"EVENING STAR" SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT OF ENTERTAINING READING.

No. 52.]

AUCKLAND, SATURDAY, OCTOBER 28, 1876

[Price: ONE PENNY

ANSWERS TO CORRESPONDENTS.

"A. W-" (Tamafci west.)— The weeping willow is a native of the Levant, in Persia, and the first weepiug willow was planted by Pope, the poet, at Twickenham. Pope received a present, of Turkey figs, and obssrving a live twig in the basket, he planted it iv his garden by the Thames. The twig grew and became a fine tree, and from this stock all the weeping willows which grace the river scenery of Englaud descended. ___~.. ..rUOHKLOR." (Parnell.)— The religious sect, Vnowa as Moravians, were introduced into fiwland by Count Zinzendorf, who died, June 9th 1760. The sect first arose m Moravia, a district east of Bohemia, in r.rmany The amiable poet, James Mont eomery of Sheffield, was educated in their institution at Fulreok, near Leeds „ E KNOR ._We cannot Rive the date of the sliest English tea-pot but it was Sobahly in the reign of Charles 11, at the time of the introduction of tea. Croker, m his edition of Boswell's life of Johnson, sava that the Doctor's tea-pot held two nuarta, which was below the mark ; for Johnson's tea-pot was purchased at Mrs. Piozzi's sale by Mrs Earryat of Wim bledon, (the mother of the novelist), and was found to contain three quarts Johnson n-ually drank a dozen caps of tea at a "WiLUAH,"— Your verses on the 'Glades 'of Remnora ' shew some ability, bat want polish and consistency; wo give one verse:— What in nature can be fairer, Sweeter, lovelier, richer, rarer, Thau the glades of Remuera, Where I often walk with Sarah? There I popped the lover's question, Sometimes easy of digestion ; Sarah softly sighed and fainted ; Painter never picture painted, Like my Sarah, when she fainted, In the glade 3of Kemuera. «Etf*.cnKKK-"— Edmund Burke, the eminent orator and statesman, was born January Ist 1730, in Dublin, i.n i died July Bth, 1797, at Reacon_L^.a. "Fban'K II :' -Your " Ode to the Ponsonby Highway Board " is under consideration.

Poetry-

GOOD HE_D.

I Like seed deep hid iv the thankless earth. Or bnried in deid mens _omo«, ■Tithe atmAe of «ue l*»oareirowta them forth, Or the leveller's search exhumes- Euvivel ag-ii i» th» upper air Not one of tueir powers is lost , Plant them, ther root aid flourish fair, And biint. forth a goodly host "! Of oil __«. ihougU o.»tarlM m V »*ve »«' Mac. they li thoir d_k,o_e cell, we.-c cast So is the word the poet preach-« : The good seed may seem to 'Me, And the fruit o the holy creed ha teac ,c- Be hidden from human eye : II the vital germ of truth be there, It neve: can perish wholly, Bic-.h blossom and fruit it wdl surely bear, Mioturh for long years buriM Jowly; I Other hands may bring it to light, and tend . But the seed of good thoughts has a fruitful end.

THE VOICELESS.

We count the broken lyres th vt tost Where the swe^t-wailing singers alumber , But oVr their silent sister s brent The wild flowers who will stoop to number . A few .an touch thi manic string, And noisy fame is proud tT win them ; Alas for those that never sing, But die with all their music in them ! Nar, grieve not for th j dead aljnr-, vVhoe -ong has told their h .art's sad Story , Weep for the voiceless who have known Thecros. but not th. crown of glory ! Not waere Leuoadlan breezes sweep O'er Sappho's memory-haunted billow. But whore the glistening; night-dews weep On nameless sorrow's church-yard pillow. Oh. hearts that break and give no sign, 3ave whitening lips and faded tresses, Till Death pours out his cordial wine, Slow-dropped from Misery s crushing presses; It aingtnj; breath or echoing chord To every hidden ping were given. Wnat endless melodies were poured, As s_d as earlh, as sweet a* Heaven I O. W. HOI.SIES.

