immediate answer to her prayer for help, that thought had come into her mind. By a sudden inspiration, knowing as she did the superstition of the Irish poor, and knowing how mysterious and ghostly she must appear in that losely room at dead of night, she had acted—for the very last time in her life—the part of Banshee ; and strength had been mercifully given her to bear a mental strain for three long hours, which might well have driven her mad. Soon after Mrs Eitzgerald's recovery, the band of Whiteboys, which had threat ened Kilbally—— House, was captured! by two and threes, having dispersed about the country. It appeared that Con Burke, inspired by revenge, had induced them to attack his late landlord's house, informing them that there were plate and jewels of great value in the house (an invention of his own) and rousing their indignation against Mr. Fitzgerald as a 'tyrant' Landlord and, a 'heritic.' As those Whithboys were all from a different part of Ireland, they believed him, their only aim indeed, being plunder and des truction. All the men acknowledged the terror they had felt at sight of the ghost! Most of the prisoners wore transported. Only a few of the greatest criminals amongst them suffered death, but from that time, tho district remained, quiet and Mr. Fitzgerald enjoyed many happy years in peace with the noble woman whose courage had saved to him his wife his children, and his home.

Strong-Minded Women.

BY DOEA ISA,

Chapter. 11,

THE AMERICAN TYfE.

Theee aro, howover, different degrees of thocomodity. Tho first associated in my memory is the American Typo, who says to her husband ovor night 'Now, I've got that olectioning to do to-morrow, so jest you don't let that child disturb mo, mind, and I'd like my breakfast early.' In the morning she observes —' Jonathan, you jest take care of that child, it looks meas ley; and that bit of washing wants doing; then you can darn them stockings: and, Jonathan, I shall bo lato—and mind you get me something nice when I come horn o for that rating will make me hungry. And Jonathan, cut one up some torbaccor.'

I may here remark that your strong minded woman, without ballast, is always selfish.

A BRITISH TYPE

JN*ow for another typo of the Britisher. Take a man of deceut family who has married a girl out of a poor home. Her first step is vulgar, intolerable assumption. She insolently jerks off her old acquain tances, and in uor endeavourt o form new, disgusts them with her want of decency. She corrects her husband before strangers ridiculing any little peculiarities he may have, and openly avows her contempt for his authority or counsel; she worries his life out for money for her personal adorn msntgrumblesincessantlywhenanyportion of his scanty wardrobe requires replenish ing and takes the best of everything for her own ospecial uso, and a handsome proscnt smooths over all his delinquencies. I need not say she is the qnintcssanco of meanness j All selfish persona aro mean. Men a3 a general rule, hate contention, and many estimable men submit to innumerable indignities in their own homes for tho sako" of peace and quietness. On the other hand there aro men having no mind of their own, and lacking tho remotest particle of energy. If these men wore not taken in hand by some strong-minded woman, where in tho world would they drift to? And it is astonishing with what childlike admiration they sometimes look up to their better halves; and they have a right to do so. There aro so many varie ties, and no doubt various causes, for the SO called strong mind in women . Many girls, with, only a father's salary to depend on, every penny of which is consumed annually, are brought up to rely almost exclusively on marriage. The father fumes, and invites young men to his house in his absence, and the mother, if there be one, tell 3 the girls to make themselves attractive, or they will never get a husband. Fathers and mothers openly show that they think their daughters a burthen, and so they are ; but whose fault is it ? So, self-respect is put on one side; the girl grabs at the first otter, thankful for a home of her own, and after she has got it, feels how infinitely happier she would have been in a single state earning her own living. Her husband and she have not one sentiment in common. In fact she has married a man. that, try her utmost, she cannot respect. The probali ties are that she developes into a strong minded woman, and sets him at defiance, or into a grizzle, filling every ear with his short-comings, unable to see tho wisdom of making the best of a bad bargain, and forgotting that their interests are one. Unless the husband is a cruel monster, a woman loses, rather than gains respect by vilifying him, and a vigorous mind, without good common sense, is an unmis takeable misfortune. Fathers and mothers, .however hard it may be to say it, are responsible for a great portion of tho misery of their children's after life. They bring them up in an atmosphere of false siess aad hyprocisy from their cradles. It is difficult to make a fool understand, that it is not the clothes worn, nor tho house that shelters, but the cleanness of fcho character that sends forth the sweet savor, tending to that happiness for which lie is in such, blind persuit. When parents

teach their children honesty industry, and self-respect, mon will cease to regard women in the light they now do. While men are allowed, to boast that they have only to hold up their finger for girls to flock round them by dozens, what can be expected from the children of such woman? Happy for themif their minds take a strong bias. !

