"EVENING STAR" SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT OF ENTERTAINING READING.

So. 25-]

AUCKLAND, SATURDAY, MAY 6, 1876.

[Pbice: ONE PENNY.

Poetry.

NATURE'S ANALOGY.

, , rO M ewth. dost thon forget AW I"I", April's violet? ™ mne winds bemoan the death D°" lh and jor, and oderons braath ? of^n these shriveled leareß that tell tfdUP 'or beauty burial? ,Uno no.no; the careful year *bL«ia bed and not a bier: f iep h bewty's trance be long and deep. 1 hilrtistUl quivers in her sleep. flet n «vealier Piaco of ilamboc bare ;■ gloved sunlight enter there. ' , co id heart, hast thou foregone &.m that o'er thy spring-time shown t SXSmm winter ol thrjroe ? JaJsd thy weeping into snow? Win that I°DB and buter froßt' lite of love been lort? .. . nO , no, no; lova wilwa attain. i hlb stiU and p»le, it long hath lain, 1 5 .hlllf was Its place of rest; *ll^m It, dearest, on thy bruit; Kit with thy voice diviue, I, piens to no touch buUhine i

A MORNING SCENE.

♦Woarlf morning's divine light, lloW ravines »re flooded with soft flakes ffi«n thJ a ™J ere the fuli daylight break*, P'^fugweat sun doth li*ht the distant wood* W 1«, been hidden in the mystic night, Th»t "•? hO iizon lite a brigat oird. brooda,

THE WAITING ROBIN.

m,n dead fe">s °er the in ' orlsp enow 510»rnstUßfi i»» ft* wintar'bteew, J/onTmn& bird flits to and fro ■. wween those clumps of older treev , /ii What! has summer's prottdeit AZ nnetort singer oometo this ? niTesrol <r>s of June's the loudest— k raotarous lay of love aad bliss 1 M deiioUte and voiceless now, rte liners in th« wood alone. , ffurabthe swami-a»h tree's faded bough, Zd pecks the sumac's faded code, imi in th» bitter night nides where ffi hsmlocks shield him f torn tofl air. T on? since his mites of summer fled, whfln first the summer leaves were Shed; w o «in l&6 «an the fleld3 gle *m wb v, 9 ; ■jSwnd his neat the rough winds blow ; vrf fflth weak heart he shrinks from flight, And stays, altaough he longs to go. fcwUriwand to. cold to sing, Ha tawles still and waits for spring! # ./tukjunter of the woodland dreary, My "maier songs, lite thine are o'er; M f jL xworn spirit i» fcso weary Mr«"' ■ -^ her wings and try to soar ; mlo/S£ wu»t I dread to fly; Too«o»»t nea* lf eavloßg now WIU aver spring-lime o >me to me ? 0 '

KIND WORDS.

How like music o'et the water. tfaw like tmoshtne on ttie se », How lilts morning's brightest day-beams Come* & kindly word to me i Wiaa my H'e-carea imke me weary. When my soul la wrecked with pain, 10l a word of fcindneaa greets mo, And my heart grows glad again. 0, this life ii lull of snnabine, fall o( sannhine every day, Indnnlesa we watch tue suadowj ' fhey fall not athwart oar way.

A idihl* world were almost heaven . Haaid we ev^ry bleasing «cc; But ffrta waiting, ever waiting, jtrfljcae Dlesblnga yet to be. Oh h wtodght would be earth's pathways, md' Aoff JiKe the world above, Itoc'nu wafida all" Wo«h ot kindness, And O nrd e e dS aU"deeda^^l KiaiiY

AUTUMN VIOLETS.

BY DOB I3A.

Autumn rich and rare ; _ .. One I vlwed upon my pillow ; Ana its fragrance round my hair, Sootued tne raging billow. Auttunn violets, rich and rare ; Ona I placed upon my bosom ; And its parfume lingering there, SanctiAed the blossom. Antumn violets, rich and rare. Come while other flowera are sleeping; liitto repay mrcare, . ■ Or hush my weeping ?

Antumn violets, fresh and blight, While the loaves around are drifting, ffiiedtng not the chilly nisht tif summers shifting. ... v Anl umn violets, fresh and bright, Ht,'ll the r«ln is gently filling ; ■While tny beauty meeia my sight, Thy incense calling. Autumn violetß, rictt and rare, All uvound my taai are blooming; Andthß unseen presence there, Staysinyroaming. ; ■ "I; i'

The Vest Pockets.