PARING APPLES.

Out l_d_.nef.th the Appfo tree a. louny maiden s.t, And b.her aid-, in drowsy atate, K-tposed a« old gray Cat. The s;y aoove, aud field, below, TliolUtlo mild _ sitting there, ..lie golden hair and soft blue eyes. All formed a pic.ure sweet aud fair. AUfv to net lap a dub she hold Oi-ruit—* tempting sight, And ni xier cdeaiy voice she saug. " Tt.e-8 mu.t bo pared era night: B"t mo-ber's gone and I'm atoue. And now I U try my luck and so. It bioWu-eyed Kobla—whom I love— Has really given his heart to me. " _f»r oft I-v.i heard if I should para An apple whole ansl s iund, ■Without a break, iv one long atrip, And cist it ou the ground, Th_ iuUinx. it would twinM andta^e The first iaitail of his name, Who jome tine d-> —ifit be true— n Will sur.ly come, my hand tn clam. ■Jiiaa qui.:*- as thought the dsed is done. And, lying at her fees, T.he ruiuy bit.n wi h joy .'he saw, L Had for-ocd -a B. coaiplete. She mspedbar hands in <.htld!ike glee, A., \j.'.iznyo'_rthodistantg^een, AtenJex- *vnn hurst from her ue.rfc, "Now. jßobie i" w owa, I ween ' Bat why •!-> widen blushings rise And _n___echeek and brow? And see, the dimpled hand, Why does it .tremble so ? A _.-p»ho_ie._- » waoly form She knows as close bahrad her chair, And looking np, with aUvulue eyes, She sees hsr lov V Standing there. He lightly )»ußhs_i_<iia?s her cheek ; "Yes, little lassie, mica. The up..-- iKin ••>_ .old the-tm*. «or tc.bin's heart H thiu,6 And n.w, .i3'le_ted-u th-ir -ilah, Reoose .he a^p es red and gold, ■While in tne -u-.uy aftemooi The old, ssveet t*l* once more Is tola

PEACE, BE STILL.

[Che following beautiful poem la from a small vol ume of verse written by William Leighton, of Liverpool, who followed the occupation of st mer chani's clerk. He died, __.pril 22, 18G9, in his 28th year.]

When the clouds are dark and eerie, ■vad the heavens are frought with ill, Flesh i. weak, and heart is weary— S.viour whisper ! Peace, be still! When the mighty storm is surging Stars .ire hid, and winds are shrill, Satin striving, passion urglug Saviour whisper I Peace, be still.

When the waves of D.mbt and Terror Tosa me at their own wild will ; Light seema dars, and truth seems error— Saviour whimper ! Peiue, bo still. When affliction's storms are ho vllng, And its voice my soul doth thrill ; Karth is black and heaven is seowliug, Saviour whisper ! Peace, be still. Wh in the shad ws round m ) thicken, Bitter tears mine eyelids fill, Spirit faints, aud senses sicsen— Saviour whisper ! Peace, be still. When th. tide of death's cold river (shocks ma with its icy chill, Body quakes, and billows quiver— Saviour whisper ! Pi>»cm, be still.

THE TYPE-SETTER'S SONG.

The type-setter stands before his case, The lamps burn low and tho night is deep : And over the atatige'iasr chimney-stack Burkness and shadows creep— And the city is 1 .st in sieep. Tho type-setter stands there gaunt and gray, With dim old eyes and a weary brain; And he si-igs a cadence solemn and low, To the beat of the bitter rain On the rattling skylight and pane. Tremble the rafters, root and floors. As he Angers the types (in his desolate way,) And he hears tho music fain.ly borne From the Orpheus over the way as rend'ring some old-time lay. The old man sings, and tremble the floors With the bellowing engioe down below, And the crash of the whistling axle-bars And tho thanders that from them grow. Echoing to and fro.

As he fingers the typos (in his desolate way) He seta them up "With "cap slde-h.ad ;•' And a marge of black encircles his work— The name of a man just dead; A Haul in the battlo shed.

