"EVENING STAR" SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT OF ENTERTAINING READING.

No. 27.]

AUCKLAND, SATURDAY, MAY 20, :876.

[Price: ONE PENNY

Poetry.

TEARS.

BY THE LA TS ROBERT I/EIGHTOIT,

Whence are thoso tears, that come with sudden start, In spite of neive that struggles to re.tra'n? From overflswing cisterns of the heart? Or walls within the brain ? That heart-beat-, have to do'with them, T know— Quick beats of joy, slow boats of weary dole: And whether out of heart or brain thoy slow, Close km are they with soul. Fine mist, of thought, condensed to dewy speech- Pearls of emotion from their shells let free- Wavelets that come with tre.sure to tho beach

Of life's mysterious sea; leaked affections from their Eden driven, To seek another through this world's unrest— Embodied spirits from tho little heaven Each keeps in his own breast. A kin to all that we most sacred hold— Twin-born with thought,affection, joy, andcave— Iwin-born—but how, we never may unfold, Kor heaven itself declare. They are not what'thoy seom; if we despise Tha weak creations of our childish years, A higher wisdom comes to reeogn'.e The sacrodness of tears.

A CHRONICLE.

Once—but no matter when— There lived—no matter where— A man, who?© name—but then I need not that declare. He—wall, ho had b*en borni And so ha w.s alive; His age—l details scorn- Was somethingty and five. He lived—how many years I truly csn't decide; Bnt this one fact appears, Ho lived—until he died. ' He died,' I have avarred, , But cannot prove 'twas so. But that he was interred, At any rate, I know.

I fancy he'd a son. I hear he had a wife ; Perhaps he'd more than one, I know not on my life I Bnt whether he was rich Or whethor he was poor. Or neither—both-or which, I cannot say, I'm sure. I can't recall his name. Or what he uted to do ; But then—well, such is fame I 'Twi'l so serve me and you.

And this is why I thus, About this unknown man Would f»in create a fass, To rescue, if I can, From dark oblivion's blow, Somo record of his lot; Bat, ah, I do not know Who, where, when, why, or what! MORAL. In this brief pedigree A moral we should find- But what it ought to be Hus quite escaped my mind !

I I WANDEBEI

BY MILNSS (LORD HOUGHTON.)

I wandered by the brook .Ide, I wandered by the mill, I could not hear the brook flow, The noisy brook was still ; There was no burr or grasshoppers, Nor chirp of any bird — But the beating of my own heart W...S all the sound I heard. I sat beneath the elm tree, I watched lhs Ions;, leng shade, /nd. as It grew still longer, I did not feel afraid; For I listened for a foot-fall, I listened for a word- But the beating of my own heart Was all the sound I heard.

» by the; brookside.

He cms n"t—no, he c _me not— Thtn i ,'lt rame on alone ; The linlestars eat one by one, Kach.on his ttolden throne; The evening air passed by my cheek., The leaves above were stirred, Bnt the betting of my own heart Was all the sound I heard. Fast, silent tear, were flowing, When something stood behind— A hand was on my shoulder, I knew its touch was kind; It drew mo nearer, nearer— We did not speak one word, For the beating of our hearts Was all the sound we heard.

VINO SANTO.

Once I read a strange, sweet story, Of a sacred snowy wine, Made by peasant", on L»ke Garda. Brewed beneath the cross' sign ; Vino Santo called forever, Sealed with seal of thtncrs divine- Vino Santo, Holy Wine! On the first days of October, Only in the shining sun— Only In the dew of morning, Clusters lifted one by one : Thus begins the solemn vintage, Vintage frith the cross for sign- Vino Santo, Holy Wine. Pales the autumn, falls the winter. Lie the grapes untouched and still; No m-n hastes and no man hinders While their sabtle juices fill. Till the Racmd day of Christmas, Dar of days, of joy divine. Then is brewed the Holy Wine. Pait the winter, past the spring time, Into summer far and late ; Fo^ the joy of Vino Santo They who long must long and Walt; Only glowing heat can ripen - O'owing heat and cross' sign, Vino Santo, Holy Wine! Dear, to-day, the strange, Rweet story, Sudden seometh thine and mine ; Thine and mine and all true lovers, Sealed by seal and signed by sign ; Silence, patience, from Love's Vintage Drink at last, in joy divine Vino Santo, Holy Wme I '

THE WAVE OF LIFE.