Too Many Arrows in the Quiver.

In Aubrey's 'Natural History of Wilt shire,' published somewhat more than two centuries ago, is a statement to tho effect that Edith Bonham, at Wishford Magna, in that county, had seven children at a birth 'In this parish,' Aubrey says, ' there is a confident tradition that those children were all baptized at tho font in this church, and that they were brought thither in a kind of chardger, which was dedicated to the church and hung on two nailes, which are to be seen there yet, near the belfree on the south side. Some old women are living that doe remember the ciiardger. This tradition is entered in the register book there, from whence I have taken this narrative.' Here we find, then, that the testiomy from Aubrey himself was limited to seeing an entry in the parish register and two nails in the church wall; tho old women could speak to having seen a chardger, charger, or dish : but, beyond this, information is lacking. Another story of septulets runs as follows : In the '•Kleyne Chronycke,' published at Amsterdam in 1655, wo are told that an engineer was told by an alewife that she was told by a Burgomaster that he had been in a house by the Zayder Zee, and saw seven children sitting by the fire, each with a porringer in his (or her) hand, and eating rice-milk with a spoon. Tho Bur gomaster said to tho woman of the house, ' Mother, you are very kind to your neighbors, since they leave their children to your care.' ' No, they are all my child ren, which I had at one birth; and if you will wait a moment I will show you more that will surpriso you.' She went and fetched seven older children, similarly born on one day! How far the truth had been magnified in successive stages by tho mother, plus the Burgomaster, plus the alewifo, plus the engineer, plus the chronicler, we are loft to imagine as we may. Whether septupleta or saven-fold triplets are tho more wonderful, 'twould not be easy to decide : but au old volume of the ' Memoiros do l'Acadomie Francaise' solemnly tells us that a baker's wife at Paris had triplet children every year for seven years in succession. Happy baker ! Bat this, according to a Brussels journal, was actually exceeded in 1851, when a tradesman's wife had, for tho eighth time, three children at a birth—twenty-four of them in eight births in nine years ; ' a desperate ease for the husband,' as the journalist sympathetically remarked, ' who desired to transmit his family r-arno to 1113 offspring, for they were all girls.'—' All Tiie Year Hound.'

The Second Husband.

Rap ! rap ! Come in,' said Maurice Carroll, lan guidly, from the depths of an easy chair in which ho was calmly reading.

■ I beg your pardon,' said Paul Cartor, looking: in; 'did you say you wore engaged?'

1 What, Paul!' exclaimed Maurice, rap turously, and seizing Paul by tho hand ; 'is it really you or your ghost ? I haven't sceu you for a year. Sit down. What hava you been doing with yourself ? I hear you have been and got married ?' ' I have,' said Paul, sighing.

' Hullo!' snid Maurice, opening his eyes. 'Married life unhappy? Now I come to notice it, you do look rather pale. Jealous of any one ?'

• Nonsense !' said Paul, impatiently ; ' nothing of the kind. My wife is the sweetest little woman you ever sot your eyes on, and never gives mo tho slightest cause for jealousy.' ' Violent temper ?' hinted Carroll. ' Not at all,' said Paul, smiling. ' You don't know her ; she is never angry.'

' Thea what is the matter ?' demanded Maurice, ' for something is. Don't tell rao. I know. Wheu a fellow conies in and sighs when he is asked about his wife, something's up. Come, what is it? Uii' bosom!'

' Well, you know, said Carter, hesitat ingly, 'my wife, before I married her, was a widow, and her name was? Johnson.'

'Exactly. Itomantic name. Proceed.' ' Well, Johnson was a pretty good sort of a fellow, I believe,' continued Paul, ' though rather humdrum. 1 don't believe Mary loved him so devotedly while he lived, but now she idolizes him, and reverences his memory, and all that sort of thing.'

' Ah! I see,' said Maurice, nodding sagely. ' She's always throwing his great worth at you head.'

' Y-o-s,' said Paul, slowly, ' that's about it. Continually holding him up as an example, for me to copy from. Not in an angry manner, mind, but in a mildly re proachful tone that is immensely aggra vating. I can't stand it any longer.' 'Yes; I suppose it does become monotonous after a while,' said Maurice, cornmisseratingly. ' Eat was the late lamented Johnson such a model of pro priety as sho represents.' ' It seems so,' said Paul, dismally, * and that's the worst of it. As far as 1 can find out lie never did atiything wrong from the day of his birth to the day of his death. If I could only find out any offense he had committed, I might liusii her up, but I

can't. Ho never even thought anything wicked.'