Lower and low.r the lamp-lights burn, And grow tho shadows dusky and gra *; And the storm is hushed aud the mnsio'3 swell At th i Orpheus over the way. And fiuishad the old-time 1... And the type setter wipes his dim old eyes The type. no more with bis fin ers move, And he smiles that, while setting the name below, The angels in t_udor love Were netting it up above.

The Dumfries House in which Burns Lived and Died.

A little, unpretendingbuilding on a narrow street in Dumfries, which we visited to day, has an interest which far surpasses that of the wealthy nobleman's lordly mansion,—for it was the housein which Bobert Burns lived and died. It is a plain, low, two story house, built apparently of stone, cohered on the exterior with plaster of a yellowish-white color. The principal rooms in the interior were on the first floor, a sitting-room, a parlor, and a kitchen. The parior was a room about twelve by sixteen feet- Above, were two front chambers, each about ten by fifteen feet, and some smaller rooms. In one of the front room Burns died. ' The house was occupied as a residence by his wife until her death, some thirty-four years after Burns, and remains very much the same as it was when the poet lived there. Ln Dumfries, some of Burns' most beautiful poems were written. It is a town of almost 12,000 inhabitants, in southwestern part of Scotland. It is rather a pictur esque place, being located in the beautiful Valley of Nith, aud with the bold summit of Creffel looming up in close proximity. Near the ' Kings Arms,' where we stayed, is the old Globe Tavern, which was one of the poets favorite haunts. We visited it about ten in the evening. This house, still kept as a tavern, is the house which Burns describes as the place ' where his friend Clarke and himself have had many a squeeze.' The room where the poet and his friends used to gather, remains unchanged. The old wooden wainscoting is just as it was ; and in the corner called Burns' corner, where the poet always used to sit, still stands the chair winch he occupied; aud in the centre of the room is tho table which he used. At the time of our visit, a party of Scotch people, from the humbler ranks of life, were visiting the scene. To this clan the memory of Burns isspecially dear. We all sat successively in the poet's old arm-chair, and partook: together of such beverage as the house afforded; and then, one of the party, who had a fine, manly voice, sang with great spirit and feeling, the beautiful song of Burns. 'Of a' the airts the wind can blaw.' In the chamber above, upon two f'o the panes of glass, in the window, are inscribed in Burns' writing, two verses of his poetry. He had a fancy for wri ting snatches of songs upon glass, and a number of similar mementoes of his, still exist

In St. Michael's Churchyard, iv Dum fries his remains are interred, and a mausoleum is erected over them, which contains a monument to his memory. This is a work which has been greatly criticised, aud which doubtless, has great defect as a work of art. The conception is, however, striking and a'greeablo. Burns is represented life size, standing at at the plow, while Genius of Coila—a

graceful figure— is seen bovering in the sky above him, casting her mantle over. Whatever may be its faults, it will always possess interest, from the fact that the face is a faithful portrait of tho poet, which was chiseled under the eye, and received the approval of his brother, Gilbert Burns. In a sketch of Burns' eight years' residence in Dumfries, published by Mr McDowell, of that city within a few years, and which I found in one of the book stores of that city, I found some interest ing facts in relation to Burns, which were new to me, and which, I doubt not, will be of interest to your readers.

On the 19th of September, 1815, the body ofßurns was removed from the grave where it was first buried, in July, 179G, to the vault of the present mausoleum. The removal took place at an early hour in the morning, iv the presence of Mr GriersoD, the secretary of the Landing (Jommittee, and if some other persons, but was strictly private. On opening the coffin, the re mains of the poet were found, to all appearance, nearly entire, and exhibited the features of one who had recently sunk into the sleep of death —the lordly fore head arched and high; the head still covered with hair ; the teeth perfectly formed and white. The scene was so imposing that most of the workmen stood with uncovered heads, and all present were thrilled with inexpressible emotion as they gazed on the form of him whose fame has become as wide as the earth itself.

