heart, and, before long, I had the happiness to find that Jenny returned my affection. This was no secret to Mrs. Wright, who readily gave her consent. • For some time the tide of prosperity seemed to have set in my favor. I was advanced step by step by my employers until Jenny and I began to lay plans for an early marriage. • ' At last a blot came t^» our happiness ! ' One of our keepers died, and the vacant post was in due course filled by a man named John Adams. Directly I saw this man, one of those unaccountable presentiments to which all of us are subject at times seized me, why, I cannot tell, Possessed of a frank, open face, there was nothing about him to inspire distrust. But every now and then, when he looked at one, there was a peculiar gleam of his eye, strangely at variance with the rest of the face's expression.

■ ' He was placed under my directions, and I speedily found him a very useful handy fellow, and likewise an agreeable companion. ' By degrees, as I became used to him, my feelings of distrust wore off, to such an extent, indeed, that one day on his in quiring if I knew of any lodgings to let/ I at onced introduced him to Mrs Wright, who, as luck would have it, had that day lost one of her lodgers. I little thought the consequencos of my act!

• Adam had not long been my fellow lodger, when I noticed the marked ad miration he professed for Jenny. _ I was not surprised that he should admire her, that was only natural ; but I had a great objection to his shewing it too openly, and consequently, one day, when he had gon<? farther than I thought proper, I remons trated with him, and in answer to his query, ' As to what it had to do with mo,' I informed him of our betrothal.

• I shall never forget the expression of his face at that moment. It was perfectly demonaical. A glitter came into his eye, such as I remember hearing my father say was often seen in tho eyes of insane persons, and his whole face was drawn and distorted. He made no rejoinder, but turned on his hoel and walked quietly away. ' When I got home I told the whole affair to Jenny, who looked scared, and begged me to take care. I laughed away her fears, expressing my consciousness of his inability to do me any harm.' 'How little did I know !

'Things went on in their usual course, and Adams appeared to have forgotten tho whole affair, evidently, as I thought, seeing the folly of pursuing the matter further.

• One day orders came from our em ployers that the pit containing the two Polar bears was to be made more secure, several narrow escapes from accident having occurred, attention to which had been called by some of the papers. To complete this job, Adams and I had been told off, and the first afternoon everything progressed favourably. ' The next morning on Adam's resuming work I noticed a strange absence in his manner, coupled with incoherent mutter ings. Of this, however, I took no notice, as, being a rather well-read fellow, he was in the habit of quoting passages, some times to me, at intervals during the work, but more often in an undertone to himself. 'The work went on all right, and we had nearly finished the required railing, one panel only remaining to be put in position, when, requiring some tools I had forgotten, I despatched Adams to the tool-shed for them. ' Directly he had gone I turned to my work again, and, being busily engaged over tlio mouth of the pit, thought no more of Adams. •-I must have been occupied intently for some considerable time, when my attention was attracted by a soft footfall, and, turning quickly round, I came face to face with Adams, in whoso hands was poised a heavy iron rail, which in another moment'would have descended oa my unguarded head. 'In an instant the full extent of the danger flashed across me, and with a sudden swerve I saved myself from the blow. 'Foiled in his first attempt, Adams dropped the iron railing, and, with a fearful yell, rushed at me and grappled me by the throat, his face in such clsse contiguity to mine that his breath fairly scorched me. :'Now commenced a fearful struggle.* ' Thoughts of Jenny, love of life, all flashed across me, and nerved my arm with unusual strength, and I fought desperately. * So occupied was lin defending myself that I had completely forgotten the obear pit, and it was not until my foot struck against the foundation on which the rails were placed that my adversary's aim became apparent. Ho was trying to throw me into the Pit! Once there, he knew I should soon fall a victim to the ferosity of the bears. ' Directly this idea entered my head, a cold perspiration broke out all over me, and I- involuntarly relaxed my efforts. ' Noticing this, Adams gave a yell of triumph, and with a shriek of ' You'll marry Jenny Wright, will you?' he fairly lifted me off my legs, and thrust me across the coping of the pit, my head hanging downwards. In another instant I should have been precipitated to the bottom, and, with a hurried prayer, I save myself up for lost, when, of a sudden his hold seemed to relax—and I know no more.

'It was riot till after a severe attack of brain fever, which lasted a long time, and through which Jenny carefully and lovingly attended me, that I learned that I owed my rescue to some visitors to the gardens, who reached the Bear Pit just in the nick of time, nnd that Adams had been conveyed a raving madman to the lunatic asylum, where he still remains, the doctors pronouoing him incurable. • When I got up from that sick bed, my hair, or all that was remaining of it, was white as it is now, ' Was it not Jenney ?' This to gran'ma, who, in a tremulous voice assented. ' And now my darlings, I think you had batter go to bed.'

