an extent which precluded all hope of striding or leaping across it, while another roar, and a shower of hot ashes mixed with blocks of pumice stone, warned me that to linger was as perilous as to fly, Only one mode of escape seemed practicable, and accordingly I skirted the chasm, making for a spot some three hundred yards away, where a rock appeared to form a natural bridge over tho red-hot fissure. Wrapping my shaggy sailor's jacket around the child, to screen her as far aa possible from the hot ashes '.hat fell at intervals, I pushed resolutely on. I shall never, to my dying day, forget what I underwent in the passage of those three hundred yards. Gasping and half suffocated by the pestilential vapors, blinded by the smoke, ar d eyes seared by the glare, and feet scorched by the almost intolerable heat of the earth, I

staggered on with my burden in my arms. Twice the thin crust that heared beneath me seemed to tie breaking under our weight, and I gave myself up for lost; but at length, dizzy and breathless, I reached the road, and saw beyond it a space cleard by woodcutters, probably, for only the stumps of tress long since felled protruded from the soil. As I did so, with a crash the rock fell in, and the flames leaped up like splashing water; but I managed to plant one foot upon a corner of the great stone, and, with a desperate bound, cleared the chasm, with the child in my arms, and fell exhausted on the turf beyond. It was late at night when, spent and worn, I descended the mountain road, and passed Catania, still carrying the child, who had some time sinco fallen asleep with her fair little head upon ray shoulder. All that she could tell me was that her name was Emma Harding, and that her family were lodged in a large hotel front ing the sea, and which from the descrip tion I conjecturod to be the Albergo Eeale. So it proved to be, and I had the satisfaction of restoring the lost lamb to her sorrowing relatives, who had mourned her as dead, so utterly certain had her fate appeared when she was known to have been left on the mountain.

While the child's mother, weeping, caught her darling to her heart, Mr. Harding approached the spot where I stood, footsore and weary, with hair and garments singed, and shoes that had crumbled away piecemeal from the scorched feet they had sheltered, and wrung my hand. t *I am not a man of many words., ho said ' but you have laid mo under a very deep debt of gratitude, Mr. Clements, and' — Idid not hear the rest' save as a contused hum like that of a hive of bees, for now the floor seemed to slide away from under my feet and the wall to revolve, and then all grew dark. They lade mo on a bed— for I had fainted—and sprinkled water on my forehead, and gave me cordials aad wine, and gradually my strength came back to me £but for weeks I was too lame to be able to walk without the support of a crutch.

I am well 9nough now, and they call me Captain Clements, for am I not commander of a fine ship in the Australia trade, to which Mr. Harding, her owner, gave the name of The Emma, in honor of the dear little thing that I hid bsneath my rough pea-coat when the fiery rain of Etna fell fast and thick around us ? I have children of my own now, blithely sporting in the garden of a pretty cottage near tho Mersey, and pausing in their play now and again, as tall ships pass, to ask when' papa' is coming back from sea, ?'

An Esquimaux Story.

There was once a woman who had a son and a daughter. As the son grew up he became a hunter, and once he killed a thong-seal, from the skin of which he proposed to cut some thongs. But tho mother wanted the skin for some other purpose, and sho and the boy quarreled about it.

Then she went and pronounced a charm on the sealskin, and when he went to cut it up, the end of a thong flew up, struck his eyes, and made him blind.

The winter came on, they were des titute of seal-meat, and had had to live entirely on mussels, for the blind hun ter could go hunting no more. But one day a bear appeared at the window and began to eat away at the; window pane, which was made of skin. Tho mother and daughter fled to tho other side of the house, but tho stripling ask od for his bow. His sister gave it to him ; he bent it, asked her to take aim for him, and then he shot and killed the animal. The mother said, ' Thou hast missed' But the sister whispered, ' Thou hast killed the bear.

They had now plenty of meat, but the mother refused to give the boy any, protending that as he had not killed the bear there was none, and only gave him mussels. But the sister gave him her share of the bear-meat in secret.