1 YOUNG man from one of the suburban districts was ia one of our tailors shoos jetting measured for a vest the other day. 1 Married or unmarried ?' queried-the aerchaat, after taking down tue number. 'Unmarried,' said • the young man, with a blush. ' . . , ~ 'Inside pockets on the left-hand side, then,' observed the tailor, as if to him self, making a memorandum to thatettect. After a moment's pause, the young man from the suburbs inquired: 'What difference does my being mar lied or unmarried make with the inside pocket of the vest?' 'Ah, my dear sir,' observe the tailor, into a bland smile, "all the difference josrible, aa you must see: Being unmar \ lied you want the pookeeon tbe leit side, Joisto.pring the young lady's picture next your heart?' ' . . 'But don't the married man also want lis wife's picture next to his heart t '< 'queried the ansious youth. . ,j 'Possibly there is an instance ot tnat iind,' said the tailor, arching f his_eye irows, 'but I never heard of it, —*l/i»"

A Whaler's Story.

' Chips,' whom I knew for months by no other name, was ship's carpenter of the whaler Gazelle of New Bedford. He was twenty-three years old, six feet high, and strong as an oak tree.

He was the favorite of the ship—and no wonder. He was tender and gentle, per haps because he. was strong; he was peaceful, because he was powerful. Aad the soft word that turneth away wrath, with the gentle hand to sooth a sufferer, is often needed in the whale fisheries. Most of the foremost hands of the G-azelle were rough Portuguese lads, from the Western Islands, on their first voyage. They were treated with coarse contempt by the few American seamen and by the officers. The only ' white man'—as the Yankee sailor loves to call himself—who was kind and patient with the rude boys was Chips; and he was never tired of showing or teaching them something of what he knew. He was one of those un selfish fellows who do not believe in keeping knowledge to themselves. He had never been to sea before; but, during the first two years of this voyage he had attended to so many things besides his own easy work, that he was looked on as one of the best and coolest whalesmen aboard. Although exempted from stand ing watch, he had insisted on doing so from the first day out. At night, if the weather was good, he would sit on the main hatch, in the centre of a ring of Por tuguese lads, and with wonderful patience teach them to make splices and knots, and to speak English. He never tired of do?ng this or any other kindly thing for them. In the daytime, if there was work for him at his trade, he still had them around him, explaining everything as he sawed or planed, just as if he wished to make them as good carpenters as he was himself.

On Sunday, when every one brought his letters and pictures on deck, Chips showed the only signs of isolation he ever gave. He was the only one on board— except myself—who had neither pictures nor word to remind him of home. When the ship touched at some port with a post office, and every one else ran for his letters, Chips remained aboard —he knew thera was none for him. In one of the boy's album's he found a picture of an old white-haired woman —the lad's mother — and every Sunday after, he asked for that album, and always gave it back when he had turned to that picture. The ship bad. been two years out when I first saw Chips. Through strange and unhappy circumstances, I was afloat on the Indian Ocean in a small boat, when this New Bedford whaler hove in sight and ran down toward me. It was a day of exquisite pain and joy when the white sailed ship came slowly, in the light breeze to save an outcast from death and worse than death. It was late in the evening when the blessed coolness of the shadow of the sails fell on my boat, Another moment and the frail shell struck the side of the whaler; and the first man to spring out in the mizzen-chains, to help me faboard, was strong-handed Chips, with tears of sympathy in his eyes. On deck the captain met me with an open hand and heart; and for eight months I sailed with the whalemen, and took part in the good md ill that befell them. Chips was brave as he was kind. When whales were chased, Chips went down in a boat; and there was no cooler head among them when the fragile thing was to be laid broadside to a monster nearly as long as the ship. Once, when the boat was stove by a sweep ot the awfal flukes in the death-flurry, one of the boys was crushed by the blow and driven senseless underwater. When Chips came to tue surface he counted heads and missed one, and down in the bloody brine he went among the sharks and fished up the sink ing body. He was a mighty swimmer, and, with only one oar to cling to, he held the senseless man out of water from noon till sunset. The events I am going to relate occurred on that voyage—a little more than five years ago. . , . The Gazelle had been cruising for three months a few hundred miles off the coast of Western Australia—and during that time had not fallen in with a single sperm whale. One raw afternoon, with a harsh breeze and a rising sea at last we heard the long, sing-song cry, from the mast head, 'He blows ! ther—ee -blo-oows |! Four times afc regular intervals of about forty seconds, the cry was repeated ; and then we knew it was a sperm* whale. It was five in the evening when the first cry was heard, and the sun went down at half-past six with scarcely five minutes of twilight. As a rule, on board American whalers, when whales are seen Jate in the evening, the boats are not sent down,: un less circumstances, such as weather, moon light, and so on, are very favorable. In most cases the course of the whales and the speed of their travel are carefully calculated, and the ship is steered during the night according to the observations,

and often finds the school in sight in the morning, when tiie boats are at once sent down.