Little Miss Turpin's Fate.

HE WAS A STJIANGEII AND SHE TOOK HI3I IN

A little conversation took placo, one morning, on the tup floor of a dingy old lodging louse in the metropolis that led to strange results, it was in the front-room' but made its way very readily through the chinks and enrnnies in the mortar to the neighboring apartment, whore litttle Miss. Turpin was preparing her frugal breakfast. The toasting-fork nearly fell from her hand and her dimity apron narrowly escaped being seduo cd by a presumptuous flame from the grate, when the harsh, gruff" voice of her landlord fell upon her ear. 1 I wani my raonev,' said Mr. Shadrach. 'So do I,' replied the young doctor, ' and more. ' He that wautd money., means, and content is without throe good friends.' < Can I have my money, to-night ?' ' I think not.' ' To-morrovv ?' ' It is extremely doubtful.' Then you must get out of her,e. I want my room.' 1 When do you want it ?' ' As soon as possible.' ' Will to-morrow do ?' ' Yes.' ' Then leave me, friend; the roDm shall be yours on to-morrow morning"' The young niedi<>al student was a man of spirit, and would have vacated these not very alluring premises at once, but he had not where to lay his . hea/i, and there seemed a vital necessity i"^. than for some sucih proceeding on )uo pai'c. Ho had discovered, two days before, that the faltering and shabby source of hig pecu niary supplies h:i I suddenly failed, anil the knowledge that ho was without money or friends in ;i strange city, together with an inability to beg, borrow, or steal, had robbed him of .sleep. The loss of this necessary rest to a tirod brain and worn out body rendered him the prey to many different sensations during and after Mr. Shadraeh's visit. Aa iron band seemed to compass big forehead, his eye balls burned, his hands shook, his knees seemed at times about to collapse beneath him, as he walked to and fro the length of the dreary apartment, for lack of more nourishing food chvwiug the cud of many a bitter fancy. Ho asked himself over and over again if this was to be the end of it all, and why had he baan such a fool .as to fancy he could pursue the study of medieiuo with the wretched capital of a worn-out body, a distracted mind, and scarcely money enough to keop nosh upon his bones. That an indomitable spirit had prompted him to go on, hoping for a little desultry practice by tho way; that the rose-color with which, youth and inexper ience are apt to tint those fallacious dreams had been all too vivid in his case, —that these and many other excuses could be made for his folly availed little just now. A sytomatio course of semi-starvation and overwork had broken his idomitable spirit, and turned the rose-color dreams to an ex ecedingly greenish-hucd night-mare. The only patient he had had during his nine months' stay with Mr. Shadrach was a poor little work-woman in the neigh boring room, a washed-out, timid,, wretch, ed little creature, with scaraely enough stamina about her to rally after a slight attack of pneumonia. Her little fee had been ready for him after every visit— in fact, obtrusively roady, for it was out of tho question, of course, to take the money. 'It was merely a neighborly service,' he had suid. when upon his fifth, visit he found her up and at work again, when upon his departurer she had stainraored out something about hie bill. 'I am only too glad, Miss—Miss—'

4 Tarpin,' she had whispered. ' To be of service to you, and beg you will call me in whomever my presence is desireable.'

Miss Turpin faltered out her thanks. A burning blush chased the pallor out of her face, as warmly he pressed her tremb ling hand in his and bade her good-bye. ' Poor little thing !' he said, as he strode away to the lecture-room. • It's bad enough for a great strong ox like myself to battle with this grim old grindstone of a world, but for a miserable little waif like that —phew, it's monstrous !'

He thought of her pityingly till ho crossed the threshold of the college, then gave himself np to the subject in hand, which so engrossed his mind that he forth with forgot the existence of little Miss Turpin. But she upon her part, repeated over and. over the words of young Dr. Blake, blushing , again when she became conscious of the fact that she really had the temerity to dwell upon this genial but commonplace courtesy. Miss Turpin's work was delicate and artistic, but not soul-absorbing, like the the doctor's, She could tint her photo

graphs all the better for this little episode in her life. The vines and tendrils took tenderer shape under her deffc little fingers : a shy, .sweot melancholy helped to make the shadows at least more and more perfect; under the rose-buds grew the thorns; but there seemed to lurk even in their cruelty a subtle, mysterious charm. It was enough for Miss Turpin to dream. The physical and practical reality of the doctor's nearness, yirehaps, had its weight, bat not consciously so, to the little woman. She never ventured to get up a cough or cramp for the sake of stamping more clearly his shape into^ these vague but extravagavant feats o? fancy. In truth, so timid and afraid was she of a pulsation of practical joy, she actually shunned and shrank from its; approach. But more and more imposing, grander and grander, crew this one figure of her fancy, around which revolved the satel lites of health and wealth, popularity and fame—all that conld render life sweet or desirable