Finally the in spring a flock of wild geese restored the boy's sight, and he resumed his hunting occupations.

He, with his sister, used to go out on the edge of the ice, where the seals and white whales (a kind of dolphin) were seen, and he would kill them with his harpoon. He had no hunting-blad der, but he nsed to tie the harpoon line round his sister's waist instead, and when the animal was struck they wou d drag it upon the ice by means of the line-

One day he asked his sister, ' Dost thou like our mother ?'

She made no answer, hut upon his re peating the question she replied: ' I am fonder of thee than of her.' 1 Then to morrow,' he replied, ' she shall serve us for a bladder.'

The next day he accordingly pro poses to his mother that she should help in the hunt, and to this she con sents without the slightest suspicion. He ties the line round her waist as he had done to his sister, but she now begins to grow frightened at' the look

that is in his eyes,' and when she sees him preparing to throw the harp son she cries—

'My son, choose a small whale, choose a small one.'

Just then a large white whale rises to the surface of the water at the edge of the ice near his feet. He throws his harpoon into the animal and then lets go the line. The whale instantly begins to drag his mother toward the edge of the ice, she struggling with all her might to get free and crying out for a knife to cut the line.

But the son only reproaches her with her cruelty in having made him blind, and says:' This is my revenge. Then she cries out, ' Oh, my ullo!' mv ullo ! it was I that suckled thee it was I that suckled thee !' And this she continues crying 'ttntil the whale drags her into the water. She floats for a few moments on the surface, still crying, ' Oh, my son! it was I that suckled thee, it was I that suckled thee !' then dissappears forever. The brother and sister gaze a few minutes at the spot where she went down, and then, terror-stricken, turn and flee.

But the cry of their mother con tinues ringing in their ears, and follows them wherever they go.

They finally fly from the village to the interior of the country, far away from any human kind, with this voice still pursuing them, still ringing in their ears, ' it was I that suckled thee, it was I that suckled thee!' like the refrain of ' Macbeth shall sleep rfo more,;in Shakspeare's sublime.tragedy. They dissappear, and nobody who knew them ever sees or hears of them

again. But they are not dead. Their death would not carry out the Esquimaux idea, and the poet has added one more to the tragedy in which there is a grandeur of conception not unworthy of Shakspeare himself. The event recorded in this act takes place a long time afterwards; nobody knows how long. It>nay be a hundred years, for all, even the children who knew the matricides, have grown old and died. The tradition of the crime is almost forgotten. The scene is laid in the interior of the house of the angakok, or priest magician. It is night —a winter night in the A rctic, with an Arctic moon throwing its glamor over the plans and mountains of ice and snow. Inside the house the priest-magician, is performing a conjuration, and the people are gathered around silent and trembling, listening to his muttered incautations.

Suddenly they hear a cry outside, and the angakok says : ' Something evil is approaching.' They go to the door and look out. There they behold a gigantic hunter a little, distance away, standing in the moonlight. His hair is white as the snow on which he stands, and it hangs down over his shoulders in long, silvery locks. But his face is black as night. They watched him for a moment, and he gazes at them with burning, fiery eyes. Then tho angakok comes forword and asks the stranger who he is and what he wants ? The other replies: ' Do you not know me ?' They answered in the negative. Then he asks : 'Do you remember the son who used his mother for a hunting bladder ?' A very old women then remembers hearing her mother talk about the crime when she was a very little child. The hunter replies : ' I am that man, and I stiil live.'

Then he tells them something of the life he and hia sister have lived since that time; says they are still suffering all the tortures of remorse as on the day of their flight; that he has been driven by some mysterious power to come and denounce himself to the people, that the crime may not be forgotten, and—fearful retribution — during all this life of three genera tioDS, day and night, the voice of their murdered mother has been always ringing in their ears —

' Oh, my son, it was I that suckled thee, it was I that suckled thee!'

Then he disappears, and is never heard of more.— 'From Mac Gahari's "' Under the-Northern Lights. 1

A philosopher being asked what was the first thing necessary towards winning the love of a woman, replied, 'An oppor tunity.'