This course was followed on the even ing in question, It was not a school we saw, but a ' lone whale,' and one of ex traordinary size. The night proposed to be a rough one, and the whale's motions were strangly irregular, as if he had lost himself in an unknown sea.

Soon after the cry from aloft we saw the whale from the deck, only a short distance from the ship, and we might have seen him long before had not his white, bushlike spout been lost in the angry whiteness that was fast spreading over the sea.

For a moment all eyes were fastened on the long body, like great a black tube, over which the waves washed. Every face was wonder-stricken at the immense, size of the whale.

Capt. Gifford had bsen examining him through a glass, which he handed in turn to each, of his officers. ' What do you say. Mr. Hussey ?'. he enquired of the first mate, who glanced at the setting sun, and answered, 'Go down, sir; we can do it.'

' Mr. Joseph ?' and the captain turned to the second mate, an old Portugese of extradordinary size, and perhaps the most famous whaleman alive. " i

'Go down, sir^if you vranfc to gefciha^ fellow; we'll never see him again.' ,'. I The two other .officers were youn^ei men, and of the same mind. There'was no time lost in further consultation.'

' Swing the boatsP shouted the old maul The lines and irons had Already been thrown in by the crew. A ' heave, .oh If and a straning sound, and in one minute the men were settled on the thwarts with the long oars out. , The. sun was low and large and red, and the whole western sea and sky were magnificent in crimson and gold and black. The picture was one of the finest I ever saw. The rising sea was jet black, except where it was bloody ; a broad road of crimson shimmered from the ship to the sun ; the long body of the whale, even blacker than the sea, was plainly seen ia the ruddy glare; and life was added to the immense scene by the four white specks—the whaleboats—closing to a point as they drew near the motionless monster.

It was not until the boats had left the ship that we realized how threatening was the weather. Every moment the seas came wilder and heavier against the vessel. Only now and again, as they were lifted on- a sea, could we catch sight of the brave little boats. The breeze grew stronger every minute, and, before the first boat nearel the whale, was whistling through the rigging in the wild way that tells of a coming gale. The captain re gretted the lowering of the boats, and soon signalled them to return. But the men were excited and refused to see the signals. Filled to the gunwale, the seas lashing over them every moment, on they went where onl7 a thing so nearly perfect as a whaleboat could keep afloat. As the Erst boat swung round to run down to windward on the whale, the red sun stood fairly on the black field of ocean. We saw the harpooner of each boat stand up as they came within hearing dis tance, arid send in his two irons. All the boats were fast before the monster seemed to feel the first blow. Then came the fight—the cruel and unnatural fight between vast power and cunning skill. The black water was churned white as the flukes struck out in rage and agony. The sun disappeared, and the gale screamed wilder in the rigging. We could no longer see the boats from the ship. The few men on board clewed up the light sails, and took a reef in the topsails; and by this time the night was dark as pitch, and the gale had whipped and howied itself into a hurricane. It was fearful to think of the four small boats out in such a Bea as was then run ning. We on the ship had to cling to the rail or the rigging ; the terrific strength of the waves swept the heavy vessel about like a cork. I saw the captain's face a moment as he passed the binnacle lamp, and it was absolutely deformed with grief and terror—not for himself, brave old sailor! but for his boys in the boats. ■« Who's at the wheel?' he shouted ; ' send a steady man to the wheel.' j 'Ay, ay, sir !' answered a deep, quick voice; 'I've got the wheel.' That was Chips, and I walked aft to be near him. Jusc then a long hail came through the darkness, and we saw'the flash of a boat's lantern ou the lee quarter. In a minute more a line was flung aboard, and we soon had one crew safe on deck. It was tue mate's boat. • Where are the others ?'was the first question. 'Fast to the whale,' was the answer and there are no lanterns on the boats." . One of the men from the boat relieved Chips at the wheel, and he went forward to rig lanterns at the fore and main tops. When this was done we stood together on the forecastle looking and listening for the boats. Suddenly he turned to me, and said i