Perhaps it is d^trimental'to my heroine to say that she would have baen quite content to have lived upon the fruit of her own fancy for. the remainder of her natural life. Had circumstances compelled her to change her abode, and had she thus lost sight of Dr. Blake, the dreatns would have gone on just the same, the fact of his dying in a neighboring hospital of weakness and want, and the quenching of all her material in a pauper's grave, not intefering in the least with Miss L'urpin's airy fabric It would have been impossible to convince Miss Turpin that he could reach so dire an extremity, had not the knowledge been forced in upon her in a way that she could not refuse. She absolutely heard the gruff voice of Mr. Shadraeh* upon the morning in question, and the low, musical, but bitterly mocking word 3of the doctor in reply. She sat down upon the rug and clasped both her hands. He was going away, then? Until that moment she had not realized the extent of snch a disaster. She could have borne perhaps, to have been compelled to go away herself, because the inevitable fo" her had become, lowz since, a matter of course; but tohave the iron hand of inexorable necessity grasp this magnificent young man was terrible. He of the flashing eyes, the lordly mien, the exultant step—for thus had little Miss Turpin been wont to classify the somewhat alluring personal attractions of young Blake —he to become the prey of an adverse destiny ! Miss Turpin's breakfast, that morning, was a failure- By dint of long practice, and an exceedingly gracious gift in house wifery, she had always managed to get up extra ordinary little ~ meals for herself. It was us if a little sooty angel sat up aloft in the chimney, and assisted the culinary efforts of the lone little woman. Her toast was of brown the most golden, her coffee was of Mocha the most delicious, her bit of steak so juicy and appetizing that sometimes poor Blaki in the neighboring room, with some chunks of brown-bread floating helplessly in a chalky fluid before him, finding this savory odor under his nostrils, raised his clenched hand at the t stern wall between them in envy and despair. But even the little angel in the chimney became impatient with the behaviour of little Miss Turpin, that morning. The little Toman, usually so practical aud capable, while straining her ear to listen to a faltering, stumbling step in the next room, deliberately burned -the toast and boiled the coffee, and the sooty wings spread themselves, taking flight in dis appointment and disgust. She held her breath as. the familiar footstep passed her door, and slowly, one by one, went down tho worm-eaten stairs. Oh! where was ho going? What, would ho do? She had read sometimes of an evening, when working hours were over, the shaded lamp upon the table at her side, the coals leaping and blazing in the refulgent srate, her little slippered feet upon the fender —she had read of people who, having neither money, means, nor content, had drifted into a moment of frenzy and despair, £.nd thus leaped the awful bar that separates the known from the unknown, content to risk any. fate but that which awaited them here. She had read^thus of some poor ,strange unfortun ates, and her heart had ached in their behalf. But now ? Well, now her heart almost ceased to beat. She put away her work—of what avail was it, all blotted and blurred by her tears, or ruined by her shaking brush ? All day she feared and trembled; at night-f;iil some intuitive hope caused her to brighten the fire, cook a dainty meal, and, placing the table opposite the door, leave the tempting, cozy room open upon the wind-swept, gloomy corridor.

Then she waited and waited. The clock struck; at midnight, then 1, 2, 3, from a neighboring belfry ; the meal was cold, the fire burned low ; the chill, gray, morning had almost dawned, when at last it came ; yes —thank God ! faltering and slow, but if was his footstep ; none other could quicken little Miss Turpin's pulse. He reached the lauding, the door of her room. Why, truly, ho did pause—yes, and stagger in.

Any other woman but this, perhaps, would have recoiled with disgust and horror, and above all, with-fear; for the young man was evidently not himself. His hair, damp and disheveled, hung in heavy disorder about his face and neck; his eyes, glassy and lurid, blazed upon her's; a red flame burned in his cheek ; a slight foam flecked his trembling lips.

