The Sixth of Auust.

A LEGEND OF SCOTLAND

The August sunlight shone lovingly down over the fair hills and green dales of Scotland, and peeped through interlading boughs into a fairy bower where sat two young maidens, whom strangers would at once have pronounced twin sisters. A chieftain's daughters seemed the maidens, and so in truth they were. Their father was the brave Sir James Johnston of AUandale, the warden of tho middle now a venerable old man, wearing his seventy years lightly, and doing service to his country and his clan with a willing heart and an active body.

His daughters were the loveliest beings that ever comforted and consoled a widow ed father. Their lives seemed bound up m his, and the sweetness with which they gave up the pleasures and amusements natural to their ago, and devoted them selves, heart and soul, to their father's happiness and comfort, was beautiful to witness. On this very morning they were planning a pleasant surprise for him, as they sat in the bower, with hands clasped in each other's, the bonnie face of Lillias, half hidden on the should or of Matilda. The heat of the August morning had imparted to both fair girls a rosy hue not always found upon their chocks ; for the daughters of the old chief were delicately nurtured, and were strangors to tho wild sports in which their youthful neighbors indulged. ' They were aroused by the cheerful ringing voice of their father, calling them loudly" te come to tho hall. They found him booted and spurred, and his horse ready at the door. ' Dearest father, you are not leaving us here alone to-day, surely?' said the sweet voice of Lillias. ' ludced I am, darling,' he replied. ' I have a message from young Allen Max well, who wishes me to meet him at Auchmanhill, to-day.' ' But you shall not go, father. Who is young Maxwell, that he should take precedence of usP'nskod Matilda, pout ing the sweet red lips and shaking the auburn ringlets in sportive anger. The old chieftain's eyes drooped at tho question, but he answered quite calmly : 'He is the son of the Lord Maxwell, whom your father slow in the battle at Dryffee Sands.' The reply sobered the high-spirited girls, and brought a tear to the eye of Lillias. They had heard of the terrible affray, when two thusand Nithsdalo men camo toward Annandalo to defy tho John stones, Scotts and Elliotts. They know, too, that Sir James Johnstone was the slayer of Lord Maxwell, and that this deed sealed the triumphant victory of tho Nithsdale clans. Long years—fifteen, certainly—had gone by, and now the son of the Lord Maxwell was asking to meet the man who had given his father's death blow.

• Oh, do not meet him, father! It bodes no good. Pray do not go!' said the loving children, as they wore their white, slender arms around the chieftain. ' For shame, lassies !' ho cried, when their tightening grasp had a little relaxed. 1 Would you have me break the word that never was broken ? Would you have the Maxwell think that the old James John stone was afraid to meet him ? Are those my daughters who counsel their father to lying aod cowardice ?' ' Oh, forgive us, dear, dear, father! No. Believe that your children would not counsel what would stain your honor, not even to save your precious life. Now go, but not alone surely, dearest father, not alone!'

' No, my darlings ; Alick goes with me, of course. And now, give me each a kiss, and be good and happy till I como

home.' ;..: They watched the dear, venerable form as he slowly rode down the hill, followed by the old servant; and not until lie was wholly out of sight, did they cease kissing and waving their white hands, thai wore dearer to him than his own lifo. When he could no longer sec them, he Struck the sharp spurs into the lagging steed and rode briskly on to Auchmanhill. But the bright August day was spoiled for the fair girls. There was a gloom over all that had seemed so bright in the morning -a gloom that hung drearily upon the spirits, but which each felt to he weak and unreasonable. Every sound the soft flow of the summer streams, the song of the birds, the merry hum of bees, all struck like the ringing of metals upon their nerves. As the day advanced, the painful yet unaccountable uneasiness increased. Dinner had been sent away untasled, and now they ordered supper to wnifc. A fearful presentiment assailed their minds, and they could only throw themselves into each other's arms and weep bitterly ; at what they knew not. What trouble could be coming upon these fair young creatures, whose whole life had been bright as a fairy tale? Do coming events indeed cast their shadows before? Does the evil to come throw its gloom over the bright, warm summer day, turning all its beauty into blackness, as the thunder could overspreads the sky ? We know not; but the gayest hearts have felt the spell, and they who are least superstitious are forced sometimes to believe in spite of themselves.