' Whither, thou turbid wave ? Whither, with so much haste, As if a thief wert thou ?' 'I am the wave of life. Stained with my margin's dust, From the struggle and the strife Of the narrow scream I fly To the sea's immensity. To wash from me tha slime f "V the muddy banks of time.' I —chrisiophbr ATJausi tibdqb,

One Night.

It is a horrible ; story that I am about to narrate —so horrible that is has haunted me ever since I heard it.

I spent last Summer at the seaside—it was not in the least a fashionable watering place, but so quiet that the things that would have been of little or no interest elsewhere, there became wildly exciting. Among the new arrivals one day, there came a party that interested me to an ex traordinary degree—a lady with her daughter and maid.

The daughter, Miss Linsee. Jennie Linsee was oae of those persons whom you feel sure has a history. Tall, fair hair, with dark eyes and a sensitive mouth. She was extremely handsome; but her face was one of the saddest I'erer saw in my life. I thought her face sad before I knew her ; but afterward, in the pauses of conversation, I have seen that expression deepen, or strengthen rather, into one of perfect misery. Once in particular I remember nolice ing this; we were speaking of hands, and I admired hers, saying that they looked so strong and yet were so delicately shaped. I wondered at the time what there could have been in this simple remark to distress and annoy her. But since I have heard her story, I understand not only this, but many other things that seemed very strange to me.

Three years ago Miss Linsee was visit ing a friend, a young girl of about her own age, at her home on the Hudson.

It was a large, rambling, country house, with an unusual number of sleeping rooms, and Jennie, on her arrival, was the only gu?st, so that on each side of her the rooms were unoccupied. The evening she arrived, her friend in sisted on her going to bed early, saying that she must be very weary, but Jennie insisted that she was not tired, and absolutely refused to go to bed. At last a regular romp ensued, and Jennie's friend locked her guest into her room, shouted good night through the keyhole and ran laughing down the long hall.

Jennie smiled as she listened to the footsteps growing fainter and yet fainter, and then, turning to the long oval mirror, proceeded to take down her hair. This mirror reached from the floor to the ceil ing, and hung directly opposite the bed, and was partly draped with muslin. As Jennie brushed her hair and indif ferently looked at herself, she fancied that she saw a movement amid the shadows about the bed. She looked again; the bedstead was low and broad, the shadows deep; but Jennie felt sure that she was not mistaken, but that a man lay extended at full length on the floor.

Por a moment she was breathless with terror ; her first impulse then, womanlike, was to scream ; but Jennie was no coward, and after a minute or so of strong self control, was rather amused at such an adventure.

'I will leave the room,' she said to herself, as if she had forgotten something ; ' and I will turn the key on the outside— good heavens !' and she stood appalled at the thought. The door was already locked! What should she do? She dared not to call for help. A thought struck her.

• Alice!' she cried, ' come back a mo ment. I forgot to tell you something.' Her voice trembled. Again and again she called. All was silent. She listened for an answer. Was it imagination, or did she hear a faint muttered oath from under the bed ?

At last she decided to go to her bed quietly, leaving her watch, portmonnaie and jewelry where the man could easily get them, and she would pretend to fall asleep. First she inclined the mirror, so that lying in the bed she could see in it the reflection of everything that went over the room. Then going to the fireplace she calmly lighted each candle in the branches, saying aloud with a laugh, ' I hope I shall not see the house on fire, but I never could resist candles, and I mean to have an illumination for once.'

Then, with an ill concealed shudder, and slowly, as if going to her own execu : tion, Jennie went to bed.

Por hours it seemed to her, but we cannot tell how long it was, Jennie lay, trying to breathe safely, yet regularly straining her ears to catch the faintest sound, her eyes to see the slightest move ment under the bed.

At last, in the mirror, she saw the dark body move. She could distinguish a hand with —stay! Was that gleam a knife P • I am to be murdered then,' she thought, and with the calmness of despair she watched.