He fell into the chair at the table, and looked wonderingly upon the food before kirn; but that which, would have been frantically devoured, six hours before, was like the ashes of bitterness to him now. He had not tasted food for 36 hours. But ie was not hunger that tortured him; it was thirst—an appalling thirst. He drank the pitcher of water irom Miss Turpin's hand, and looked pleadingly for more. , 1 Do not be afraid to give the patient water,' he murmured, eagerly. 'In cases of febrile debility they sometimes suffer— suffer. I recommend, by all means, water—water—water !' Then he .fell back with a groan of agony. Miss Turpin ran out of the room and down the stair 3 ; pounded on the door of the German tailor below, who, with his wife and five children, were enjoying in sleep the only immunity granted them from endless labor and toil; bade him fly for the best doctor in the neighborhood ; ran up the stairs again like a deer, and found Be Biake insensible, hx3 head thrown back upon the chair, his eyes half closed, his stertorous breathing audible in the corridor bslow. The little German returned with the very best medical aid in the vicinity, even that of the eminent Dr Havershasv him self. All this fuss and confusion had aroused Mr Shadrack, who followed them up the stairs and protruded his long, hairy chin in the doorway. ' It is, perhaps, best that you should know, madam,' said the surgeon to little Miss Turpin, 'that it is a doubtful case. Your husband is in a very critical condi tion. If this worthy man will assist me we will git him into bed. Our only hope is a powerful sedative at once.' The worthy man alluded to was Mr Shadrach, whose eyes at once almost left their sockets when he found the doctor preparing to put his young lodger in Miss Turpin's bed. ' Why—why,' he gasped, looking over at Miss Turpin, ■* this won't do, will it ?' Miss Turpin bowed her head, -he could not spaak, but it seemed to her that her heart made all the noise that was necessary. Its convulsive throbs moved the shawl she had thrown about her shoulders.

' Don't chatter here,' said the doctor, thinking MrShadrachwas addressing him. 'Just do what I bid you ; the more quietly, the better.'

Half an hour after, Miss Turpin was alone again, save for the body of the doctor that lay upon the hed. He was helpless there, perhaps dying; his face was strange and distorted, his eyes half closed. A confused, unintelligible murmur flowed from his lips ; his hands clinched and unclinched; at times a groan seemed wrung from his vitals.

Miss Tarpin's features were pale and haggard, ber eyes streaming with tears. Yet, in the midst of an anguish that partook of despair, with throes of pain and terror unspeakable, there was borne to her a solemn and almost sinister joy, the first ever givou to that sterile soul.

When the doctor came in the evening, he thought he had never seen so patient and noble a face ; there was something in it that weat to his heart.

'Be comforted, 1 lie said; 'let us rely upon the youth and strong physique of your husband.'

The incoherent mutterings of his patient attracted the doctor's attention. Sharp and strong sentences fell upon Ms ear, that excited his professional curiosity. When ho heard from Miss Turpin of the enthusiasm and zeal of the young student, as inuuh as she dare tell liim of his de feated aspiratios and hopes, the good doctor's eyes kindled with sympathy. ' Let him only get well,' he said, ' and wo will sweep these lions out of his path.' Miss Turpin smiled through her tears. * He will get well, thanks to you,' she said.

' And to you,' he added, looking around the room with approbation It had been suddenly metamorphosed into the mode of a chamber for the sick. The open fire with its cheering blaze and ventlating, draught; the subdued light; the white and warm drapery of the bed : her own little coach near by; pretty shadowy pictures upon the walls tinted by her own hands—an eloquent silence reigning over all. -

'It is lucky for yonder lad.' thought the doctor, ' that in all this big, wretched barrack the one little snuggery is his own, And so the days went by, each one freighted with hope aud fear. There camo one at last upon which rested the life or death of the young student.

' Some time this evening., said the doctor to Miss Turpin' 'he will regain consciousness ; be sure that you do not leave his bedside. , I-would not for the world at that critical moment, that a strange face should meet his own.'

Miss Turpin turned pale, and stretched out her hands with a gesture of entreaty. Then she slipped from her chair to her knees, and from thence to the floor.

Now had come the supreme moment of torture. Wow her labor, her joy, her life, were done.

A strange face ! What face could be stranger than her own ? 'Tut, child!' said theAdoctor ;' I thought you had more' courage. There is every hope for him. Can't you bear joy as you have sorrow? I only want that he shall ;first see the face of his wife, the dearest to him the world.'

He put down his hands to her, but still she hid her face from his. Her whole frame trembled. She wished at

that moment, so happy seemed her fifo 1 that she could die there and then. ' | ' Oh, doctor,' said she, lifting atlasfcu 1 eyes to his,' how can I tell you? howjl I make you know ? I am not his wife [• The doctor drewlback coldly; butau frank, earnest eyes caught his own, & could not resist the innocent pleading there. She might be a poor Hagdjj^ even, but he had. never seen so childiljk and yet womanly a creature. 1 We must think of nothing now kf our patient/ he said, gently; yourja c8 j. at least familiar and dear to him.'