When the brave old chieftain parted from his children he felt no misgiving, was haunted by no presentiment of evil. The bright sky, tho green earth, the

birds and flowers and bees—every green lane or overhanging tree were so many sources of pleasure. Then his thoughts naturally turned upon his present errand. Even to that his mood gave a cheerful tinge. There was not a doubt that Allan Maxwell, who was a child when his father fell by Johnstone's hand, was desirous that the old feud of long ago should be healed. He went back to memories of that day when Nithsdale sent out her bravest and choicest—the flowers of her youth, and when the clans of AUandale aroused themselves to repulse them. Again ho saw the Lord Maxwell, the king's lieutenant, at the head of the army. He remembered what he wore, and the very color of his horse, and how the long white plumes of his bonnet waved over the noble face. He remembered his own thrill of conscious power, when the brave lord was taken, and his own right hand was red with his blood. Bat it was in open, honorable warfare, unsought by Johnstone or any of the clans whom Maxwell attacked; and however time had softened the fellings of enmity, still there was no regret that the deed was done, under the circumstances. All the past lay before him—the very tree under which ho slew him, and which was baptized, as it were, in blood by the name of 'Maxwell's Thorn,' and Oh, gracious Heavens! how could he have forgotten it P this day, above all others, was the annivei\srry of that sad affray ! In a moment Alick saw his master's countenance change and heard him mur mur—'The sixth of August—the sixth of August!' and the faithful servant noticed that his head drooped forward, and that tears were on his aged face. Soon it recovored the composed and tranquil look usual to it. He rode forward more quick ly, the wind playing antics with his beautiful long white hair. Alick looked on him with a reverent air.

' Master is not long for this world,' mur mured the old servant. ' I ha' never sock him like that before.' A moment after, tho entrance to the wood which had been fixed upon as the place for tho meeting, was in sight, and Sir James alighted from his horse, bidding Alick stay and watch them under the shade of tho trees, until he should come back. Ho then took tho path that led into the wood.

The man tiod the horse to some troes, and threw himself upon the ground for a siesta, This was, however, impossible ; for by some strange and unaccountable mystery, the animals seemed possessed with the spirit of evil and unrest, Strug gling, biting, kicking, uttering wild cries and snuffing the air frantically, they puzzled the old man to discover what had sc disturbed them. No war horse could have been more furious than the chieftain's. At length he broke his bridle and ran into tho wood, and Aliek, releasing his own horse, walked onward in the path by which the figure of Sir James had disappeared from his sight. Ah, righteous heaven ! what pitiful sight meets old Alick's eyes at the moment! Is that prostralo man the master who looked back to him with a sunle, not tcu minutes ago ? He ran up to him, placed his hand on hia heart, but it had ceased to beat. At first Alick thought that his master had fallen from some obstruction in the way, but a pool of blood beside him forbado the thought. The poor old man grasped for .breath, looked around for help, and believ ing that he might yet be restored to life, he joyfully beheld two objects vrhich ho recognized as human beings, though too far off to distinguish them. In a moment, however, ho saw that the horseman on the brow of the lull was receding from his view, and that the 0110 approaching was a feeble old woman, who came tottering down tho slope, and, after many painful efforts, stood beside him. Long before she reached him, Alick had found that there was no life in that pale clay, yet he could not help but noticing that tho same beautiful calm, the same heavenly com posure of the features were there as when he had last looked upon his master's living face. It helped to silence aud subdue the terrible grief that had for a few moments rendered him incapable of speech or action. ' I saw him ! I saw him !' cried the old woman, as she gasped fearfully, with affright and fatigue.

' Did you, Elsie ?' asked the weepiog Alick. ' Did he fall in a fit, or did any one injure him? lam a fool, too, to ask that question, for who could hurt Sir Jamie Johnstone ?'

' Who could hurt him, Alick Graeme ? Who but the false Maxwell ? I saw him as he came behind him and shot him im the back. Ay, and struck him again after he was on the ground.'

Alick groaned aloud. ' Oh, master! dear, beloved master! Would I had disobeyed thee just that once, when you bade me stay behind !'