' H'm!' said Maurice thoughtfully. ' Well I pity you, and if I can relieve you I will. Take a cigar and forget Jolinson if you can.'

' I can't groaned Paul, dispairingly. * # # # # #

* Paul,' said Mrs. Carter, mildly, * have you brought that silk floss I asked for ?' ' I—lforgotit, Mary,' said Paul, meekly. '.How stupid.'

1 Never mind,' said Mrs. Carter ' John son never forgot anything I asked him.' Mrs. Carter signed, and there was a short pause.

' Paul,' sho said, presently. ' Well ?'

'Do you think you can go to tho station to meot Mrs. Allway when she comes on her visit to me ?'

'lam afraid not,' said Paul quietly. My business will not admit of it. I'm really very sorry—• ' 1 Very well,' said Mr3. Carter, resigned ly* ' I'll go myself. Bat Johnson never allowed his business to interfere with any project for obliging me.' ' We can't all be like Johnson,' said Paul a little tartly. 'Very true,' said Mrs. Carter quietly. 'The late Mr. Johnson was a good man.' ' Do you supposehe ever did any wrongP' asked Paul cynically. ' I don't think he ever did/ said Mrs. Carter . ' I'm firmly convinced—' Here she was interrupted by a ring at tho boll.

A middle-aged man was shown into the room, inquiring for Paul. ' Mr. Carter I believe,' he said, inquir ingly-

And as he spoke, ho produced from his coat-pocket a bulky note-book. ' I am,' said Paul, surprised at the man's manner. 'Do you wish to see me for anything important ?' ' Well,' said the stranger, coolly, ' that's according to what light you view it in. ' You see,' he went on selecting several slips of paper from his book, 'I have here several little bills against the late Mr. Johnson, your wife's former husband.' Against Mr. Johnson!" exclaimed Mrs. Carter, incroduously. " You must be mis taken ; Mr. Johnson left no bills unpaid at his death.'

' P'raps you think so,' said the man mysteriously, ' but you're wrong. Mr. Johnson was an uncommon sly fox, and I reckon you didn't know all of his affairs.'

'What do you mean?' asked Mrs. Car ter, looking as if she was about to burst into tears.

' This bill,' said tho man slowly, disre garding the interruption, ' is for cigars, brandy, ect., furnished to .the deceased.' 1 Mr. Johnson never smoked or drpnk,' said the relict of thelatelamented, firmly. < Thirty dollars,' continued the relent less stranger. ' This is for carriage hire for self and frienda during the two months prior to his decease. Twenty two dollars : this is for a dinner given by Mr. Johnson to a party of his friends.' Mrs. Carter looked aghast during this revelation, while Paul stared helplessly at the man as he continued to draw forth bill after bill.

' Good gracious !' ho exclaimed, as the thirteenth bill was laid on the table before him, ' you surely don't expect me to pay for all this ?,

' Well, I rather thought,' said the man quietly, ' that you would prefer to pay these bills and avoid scandal.'

' But I won't,' said Paul excitedly. 'I'm not going to ruin myself to pay the debts of a miserablo, hypocritical spend-thrift.'

' Just as you plcaso,' said the man, coolly gathering up the bills and replacing them in his book. ' We'll see about that. I dare say there's plenty more coming— bills I mean. Johnson was a gay man I can tell you.'

1 A gay man !' repeated Mrs. Carter, wondoringly.

' Wfill, well, I am sorry to press these little things, but whnn one dances they must pay the piper, you know.'

' Mary,' said Paul, when tho man had gone, ' what do yoa. think of that paragon of yours now ?'

Mary's answer was a torrent of tears. Her idol had been shattered to atoms, and she felt like a ship adrift.

' And I suppose I'll have to pay these bills,' said Paul gloomily, 'even if we have to live on broad and water for a year.'

' What's the matter now, Paul?' asked Carroll, anxiously, as his friend strolled into the room with a very downcast visage. In reply Paul told him about Johnson's perfidy. ». ' How does Mrs. Carter take it?' asked Maurice, grinning 1 Very hard,'cried Paul gloomily. 'I don't,thipk I'll hear much in the praise of the latel .husband thereafter.' ' I shouldn't think so,' said Maurice, laughing. ' It's a great relief,' said Paul, ' but at a heavy cost.' ' Oh, if that's "all that troubles you,' said Maurice, smilliftg. ' I can relieve you of your anxiety. Behold the bills !' and he thrust a bundie of papers into his hand. 1 Why, how did you become possessed of them?' asked Paul wori\deringly. 1 Well, the fact is,' admitted Maurice, ' I wrote them.' • You ?' \ ( Yes,3l. 1° sent the man—oii-e of my friends—with them. The fact is, s.made up that plan. The bills are false -and Johnson, I don't believe, owes any vi™ a shilling.'