A young lady torturing a piano, and vocalizing 'I am saddest when I sing/ makes a whole neighbourhood feel the same way.

A Devonshire Lane.

Fair Auckland, though sunny and fair to

the eye, Where often above is an unclouded sky j Except when it rains, then a soaking we get, j Bat 'tis folly to murmer because of the wet. '. In Devonshire once, as I trotted along, Looking round for a subject to mould! into song ; Think I, to myself, I have hit on a strain ; Sure, marriage is just like a Devonshire' Lane. , j In the first, place, 'tis long, and a comfort • to age, And holds you as close as a bird in a cage; j Like Auckland roads, rough; still the way may be found. Drive forward you must, for there's no' turning round. But though it be long, it is not very wide, For two are the most that together can j ride: j Though shadows there be, 'tween the branches of green, The blue skies and nature in smiles may be seen. Then the banks are bo high, both to left and to right, That they shut out the far-reaching land scape from sight; And hence, you'll allow, 'tis an inference plain, That marriage is just like a Devonshire Lane. And the primrosy banks, where within you are pent, With blossoms and berries are richly besprent ; And the conjugal fence, which forbids you roam, Looks lovely when decked with the comforts of home. The violets that bloom in their mossy retreats, 'JSTeath the thorn where the linnet its sweet song repeats, Remind you of pleasures, unworldly, in doors, When storms and winds whistle across the wide moors.

In the rock's gloomy crevice,, the bright holly grows, The ivy keeps fresh o'er the fast fading

rose; And the evergreen love of a virtuous wife

Smooths the roughness of care, and the winter of life. Then long be the journey, and narrow the way, With a pocket well lined s nature's turn pikes to pay; Be thoughtful, and rarely be heard to complain, Though marriage is just like a Devonshire Lane. J. B.

Samanthy's Elopement.

' Yes, ' said the old lady as she wiped her eyes and proceeded to tell the sym bathizing neighbors about the elope ment of her daughter, ' Yes,' Mrs. Blobbs, you might as well say it ar' a dreadfull stroke. I ain't had such an other shock since that last spell o' rheu matiz. To think that dartea of mine would do such a disgraceful thing after all the care an' affection me an' her fa ther lavished on her from her infancy up. I couldn't bear up under the afflic tion nohow.'

' Did you not suspicion that they were contemplating such a move ? } asked the neighbor.

'No we never suspicioned nary con templation. After I'd runned the con ceited upstart off the premises with the mop I didn't think he'd have the insur ancelto speak to Samanthy agin. An' she seemed to apppar so consigned that I never respected her of having any underhanded contentions. But all the time —so I've heerd sence—they used to meet clandesfcinly, when I thought Samanthy was at meetin,' an' decoct their plan to run off an' elope. Well Samanthy has made her bed and she'll have to lie on it. I wash my hands of the ongrateful girl from this time forthwith.

' Did you make any effort to inter cept them ? ' ' No; you see, we didn't know it, or elce we'd a intercepted 'em within an inch of their lives.'

' I mean did you try to have them stopped when you found they were gone ?' 'Yea, indeed. Father telescoped to five or six towns, an' gave their prescription —cost him lots o' money, too; but he said he wouldn't mind spendin' the price of a cow to get Samanthy back. But we never heerd nothin' from them, and I told father to let 'em alone and they'd come home after a while with five or six children behind 'em."But I tellyou,Mrs. Blobbs, they shan't set a foot in this house except over the dead body of my defunct corpse. You jest remember that.'

How melancholy the moon must feel when it has enjoyed the fulness of pros perity, and gets reduced to its last quarter.

A Kingston Love Letter, 200 Years Old.