The knife had a terrible fascination for her; now it flashed in the blue light, as the man slowly emerged from the bed, crawling flat on his face,

Was there nothing she could do P Must she simply wait until the man rose to kill her?

'U I only had a rope,' she thought,

' I could make a slip-noose and throw it over his head 1'

So thinking, she machanically glanced about_ the room. Her eye caught sight of a picture hanging on the wall by a stout red cord. Quick as thought the picture was unhung, the cord iv her trembling hands. She could hear the slow cautious movements. Should she be to late ? At last tho noose was made. No need now to watch the mirror.

The man's head and shoulders were all out from under the bed. At that moment he raised himself and glanced at the mirror and saw Jennie sitting up. He saw her but one moment. He half turned, with, his legs and part of his body stiil under the low bed. J3ut in that moment the noose fell over him, and Jennie was pull ing at the scarlet rope with allher strength. The next morning, whon the servant went to call Miss Linsee she knocked again and again. Obtaining no reply, the woman went to her young mistress, telling her that her guest must bo ill. Alice was rot in the least disturbed, but with a light song on her lips danced down the corridor.

'Jennie,' she cried, knocking at her friend's door,' may I come in ?'

No reply came, but in its stead a low gurgling laugh—Jennie had such a pretty laugh. Frightened, she knew not why, Alice opened the door and went in.

The wax candles burned low in the silver scones, shedding their yellow light on the bed where Jennie sat laughing idiotically, still holding in her strong white hands the ends of tho scarlet rope. On the floor, half under the bed, lay the dead body of a man.

He must have had a murderer's face living; but, dead, who can describe it ? The eyes were starting from the head, and seemed to watch everyone's move ment.

I cannot describe the scene as it was described to me, nor would I if I could. When they pitied Jennie she burst into tears, and this alone, the doctor said, saved her reason and her life.

I have often heard of hair turning white in a single night from terror. I wonder if this be so. I think not, for if it were, Jennie Linsee's fair hair would to-day be as white as newly fallen snow.

Metempsychosis.

ALLEOED INTEECHANGE 01? IDENTITY.

A Hungarian journal copies from the ' Medical Weekly Journal' of St.Peters burg, a periodical devoted to medical and psychological science, the following strange story:

Orenburg is a town of European .Russia, situated in the Ural mountains, near the Asiatic border. About a year ago, Abra ham Chorkov, a wealthy Jewish inhabi tant of that town, was lying dangerously sick with typhoid fever. On the 22nd day of September at midnight, a crisis set in which seemed to take a fatal course; the man suffered and struggled, and his physicians called it the agonies of death. A number of Jews were called in, prayers were offered, wax candles were lit, and behold! the patient, who was thonght to beinhis last stages, commenced to breathe freely, opened his eyes, and looked with astonishment at the surrounding scene. Well, thi3 has happened before. Many in whom life was thought to be extinst rallied again and recovered their health. But the sequel has no precedent. He soon fell into a sleep which the physician declared to be a healthy one. In the morning he awoke, saw wife and children around him, who partly in anguish and partly in joy were waiting for his awake ing. His wife, overwhelmed with joy, wanted to throw herself upon his neck, but by signs he repelled her and demanded something in a language which none of them understood.

It should be mentioned here that Abraham Chorkov is a man of sallow appearance, tall and lean, looking like a genuine Eussian Jew, with long black whiskers and beard, black eyes and a long Oriental nose, and that before his sickness he understood no other languages than Hebrew and a little Eussian, being.one of those illiterate Jews found in _,_ich large numbers in that part of the world. Now the man began to speak in a lan guage unintelligible to every one around him. The physician who was summoned did not understand him. With contempt he pushed away his wife end children whenever they attempted to come near him, and the doctor gave it as his opinion that in consequence of the typhus the fel low had become insane. The despair of the family lasted for many days. His wife had, in the meantime, sent to Tamboy for his parents; but on their arrival Abraham would not recognize them, did not understand their language, and appeared to be angry that no one understood him. After a week he rose from the bed, his wife gave him his clothes as worn by him before hia sick ness, the usual habits of the Eussian Jews. He examined them closely and laughed heartily. He wanted to run out, but the people quickly shut the doors,