But there was no time to bo lost in conveying the body to a, place of safety. Already the vultures were in the air snuffing their prey, and an hour more rnigbt bring tho wild animals from the wood. Leaving old Elsie to watch, he mounted his horse, -which he found a few rods off, and rode back for help. Some peasants were cutting turf not far from the wood, and they followed him to the mournful spot where he whom they all knew and loved was lying. _ Sir James was the warden of the Middle Marches, by ap pointment of the king, and was almost worshipped by the people of the district, as well as by those belonging to his own clan. As they took up the mournful lament above the chieftain, poor Click's

heart was bursting with the grief that lay so heavy upon him. Yet he assisted in cutting down branches of trees to form a litter on which, with reverential sorrow, tho peasants bore him until they came to a place whore a suitable conveyance could be procured. It was a mournful sight, indeed —that melancholy procession, with Alick following, leading his master's horse, which had at last come and looked with eyes that were almost human in their sadness, upon his dear master. But there was a harder task in store for the desolate old man who was now to go home with such tididgs to his two beloved young mistresses, He left the procession at the entrance of the avenue, and rode hastily to the court-yard, The sound of the horse's feet brought out Lilias and Matilda. Ho heard them order the ser vants to bring out lanterns, for it was quite dark. Ho heared them call—'Fath er, dear father! thank God you have come !'

No answer. Tho sisters clung to each other tremblingly, for tho deep silence was terrible to boar. Suddenly they heard the tramp of footsteps in tho avenue coming slowly towards the house. 'They are bringing our father home. Lilias,' said tho mournfnl voice of her sister. 'He is dead, and they are coming to fetch him. O, we feared something, and this is the reality.' Siie said no more, i for Lilias had dropped from her arm to the ground. All was in confusion in a mom ent, in the court-yard ; the servants ran hither and thither with lights, and when Lilias awoke, from that merciful swoon, the palo form of her father lay upon the couch from which she had arisen to meet him a little while before, and Matilda was kneeling at his side. Alick was spared to to tell the tale they had so dreaded. Tho minister had heard the tidings at the manse, and had como over to weep for the dead, and if possible to comfort the living.

Fears afterward, Allen Maxwell, con science-sfrickcn and aware that people, shrunk from him as the treacherous assassin of the good and brave old chieftain sought to drown the memoJy of the deed in excitement. At a gathering of the border chieftains ho first saw Lillias John stone ; and thenceforth he thought and droamed of none others. Soon after this the sisters removed to France, and en deavored to make a home there, in place of tho ono so cruelly desolated in Scotland. Maxwell followed them thither, and sought to win tho love Lillias by masquerading in a new character as tho Black Prince. Matilda detailed the mystery in which he strove to envelope himself. She wroto to him forbidding his pursuit of her sister, and bade him remember the Sixth of August!

Guilty and miserable, Allen Maxwell hopelessly declined in health, and was soon laid on a sick, which proved a dying bed. He could not die without the for giveness of those whom he made orphans ; and hearing of his remorse and penitence, the sisters went to see him and gave him their pardon. He died on the sixth of August—that memorable day whose re currence had witnessed the death of his father and theirs.

When time had softened their grief, the two fair girls, who had been woed by the flower of the French youth, entered into new relationships. But duly, on the sixth of August, they were found by the grave of the old chieftain, covering it with fresh wreaths of ijimortellks from that sunny land in which they had found a now home ; and from theuce they passed to that saddest of all places, the wood of Auchmanhill.

Back to pleasant France, where hus bands who loved them dearly, and bright eyed and sunny haired children awaited them, to share their year of consolation.

The Denouement of a Dumb Courtship.

At the time that Francis I. of Franco was taken prisoner at the battle of Pavia, one of his officers, the valorous Chevalier Beauregard, smitten by the charms of an Italian lady of noble family named Aurelia, declared to her his passion. Aurolia, though flattered by the declaration of tlie gallant soldier, refused his suit, on the ground of the levity of the French character, and the natural indiscretion of that people. But Beauregard was not to be put off so easily, The depth and fervor of his love led him to propose to the lady to put his constancy to any proof she might thing proper. Aurelia at lenght accepted the terms of the proposition, and agreed to marry him, if, for the space of six months, he would remain utterly and entirely dumb.

The chevalier promised, and then, with a silent bow, withdrew from the lady's presence, and from that moment ho opened not his lips with the sound of human speech. He returned to Paris, where his friends and relatives were stricken with sorrow at the terrible infirmity which had fallen upon him—for his had been a voice musical and entertaining. Beau regard expressed all his wants by dumb sings, and seldom smiled. The best physicians were sent for, but he refused to see them.