In a collection of ancient tracts, and mauscripts, by Mr Charles Clark V find the following very pious love-lei i which was addressed by Mr. T. B o ' man, of Kingston, to a lady of MgU in the year 1644. As it is a retnJ!1 able specimen of the then fashionatl mode of inditing suchcoicpo s sti t ' c we give it entire: cV 'To the most choice O-entletqoman "; : ornament of her sex, Mrs MiMMi'' Qoode, daughter of Mr. Sehastion, (&3 I Esquireftat Maiden. * ! 'Mrs. Elizabeth, —I have long b an earnest suitor to your honour n deserts, that I might be admitted humble suitor to yonr sweete self"1 now after many strivings and wrest lings, I have almost prevailed. -V[ next suit is, that your dearest 3 would comply with your dearest rents' desires and mine : they are at ready to part with a great part o f th°^J estate for your sake, and'lniogfr-Jf linge to place all my joyes and delights in you alone. Now it is, orwillsojL ly be, in your sole power to dash and frustrate, or crown all my indeavours hereby you will make me a most fanny man, and your selfe ( I hope) anolE happy spouse. Well, sweete Mrs. Elizabeth, be not afraide to venture on me : as youW a most tender father and a most in^. gent mother, so lett me, that I to Providence kept foryou , furnish yon with a very, very lovinge husband, i Could you reade my most inm o^ thoughts, you would soon answore love with love I here promise you, and will make good this promise againe (when that happy daye comes) on Holy ground that I will love and honour you, Knowe, this is my virgin request my first request in earnest that ever came from my lippes or pen ; my eyes have scene many younge gallants ail virgins, but Mrs Elizabeth is the de- I light of my eyes. Others of your aeie have beene acceptable, and some pie cious in my eyes ; but you, andyouonly have beene, and still are, the pearle in my eves, v !?,•: ! Amongst all the works of Qbd;l I delight most in beholdinge (the m $ excepted) an amiable countenance; and such' is yours, or none in. tlifiM parts of England. Your face is,a mappe of beauties, your gentle breast acabinett of vertues, and yourwholf I selfe a cluster of all the choicest deli cacies ; but, in plaine English, not your pleasinge aspecte, nor well-fea tured person, nor admired excellencies, nor weighty portion, fastened my affections on you, but your love (of thin I have beene long perswaded) to a man (myself I mean) so undeserving it. As for myselfe, I am thought worthy k of a good wife, though unworthy of 1 you. These pretty toyes, called hw I bands, are such rare commodities in i this age, that I can woe and winne | wives by the dozens. I know not any gentlewoman in these parts, but would kisse a letter from my hands, reade it ; with joye, and then lay it up neither I hart as a treasure; but I will not trye I their courtesies except I find you da- I courteous. .. !

My last request is this, take aturae in private, then reade this lette ragaiae, and imagine the penman at your elbow. JKext, laye your hand upon yojirMr and resolve to say Amen to my tie sires. If so, I shall accept your por tion with the left hand, but your lovely person with the right. Portions I can have enough to my minde in other places, but not a wife to my ininde in [ any place of the wide world but at y Maiden. I hope, therefore, no place shall furnish you with a husband but Singstone, where lives in hope yonl most hearty friend and servant,

Teomas Botjrmas. From my Chamber, Dec. 2,1644

A little boy coming home from o^fl'] where he had seen a person performing on an organ, said to his mother,' O^TBo' my, I wish you had been, to church to-aay to see the fun; a man was pumping musW out of an old cupboard !' ,'.•.■-•■ . A Nice Prospect.—Algy (a small bqyh ' Oh, so you're going to marry Jack r A would'nt, not if I knowed it, rather. Betrothed One—'Why not, dearP1. M —«Why, he's an awful bully! He -to* me round, by the neck, dusts my W^y and he'll do the same to you, You s^v As the flood recedes in the overflow districts, the farmer re-seeds. > , Girls complain that young men are w poor to pay their addresses. . , Why may a tipsy man fall e A nl with impunity ? Because he won't drop : as long as his head swims. . ■' • •

Printed ana published by the proprietor, H8» Brett, of Parnell, at his General Steamer? Office, Wyndham-atreet, in the City of ABO""""* New Zealand. •: Saturday, August 2C, 1876

Evening Star Supplement, -A^j-g-msft 26, 1876.