1 fearing he would catch cold. He re mained in the room, pacing it with medi tation. Passing a looking-glass, he be held his figure in it; he stopped before the mirror amazed, touched his curls, his big nose, his long beard, and burst out laughing, but then all of a sudden became quiet and earnest and in deep meditation. His wife and parents who had witnessed this strange behavior, looked at each other with astonishment, and it now appeared to them that the man before them was not their Abraham Charkov, but a stranger. But Abraham's forehead bore still the dark line with which he was born, so that even the physicians who had attended on the patient for nearly two months had to laugh at the idea. Abraham Chorkov looked often out of the window and seemed surprised at the country about him, and one day he made strong efforts to run away. The family now decided to call in the Government Physician and other doc tors, who, after a careful examination, pronounced him thoroughly sane. Although they did not understand the tongue in which he spoke, they recognized it as a regular language, well articulated. Think ing that he could make himself understood in writing, Abraham wrote a few lines on a piece of paper, which tho physician read, but without comprehending their meaning. The writing is in a plain, good hand, in Latin letters, but the language was un intelligible to all, and no one could make out how Abraham Chorkov came to use Latin characters.

So things went on until it was agreed to tako Abraham to St. Petersburg to the Medical University to hear the opinion of the prominent scholars. As soon as Pro fessor Orlow heard the language of Abra ham, he recognized itforthwith anEnglish. Abraham, expressd immense pleasure of being enabled to make himself understood, and, after some conversation, Professor Orlow pronounced Abraham to be a very intelligent Englishman.

'But for God's sake!' cried his wife, ' how does my hus band come to the English, and how did he forget tho Hebrew lan guage?' Professor Orlow listened with astonish ment to the story of Abraham't life, and tvould not believe that he had been a common illiterate Eussian Jew. He asked Abraham in English who ho was and whence he came, and Abraham replied in tho same language—' lam from British Columbia, in North America ; my native town is New Westminster. 1 have there a wife and one child living, and Cod only knows howl came here, or to this woman.'

It is easy to imagine the great amaze ment on all parts. The Professor de clared the parties to be frauds, or that a man abduction had taken place; He called upon the Government to have tho matter investigated ; and the family physi cian of Abraham, his neighbors and others, were officially examined, the examinations lasting for a few weeks ; but, to be brief, nothing came of the investigation, the matter remained as deep a mystery as ever, and the physicians contented them selves with declaring it to be a psychologi cal puzzle—a revelation of the human soul which could be explained. Abraham told the Professor that although his name is Abraham, it is not Abraham Chorkov, but Abraham Durham, and that ho had no other desire than to go back to his family. One morning, when his wife arose, she found his place empty —he was gone, had disappeared. The marvellous story soon reached the ears of the Eussian Emperor, who forthwith ordered dilligent search to be made after the lost one; but ah of no avail, the man could not be found, and at last it was generally believed that he had been insane, and in his insanity sought his death in the river JNeva.

In the Spring of the year 1875 Professor Orlow, of St. Petersburg, visited Philadel phia at the request of his Government to arrange the prsliminaries of the Eussian department of the Centennial Exhibition. One day, reading a newspaper, the follow ing arrested his attention :

'In New Westminster an occurrence recently took place which caused great sensation throughout the whole territory of British Columbia. On the 22d day of September, 1874, a fur dealer of said city was in a dying condition, suffering from typhoid fever, and no one, not even his physician seemed to entertain any hope as to the possibility of his recovery. Never theless the. patient rallied and fully re covered. But wonderful to relate, the patient, who was an intelligent English man, had forgotten his mother tongue and speaks a language which is understood by no one around him, but which at last is recognized by an inhabitant of the city to be a jargon of bad Jewish German. , The patieuc, before his sickness, a short, stout fellow and a blonde, is now thin and lean like a stick, refuses to recognize his wife and child, but insists that he has a wife and several children somewhere else. The man is believed to be insane. All at once a European traveller arrives, marked with a genuine Hebrew face and claims to be the husband of the wife of the fur dealer. He speaks to the woman in the game language her husband was wont tq

speak to her; he gives her and even his parents who live in said city, but who, of course, do not recognize him as their son, the most de ailed and minute description of bygone events, and insists upon being the woman'shusbandand che parent's son. The poor woman is almost in peril of her reason, from the effect of the trying ordeal. She in cessantly asks, ' Who is this fellow ? how does he come to claim to bo my husband ?' When she hears him speak and does not look at his figure, she is ready to think that he is her husband, but as soon as she looks at him, the spell is broken, for, surely, this stranger with the Jewish face cannot be her husband whom she had just nursed in his sickness. But the man con tinues to press his claim, and tells her the most delicate and secret facts, evidently known only to husband and wife.'