■' Alas ! no,' she said ; 'it is Etransa almost unknown. It is far better IsltonJi go away.' Then she told the doctor all. J^j she went on to confess how she had dat e d shelter this poor neighbor of hers, wift. out a roof to cover him, without Inonev without, friends, sick unto death, nekta and alone—how she had dared at any rut to shelter him and to nurse him back to life—the good surgeon's eyes blinked under his shaggy brows. He put heavy hand in benediction upon bowed head.

1 Thou good little Samaritan !' he 'said I And two, big, hollow, handsome eyes upon the white bed in the corner slso filled with tears. He was so weak/tiis poor young Biake, that he could scarcely help sobbing outright at so touching a } story.

'Why—why/ he faltered to himself 'in little Miss Turpin's room! 0 thon mercful Heaven ! in little Miss Turpin's bed ! With the cheery little fire in tie great to foil yonder biting blast, with all the little knick-knacks and furbelows about—the little pictures on the wall, her birdcage at the window, and a neat little medicinestand, with lots of . spoons in various doses, each spoon with little Miss Turpin's name; and to her, then, under Heaven, I owe my life! Ah, may Grod do so to me, and more also, if I desert little Miss Turpin, or let little Miss ftup desert me !' ; .

'And now,' said the sweet, sad voice of little Miss Turpin, • take me to his bed side. lam foolishly weak ; I can scarcely see. Let me look upon him just once more before I go. You will takecareof him now, doctor, won't you P But let me say good-by,' The doctor, undecided, scarcely know« ing what to say, half carried her to tie bed. • G-ood-by, good-by,' she said, bending over him. her warm tears falling on hu pale, sunken face, her hot, trembling hands clasping themselves together, j;

But suddenly two other hot, trembling hands seize her's iv a feeble grasp—the hollow, sunken eyes of the student,fasten themselves upon Miss Turpin's face mill a hungry tenderness.

' Oh, no,' he said, ' you cannot go from here, not for the world ; you see the good doctor has said it "will not do to hare ] a strange face at my bed-side. Yonre is; the dearest to me in the world. I love you, Miss Turpin. It is, perhaps, a said fate I offer you ; but, oh ! be still more generous—be my wife. I have, dear little Miss Turpin—oh ! T have loved youlongL

He didn't say how long; he was to weak to talk. He didn't tell her.that perhaps his love dated only a littie halt' hour back, when ho listened to that wondrously touching little story of hers." What mattered it ? Cannot love be v strong as life and deep as the sea, howsoever and when it is born ? GoodDr Havorshaw took care of their future. It began in a neat, tsvo-story brick, with a big brass sign upon the door, to which; the worthy surgeon drew attention enough to set the pot to boiling. And now in her stylish brougham, with liveried lackey at her command, with her rustling silks and dainty laces, with "her wildest fancies more than realized, who could ..find fault with the fate of little Mis 3 Turpin ?

A notorious Yankee editor boasts that every number of his paper ' tells.' Unquestionably it does, but not the truth.

The sun is a very bright body j but the gentle aioon, when she steps in between him and the earth, takes the shine out of him.

A scientific paper Bays:—'Keep mirrors away from the sun.'—' And. from the daiigh*; ters also> if you can,' adds a family pauer.^ Many a man could live a good life with half the pains he takes to hide a bad one. We grow older everyday, and should re member that our habits grow older with m.' When a young man has a decided bentfor any pursuit, he is apt to keep straight at it. 'Well but, you see, ma, all flesh isn't grass, because buffalo meat is often Indian meal. - A little girl's definition of ice—water that stayed out in the cold and went to sleep. As a man drinks, he generally grows reck less : in his case, the more drams the fewer

scruples. Soldiers must be a jolly set of fellows« sea, for they are generally carried away: W transports. : ■ X < I shall be indebted to you for life,'as the man said to his creditors when he ran away. Three things that never agree—two c&to over one mouse, two wives in one house, aua two lovers after one youtjg lady. . It is said that Mount Vesuvius never sleep* > and ye* it is always yawning. A collector of curio3itiea wants to get t"9 original brush with which the signs of th 9, times were painted. A Milwaukie man stated that he really needed some active, regular exercise. '« friend suggested that he mix his own gun* slings 1 .

Printed and published by the proprietor, HK"^ Brett, of Parnell, at bis General Steam Pn?™? Office, Wyndbam-street, in tne Oity of ,Au#""H New Zealand. Satwrflay, Augui 5, 1876

iiSvemug 5, 1870