The captive King was at length set free and restored to his people ; but his joy on his return to his capital was diminished by the sad misfortune which had befallen the chevalier, who had been the monarch's chief favorite. Francis sent his best doctors to the stricken soldier, who, out of respect for his royal master, took the medicines per,s,cr,ibcd, but with no effect.

The King even went so far as to employ the charlatans and necronuncers, who then, as now, professed to hold specifics for all sorts of diseases.

The news spread abroad, and great was the sorrow. The Court and the people had become hopeless of his cure, when a fair Italian maiden, professing to be a fortune teller, appeared before the King, and informed him that sho would under take to restore the chevalier to his speech. The King would not cast away asa oppor tunity. Ke summoned Beauregard to his presence, and told him that a physician had come who promised to cure him ; but the chevalier bowed low in sil&nt discredit. The King nodded to the fair stranger and asked her what she would do.

' Beauregard, my tried and cherished,' she said, turning to the chevalier, ' this must endure no longer. Speak to me !'

The chevalier instantly recognized his beloved Aurelia, who had truly loved him, and whoso heart had been deeply touched by the proof of his constancy and devotion, and he pronounced her name in rapturous tones as he flew to tako her outstretched hand.

Francis was sensibly affected by the romantic event, and he presented his restored favorite with a rich estate at his marriage.

Interviewing an Editor.

It was only half-an-hour before the paper went to press, but he walked unerringly into the editor's private room and dropping his hat over the warning placard of 'Busy Day —Short Calls' seated himself with easy bar-room politeness on the table with the exchanges. He was dressed in an ulster and a soiled ruffled shirt, wore an amethyst about the size of a lock glass on his third finger, and a cluster pin in. his bosom. He took a ' seven for a quarter' cigar from his mouth, and placing it on the editor's inkstand remarked confidentially— ' I am going to spend some timo this

year ' The editor clutched his pen like a dagger, and pawing a few hairs on the top of his head, said — ' In Philadelphia,' The young man spat gracefully over his left shoulder on the new carpet, and responded — ' Yes, I've done a little writing in my day, and bein' disengaged this summsr should like to send a first-class journal like yours —■ The editor fell back in his chair and gasped—some letters about the Centennial The interviewyer nodded and kicked No ll's pensively against the veneered panels of the desk.

(Would you like to be packed in ice until your friends call for you ?' said the editor gloomily 'or shall we forget your remains in an air-tight casket?'

Then gazing sorrowfully at the young man, ho put his mouth to a speaking tube and asked. —

' Are any of the pressmen at hand ?' Promptly wafted through the tin tube came the reply— 'Red Mike and Big Dan, sir.'

The would-be correspondent started up aghast, put his hat oti wrong side in front, and buttoned the third button of his coat into the second button-hole; but the newspaper man, taking no more notice of him than he would of a dead-head adver tisement, breathed through the tube—

'Give 'em a quarter apeice and let them come here. Tell them there is another of those Philadelphia Contennial fellows here, and then pull in a district telegraph boy, and send for a hearse.' Before the last words were in the speaking tube the taill3 of an ulster coat sailed out of the private office, and a nervous young man, aftertrying the door of the coat-room and diving into the coalclosit reached the counting room door, looked over his shoulder at two brawny Milesians who had just descended from some upper region, missing his footing for a dozen stairs, made his descent with a heavy bump on the first landing, and reached the street as the editor wrote the last word of an article on ' the business outlook' and calmly sent it whirring up in the box to the composing-room.—Boston 'Bulletin.'

THE Girl of the Period.

She wore a round hat upon the back of her head like tke aureole of a saint, to whom her sweet face gave her an appear ance of kindred. Her bodice was close fitting—indeed, drawn tight about the waist, like the bark of a young, tender tree. Her scant skirt, pulled tight in front so as to show her form, and "tied back, " terminated behind in a short fan like train, like the tail of a mermaid, she was mounted on shoes seven sizes too small for her feet —indeed, only her toes appeared to have accommodation in them; and the high heels coming under the instep tilted her forward and completed the grace of her carriage. When she put down one little toot after the other as if each leg were as elastic as an iron rod. It was a great pleasure to see her pegging along, a tiling of perfect beauty, like one of the drawings of some mythological biped by one of the old masters.

A grumbling old bachelor, after listening to the following, 'She was her muver'a own little darlin', wopsy popsy deary duckay, so she was, an' she must keep still/asks, 'Why don't women talk some decent kind of English to their children,'

Getting Clothes.