' We're going to lose some one fco-night. While I was at the wheel it seemed as if something whispered in my ear that we were going to lose one man to-night.' I said he was growing as superstitious as old Kanaka Joe; and he answered:

11 can't help it, It did seem that I heard that whisper, and so plain was it that I nearly dropped the wheel in terror,'

Another shout from the sea cut off fur ther talk and we soon had two more boats at the davits. The absent one was Mr. Joseph's, and we knew that through thick and thin he would hold oh to the whale. It was hours before we found him, and when we did he refused to out his line from the carcase. The captain cried to him that we could not hold the whale in such a sea. But the old whaleman shout ed back, ' He's a hundred-an'-fifty- bar reler; and, if you don't take the line aboard we'll stick to him in the boat!'

Soon after, as the gale was moderating, the line was taken in, passing through a strog iron brace, screwed on to the star board rail just forward of the gangway amidships, from which it was taken back and made fast to the windless-bitts at the foot of the mainmast. It was a new line of stout manilla hemp, and its strength was put to a fearful test. A hundred fathoms astern of the ship it held the monster carcase; and, as the vessel rolled heavily to' the' sea, the strain on the line was terrific. Standing forward of it, I laid my hand on the line as the stain came arid I felt itl stretch and contract like' a rope of india rubber. Mr,! Joseph's boat had come alongside, and the captain, standing on the starboard rail, was shouting to him through a trum pet. The line from the whale, passing from astern to the brace forward, and back to the bitts amidships, made an acute angle, inside which the captain was stand ing. I saw and noted this as I passed for ward, and I noticed also, in the dark, a tall man who seemed to be leaning against the line. ' I hope he's forward of it,' I said to myself, as I went on with what I wasabout. I had not taken six steps from the spot when I knew that something strange had occurred. The ship steadied, as if the wind had ceased. I heard no sound greater than the storm; but, instead, I seemed to hear stillness, I ran amidships and grasped for the line. It "was (*one ! A rash to the rail, and all was clear. The strain had torn out the brace. The mighty pull of the whale astern had jerked the line straight, like a cord of a gigantic bow, and the captain, who had been stand ing on the rail, was struck by the flying rope and thrown senseless far into the sea. All this had been seen by the men in the boat before any one on board had realized the affair. In less than a minute the cry of' Saved!' reached us from Mr Joseph; and in shorter time than can be imagined by a landsman, the boat was hanging at the da vita, and the injured commander was being cared for in the cabin.

Hard rubbing and rum are the patent remedies on a whaler; and by dint of these the captain opened his eyes in a quarter of an hour. JbLe had been stunned, but not seriously injured, He was amazed at first seeing the mate and myself standing over him with the rum bottle. But without a word he real ized the situation.

' How is the weather ?' he asked.

'The wind has gone down,' said Mr Joseph. ' We're under foresail, jib, and reefed topsails, and running right away from the whale.'

' Gone,' answered JVIr Joseph, ruefully. ' Stanchion dragged, and the line parted, and eight thousand dollars went without an owner.'

1 Gone ?' said the old maa.

' Tell Chips to see to that broken rail,' said the captain, closing his eyes drowsily. ' Ay, ay, sir/ said the old second mate, as he stamped on deck.

I heard him stop at the after hatch where the boatsteerers and carpenter lived and called 'Chips' two or three times. At last there was an answer, in another voice—not Chips's ; then a round of hur ried feet on deck, a shout down thß fore castle, and a shout back in answer, There was no Chips there. Two minutes after, a heavy foot came aft to the cabin stairs, and Mr Joseph, with a white face entered.

I knew what he had to tell. I knew now —just as if I had seen.it all—who the man was whom I had seen leaning against the line.