'Maurice Carroll,' said Paul, sternly, 1 ain't you ashamed of yourself ? You ought to bo. However, I forgivo you. I won't have to pay these bills.' . 'Don't tell your wife,' said Maurice pleadingly,' for ray sake and your own. Let her believe that you compromised the matter. Come in a month and report proceedings.' A month passed, and Paul met his friend again. ' Well,' said Morris,' I never saw you look better.' 'Thanks to your stratagem, replied Paul. ' You not only cured my wife of quoting her first husband, but have made her feel greater respoct and consideration for her second husband.'

Scudder's and Pott's Dog.

A CASE OF HEAD OE TAIL,

A man came into the office of Judge X, the well-known lawyer, the other day, and wben the Judge had time to listen to him he" said: 'Judge, my namy is Scudder ; I called to see you about a dog case that kinder bewilders me, and I thought may be you might throw some light on her —might just give me the law points so's I'd know whether it was worth while suing or not. You see, me and a man named Potfcs went into partnership on a dog. We bought him. He was a setter, and mo and Pott's went shares on him so's to take him out a hunting. It was never definitely settled which half of him I owned and which half belonged to Potts, but somehow I kinder formed an idea in my own mind that the hind end was Scudder's and the front end Pott.' Con sequence was that when the dog barked I, always said, 'There goes Pott's' half exercising itself,' and when the dog's tail wagged I always considered that my end was being agitated. And of course, when one of my hind legs scratched one of Potts' ears or one of his shoulders, I was perfectly satisfied—first, because that sort of thing was good for the whole dog ; and, second because the thing would got about even when Potts' head would reach around and bite a flea off my hind legs or snap at a fly. Things went along smooth enough for a while, until one day that dog began to get into the habit of running around after his tail. He was the fulish est dog about that I ever see. Used to chase his tail round and round until he'd get so giddy he couldn't bark. And I was skeered lest it might hurt the dog's health, and as Potts didn't seem to be willing to keep his end from circulating in pursuit of my end I made up my mind to chop tho dog's tail off, so's to make him reform and behave. So last Saturday ,1 caused the dog to back up agin a log, and then I sudden ly dropped an axe on his tail, pretty close up, and the next minute he was booming aronnd that yard, yowling like a boat-load of wild cats. Jusfc then Potts came up and he let on to be mad because I'd cut off that tail. One word brought on another, and pretty soon Potts sicked that dog on me—my own half, too, mind you—and the dog bit me in the leg, bit a piece out. See that; look at that leg! About half a pound gone ;et up by that dog. Now what I want to see you about, Judge, is this : Can't I recover damages for assult and battery from Potts ? What I chopped off belonged to me, recollect I owned an undivided half of that setter pup, from the tip of his tail clear up to his third rib, and I had a right to cut away as much of it as I'd a mind to; while Potts, beiug sole owner of the dog's head, is responsible when he bites anybody.' ' I don'tjknow', replied the Judge, mus ingly. ' There haven't been any decisions on cases exactly like this. But w hat does Mr- Potts say upon the subject!?"

' Why, Pott's view is that I divided the dog the wrong way. When he wants to map out his half he draws a line from the middle of the nose, right along the spine, and clear to the end of the tail. That gives me one hind leg and one fore leg, and makes him joint proprietor in the tail. And he says that if I wanted to cut off my half of the tail I might have done it, and he wouldn't've cared ; but what made him mad was that I wasted his property without consulting him. But that theory seems to me a little strained, and if it's legal, why I'm going to close out my half of that dog at a sacrifice sooner than hold any interest in him on those principles. Now, what do you think about it ?"

' Well,' said the Judge, " I can hardly decide so important a question off-hand; but at the first glance my opinion is that you own the whole dog, and that Potts also owns the "vhole dog, So when he bites you a suit won't against Potts, and the only thing you can do to obtain justice is to make the dog bite Potts also. As for the tail, when it is separated from the dog it is no longer the dog's tail, and it is not worth fighting about."

' Can't sue Potts, you say ?' 'I think not.' • I can't get damages for the meat that's been bit out of me ?' ' I hardly think you can.' ' Well, well, and yet they talk about American civilization, and temples of jus tice, and such things ! All right. Let it go. I kin stand it ; but don't anybody over undertake to tell me that the law pro tects human beings in their rights. Good morning, Judge.' • Wait a moment, Mr. Scudder,' said the Judge; " you've forgotten my fee.'