When a. woman buys an article of „ m B apparel, it is all right sL -Wear< counselled to take it back becau S6 2■ ** or that defect. She ignores man' S l thl3 ledge in the matter, and he k onwT glad to escape to make any prole? *00 when he upholsters himselfin? at But tioulor, she ? ives the article &I critical examination, and, in m™ St out often, hurries him right back J?? Between that man's regard for v ltl and fear of the merchant, he loses a We deal that it is pleasant in this worlW is also a little singular what a wonLi effect the store where you have 2? purchase has upon the fit of the ar ; f° I have known a man to go back threat! with a coat. The first time it STI him a little under the arms The J i had him to try it on ; then pulled ifi* in the back, stood off and squintedat? and then said, • How does that feel nL '• Ihe man prespiring at ever pore a feeling that ho was guilty, in some taking unfair advantage of trusting f e lC mortals, confessed that it was much brft,, and went off. The next day, he ap S with the impression that there iasS wool in the cloth; his wife said so U salesman gave him a pitying -glanoe, and whipped the coat over from one side to the other so rapidly, and talked so fa,f about texture and wool, that the miserable wretch was glad to get the garment back and get out of the store. Ttvo days later he sneaked in again with the coat under his arm, This time it pinched across the back. The tailor had to try in on aKa j n and then rubbed it across the back and pulled it at the front, and said that he never saw anything fit like that in his life; and the man went off with a similar belief. He didn't go back any m ore . but he used to stand in front of the store' when no one was looking, and shake his fist through the window at the tailor, and think up the things he wanted to do him but which there appeared no immediate prospect of his doing.—Danbury 'Hews,'

Essay on Women.

Women are like everything else b this world—a very mixed up affair. Accord, ing to our own observation, there are-

Women good and women bad. Women gay and women sad, Women big and women small, Women short and women tall, Women fat and women lean, Women sweet and women mean, Women young and women old, Women bought and women sold Women poor and women rich, And a good many more women eich.

The first women in the world was Eva, Eve was a bad girl. She didn't belong to the Good Templars. . Eve liked apple cider too well—she wanted her's dry. We never saw Eve, but they say she was a pretty girl. Hei fellow was a chap by 'the name of Adam. We never went to to school with him. Eve was like the rest of her sisters ; just tell her not to do a thing, and she would be sure to do it. Eve must have been a country girl. She didn't care much for fashion, and:sk made her own clothes, without a sewing machine. She would be racher behind the times should she visit us now. :

Some women are very pretty. We don't like pretty woman—there arealways so many fellows around them. They re-, mind us of a lot of flies on a ntolasses stick. "We like the molasses but—bother the flies. ;.» ■':■■■

Good women are plenty in this country, but they will never tell you. of it; you hare got to trail 'urn out yourself.- Bad women are everywhere. TSeyare j like rotten apples in a barrel of good ones —apt to throw their decayed influence around them. They will always-try to make you believe they are good. Don't ' take a bad woman. She is counterfeit treasure. Look out for trade mart. Gay women are jolly fellows; always | on a laugh. They make you feel good) clear to your sleeve buttons. A sad women ought to wear spectacles with pink coloured glasses in them. ■■■That1 i would make her see the world in a different light. | We don't know that we Jike a big ■ woman better than a little one. If sho is so big that a slep-ladder is required to kiss her, we most respectfully decline in favour of the small ones. As we reflect further on this subject, we come to the conclusion that the small ones are always preferable. They have a tendency to hang themselves —around a fellow—snd \ we want to furnish the material for» hanging post. We hate a mean woman. We feel nw j saying, ' deliver us from evil' whenever we see one. But give us a sweet woman —one of nature's own children—with rosy, cheeks and loving eyes; with a noble heart, a high-toned mind, a pure soul, ana a healthy body, refined in taste, developed in intellect, be she poor or rich, young OX old, large or small. ■',; ~

c The boy at the head of the class will state what were the dark ages of the world?; M hesitates. • Next, Master Briggs, canyon w me what the dark ages were V ■' I g«ess (^ ages before spectacles were invented, to your seat.' iinj There is one advantage in a back seat» circus—you can't hear the clown. ■. _^

Printed and Published by the Propnetor.H© Bkktt. of Parnell, at his General Steami*w» Office, Wyndhani-stieet, in the City of AnW^i New Zealand:- Saturday, Juno 20, 1876

Evening Supplement, June 9 187®