Professor Orlow recollected all about the occurrence last Pall, and to solve this ' psychological phenomenon.' he decided upon going to JNew Westminster. To his great surpriso he really found there tho same black Abraham whom half a year ago he had seen in St. Petersburg. He asked the blonde fur dealer in the Eussian language whence he came, and was answered, from Oramburg; and when asked for the name of his wife, he gave tho name of a Jewish woman who had called upon him with her husband, now beforo him, in St. Petersburg. When asked what bis name was, he answered, 'They call mo here Abraham Durham, but my right name is Abraham Chork©v.' Professor Orlor was struck with a strange idea. He reasoned this way: A man abduction could not havo taken place, the bodies have not been changed, ono is short, stout and blonde; the other thin, long and dark, and then _STow West minster is 2,000 German miles away from Orenburg. Metempsychosis must have taken place.

It must be remembered that on the 22d day of September at the midnight hour both were lying between life and death; the soul of each must have flown into the body of the other, and thus a complete metempsychosis has taken place ; that at the midnight hour of the 22d of Sep tember begins the shortening of the days ; that the inhabitants of the two cities are antecians; that is, if a spike were driven through the centre of our globe, entering at Orenburg, it would come out at New Westminster, and that when at Orenburg the hour is twelve o'clock at midnight, the time in New Westminster is just twelve o'clock noon.

Prominent men of science are now occupied with the most marvellous occurrence. Profssor Orlow has taken the blonde fur dealer with him to St. Petersburg, whither the women Chorkov of Orenburg will also be brought, and further developments are now expected. If it should turn out that there is no fraud or deception in the case, then the theory of the transmigration of souls would have a strong proof, and this theory will extend not only as to the metempsy chosis from dead beings into living, but also as to between living persons.

The Wicked Rascal.

When a Mauayank boy is playing ' hopscotch ' on the walk, and his mother comes to the door and asks him to split wood, he replies, that he v. ill be along in just one minute. At the end of ten minutes she opens the door and says, ' Wilyum, I want the wood !' ' I'm coming right away,' he replies, and then goes on hopping here and there on one leg. Ten minutes more fly away and she opens the door and says, ' Wilyum, if you don'n g>t the wood, you know what your father will do.'—'Just ten seconds,'he calls back, and enters upon a new game. The next time she calls she says, ' It's almost noon, and I can't cook dinner without the wood.'—' I know it; I'm coming now,' he replies, and he stands on one foot, and holds a discussion with the Johnston boy as to wether the game of hop-scotch is as good a game as base-ball. He has just started to hoop when a boy whispers, ' Ah, Bill, there's your old dad!'—' Great snakes !' whispered Bill; and he goes over the fence like a flash, grabs an axe, and during the next ten minutes he strikes two hundred blows per minute. He gets into the house ahead of his father,. and, as he drops the wood, says, ' Mother, the boys werejustasayin' that I had the handsomest and best mother, in the world, and I want to kiss you.'

A Poet's Provision. —Mr Prank T. Lau rence writes to the 'Times' from Dulwioh College, to draw attention to the fact that Eckermann, in his ' Conversations' reports Goethe to had said in 1527, that he wished to see three things—a canal - connecting the Gi-iilf of Mexico and the Pacific, another con necting the Rhine and Danube, 'and lastly in the third place, I should like to see the English in possession of a Suez canal. I should like to live to see these three great things, and for thetu it would be worth while to endure another fifty years.' The great poet-philosopher was then 78 years old. It is not a little strauge that one of his hopes ha 3 been realised just within the pariqd hmi. ted by him,