' F f fee ! Why, you don't charge any thing when I dou't sue, do you ?' ' Certainly, for my advice. My fee is $10/

• ' Ten dollarsTT^r"^--^ i that'sjustwhatl^r^lA dog. X haven't g o usfor^fii

Provide The Body.

Toby Glassook, an m] went out to New York??'^ to Mr. Wallack tfi habits quite too conK M? him against and exces 1 w^W unhappily^too lirf£ T° o ?Q 6clatwithMr.Wallackii2K a very distingmshedcoi' H and in order to keep him &% competent totheex&fijg^ talents of shining i ngOci T h«%(, to occpuy the forenoon by I». U principal pares of the cihr s Tre | sights. After much drivi* Sf% many sights, Toby hooZ g a drink. Mr. Wallockuoinf their drive was nearly O vV d <*t| better wait. To this Tob'/" H consented. They drove on VjS became uncontrollable, andii' ys^ very low and distinct, and to remonstrances insisted he w iT^t! drink. 'But,' said Mr > 'wait a very little, and Ve ' 4 .» homo. You can't get anJ? 111( 'Halloa! you fellow,pull^S H to the coachman. ThehoK^ up, and the carriage stopp^ undertaker's shop. The •'sH dicated- "Funerals prefoSo^ everything provided,' T O LT and walked in through th e shop ff rows of coftiDS on either side L ' himself in the little, room at'tLk !* of the shop. Tbeundertaffi? found Toby at the-taWe, hj g 2 5« at his brow, and in a state of I \ grief. To attract his attention IS man gave a mild cough or two. S slowly recognising his pre^ very mournfully, 'Are y ou t L'J taker?' 'Yes, sir.' '4;,g{ 1 Yes, yes, you are the. undertaki relapsed into silent sorrow.' 'fi'1'1! the undertaker, 'these bereavement very sad ; but in our business« much that is very painful. It »;i necessary for you to restrain youf ings that we may receive your jJ! tions. Was the party a gentlemJ or a lady?' 'A lady, sir. OH, i\ Give me some wine; some brandy hysterically shriaked Toby. Iho 1 taker hastened to place brandy andm before the agonised Toby,' who imm ately helped himself largely of tiwL and more sparingly of the latter-, draining the goblet, remarked, «i' m L now.' After a pause the unfa, ventured to ask, ' Was the pith j married or unmarried?- because H one case we use black plumes and j| other white plums.' 'Mix 'em,'g> Toby, and appropriatelymked U some more brandy and water. Tti canter was now nearly out, andthosat taker, from Toby's excessive grief, hii as yet had nothing very definite il instructions, suggested that he k like to be informed where he shoii the body. 'The body, sir!' sails

in mush surprise, but emptjinjS glass, ' the body, sir! I undersWf to say you provided everything, Pro the body!' Exit.—BelfastNewslii

"Rents have risen," was thuja remark of the astute small boy « nail caught in the previously small tat his coat tail aud rippod the garment $ his neck. Subsequently, after "anintpij with hia parents, he moaned to himiil the woodshed that " leather hadfalk'j Time you was travel'n.—SaystheFnl Kentucky, Patriot: Not long ago i toper of this country, who is in theSj getting intoxicated and lying.'dqjrajl wayside to sleep off the effects of hiifj was found by a party of miscMeTOit who placed a ' jaok-o'-laritern,' madeH big pumpkin, scraped very thin, 'andfiffll with a hideous physiognomy, on ttolii shore distance from him. He awtW while, aud mistaking the jacWtate! the 'Quean af Night,' gave voice k] following : ' Roll (hie) op Billery moon,|) 'er the mariner onish (hio) way-lootW feller, moon's mosh (hie) down—feif was travel'n.'

Frightened him off.—He was«? knees to her. His face wasfluslMW gleamed passionately into hers, h W rapidly : • Nothing shall separate w^ more my darling. For your Baled I» beard the lion in his den I I willfa«*j on the battle-field ! I will skim*" 1 will endure all hardship,[all soffw misery !" He paused and looked^ her with his whole soul quivsriDg v eyes. " Will you do all this for the* my love?1 said she, gazing earnestly*, burning eyes, ' Ye&, yes; a thofflw^ yes?' 'And if we wed,' contul^ flushing slightly, 'will you ge'«Ps build the fire V With a shriek of W fled. .{s£& A gay matron in Indiana recenW* and married her daughter's intend* at the girl waxed wroth, and, by*? plete revenge, stuffed a dozen bonP' crackers under the bridal couch.^

Printed and published by the propr*^ Brett, of Pamell, at his Genera HP" i Office, Wyndhain-street, in the OitJ «»i New Zealand. Saturday, May 27, ISJi ij

Evening Star Supplement, May 37, 1876