The captain looked at the second mate. ' Chips is gone, sir,' said the old sailor, with a tremor in his voice; ' Chips was knocked over by the line, and we've goue four knots since it parted. I've put her about and we're rnnning down again.' . There was dead silence, Wo all know the search was hepless. No man could swim in such a sea; and we had a thought though no one spoke it, tliat brave strong Chips had been killed by the line before he struck the water. All night we beat about the place where we thought it had occurred. The wind and sea. {e)l, and the moon came out in great beauty to, hqlp our sad search, Everi m»« on, b.Q(trd

stayed on deck till the sun rose, and then we looked far and vainly over the heedless swell of the unbroken sea. Chips wa3 dead. The rough Portuguese lads found it hard to believe that the kind heart and strong hand off their friend were gone forever. _ We all knew that the best inau in the ship was taken away. ,' Two years afterwards, when I found myself in Boston, I took from my sacred things a letter which I had found in Ohips's chest. It was addressed to a woman, with the name and number of a Cambridge street. I found the place, frame house, with lots of Chips's handi work around it. His mother met me at the door, an old, white-haired woman. She seemed to have been waiting and watching for somebody. A few words told the hopeless story. The letter was for her and she read it over—the letter of the only boy, asking forgiveness for his one great and only disobedience—and as, she read, the white head bent lower and lower till it met the thin hands; and 11 v rned and left trie little room I had darkened— with all its poor ornaments worthless now —and as I walked towards Boston, I could not help thinking that Q-od's ways are often wofully far from being our ways.—Appleton's Joxtbual.

Varieties.

If men are the salt of the earth, women are the sugar. Salt is a necessity, sugar a luxury. Vicious men are the saltpetre; hard stem men the rook ealt; nice family men the table salt. Old auids are the brown sugjr, good-natured matrons the loaf sugar, pretty girls the fine pulverized white sugar. Pass the sugar, please. , v

Distant relations—People who imagine they have a claim to rpb you if you are rich, and to insult you if you are poor.

A pious New Jersey dame has stopped praying for her husband, because as she says : 41 have prayed so long without effect that I think the Lord has just as poor an opinion of that man as I have.'

A woman in Minneapolis recently astonish ed a crowd. She was trying to start a balky horse, by thrusting a handful of duet and sand into the animal's month exclaiming, ' There ; he'll go now.' To the surprisa of every one, the horse started immediately without show ing the least stubbornness or excitement.

At the police station. —Judge : (to the prisoner)— You ■were arrested at the very moment you were taking the portmonaaio from the gentleman's pocket.' The prisoner: ' Yea, sir ; bat was going to put it back. My first thought is so often bad ; my second is often good. The policeman who arrested me should have waited for my second thought."

'It has been decided,' says an exchange, ' that any railroad conductor who kisses a passenger against her will lays the railroad compauy liable for damages.' If the conductor should happen to be a handsome young man, and should submit .his case to a jury of twelve girls, there would be little danger that the amount of damages would bankrupt the road.

"Did you ever break a yoke of four-year old steers?" asked a back county, lowa, farmer, of a young Janeeville chap who wanted to marry his daughter. ' No, 1 never did,' was the meek raply ; ' but I have rode.a mule in the circus, and had a good deal of other expariences in the world.' 'No other experience,' said the granger, • could qualify you,, young man, for trying to handle that girl,' and the Bad youth departed.

' You didn't laugh at my stupidity before we were married ; you always said I was a duck of a lover,' grumbled a complaining husband. ' Yes, that's it,' replied tha \vifo; ' and a duck of a lover is almost sure to make a gooae of a husband.'

At a wedding recently, when the officiating prieat put to the lady the question, ' WilC chou have this man to be thy wedded huaband ? she dropped the prettie3C courtesy, and with a modesty which'lent her beauty an additional grace, replied, ' If you please.'

It waß a Cheyenne small boy who was be ing talked to by a Sunday sohool teacher on, the sins and frailties of the body, and was asked : • Well, my son,, what have you be sides this sinful body?' Quick as thought .the urchin responded : 'A clean shirt and a nice new pair of breeches.'

There will be thirty-two of the Govern ments of the world represented at the Oen« tennial, besides the American. . . . It was Parton who said of editing a paper, ' the whole heart and mystery ia to be right.* The same is true of matrimony.

Winslow'a liabibitiea are set down by his creditors at over 300,000 dols. Besides this there is his liability to go to the State prison, which is also very large.

This will be a busy year. Just think of —it 366 days, 53 Sundaya, leap year, Centennial celebration, the Presidential election, and perhaps—the millenium.

Some thoughtless person says: 'It ia uukiud to ridicule those items in the papers about centenarians,, It is no easy thing to become a centenarian • several have failed.'

One morning a little four year old boy lay awftke ju his crib. His head seemed to be stopped with a cold. After vainly struggling for a while to clear it he exclaimed, ' Mamma, what is the matter with one side of my noae I Jt won't go.'