But the effect was momentary, for when they proceeded to insert h case below the Coffin, for the purpose of its removal, the head separated from tho trunk, and the whole body, with tho exception of the bones, crumbled into* dust- At Bromhill Inn, Dumfrioshire, Burns used to made frequent visits in the course of his official duties as exciseman. On one of these occasions ho was told that a young woman named Christina Kirk partrick, who lived near by, was a d.elight ful singer of his songs. Burns expressed a wish to hear her, and was greatly facinated by her singing. The talents of this humble country lass were sub sequently turned to account by the poet, who often subjected his songs to the ordeal of her fine, musical taste, for tho purpose of correcting any harsh word or bad rythm. Some time after Burns' introduction to her, Christy was married to a Mr Flint, and Burns attended as one of the marriage guests. Soon after the retirement of tho married pair, a girl present, who could sing nearly as well as the bride, was asked to give a specimen of her vocal powers, She started 'High land Mary.' The effect of this song upon the morbid sensitiveness of Burns was pitiful to witness. Before the singer could finish the stanza with the lines,

"For dear to me as light and life Was my sweet Highland Mary "

he started to his feet, prayed,- the young singer in God's name to forbear, and then, hastening to the wedding chamber, knocked, and entreated the bridegroom to let the bride ' come out of the house and quiet his mind with a verse or two of " Ye banks and braes of bonnic Doon." This r.-ther untimely request was complied with, and under soothing influence of Christy Flint's music, the poet again recovered his equanimity. Another interesting anecdote ot Burns, related in this little work, gives a diff erent and far more creditiable idea of the poet's re<„;ious nature than is commonly entertained William Stewart was a j friend of Burns, whom he frequently visited. Stewart's plowman called one day when Burns was visiting there, and told his master that he had a young child at the point of death, and asked his master to go down to the cottage and offer up prayer. Burns, on request, accompanied his friend Stewart to tho house of mourning, in which the friends and neighbors were assembled. ' Mr. Burns,' said Stewart,' it's you that maun put up the prayer ; ye can do a thing of that kind better than mo.' The. poet deeply affected oy the hopeless aspect of the child and the grief of the parents, conplied with the request. After the usual prelude, ' Let us pray,' said with a solemn air, he proceeded to lead the the devotions of the company, in language that touched the hearts of all. Before he closed, every one present was in tears. The manner in which Burns prayed for the plowman's dying child, made a deep impression at the time, and was spoken of as something wonderful, iv rhe district 1 where it occured This aneccote 0 f Burns was related a years since, to thp two daughters of Mrs Begg. the port's sister who said that people in general wore up* to suppose t! a. their uncle had no rclisiion. but they had heard their mother say flint, after her father's d<?ath, Robert was left in charge of the rest, and the plowman at Messgiol stated that, while he remained there? Robert constantly ' took the Book' (conducted the family worship), and tha ' he never heard a minister use more sublime language than the poet emnloyed on such occasions.' —[Glasgow Corres pondence of * Chicago Tribune.' ,

Fins Manners.

It would be vain as it would be ungracious to combat against the favourable influence of charm o£ mauner. Eacaging manners and bright conversation must and wdl always sway those brought under their attraction, and i; is light that they should do so, for they are good qualities, though they may be only natural ones ; and the enioyn_-n_ of them in others may be accepted u3 one of the amenities of our lot, if we meet with them in the order of Providenco, and do not go out of oar way to put ours-lves und«r their influence. What a catalogue of social virtues it needs to make a m._ generally beloved ! sweetness of temper, good nature, a yielding will and ready cuna plianca,—toiorafcioa of others' iulirmities, aud forbearance Hurler small slights and hindrances ; sympatny with others' modes and feeling, and delicacy of adaptation. Many a hero, wo may add many a saint, is without them, and makes Ins great cause to auffe* from their absence. The reward of his labours is sought iv a higher sphere, not iv the praise of men ; and his greatest admirers have often to become hi 3 apologists iv the minor details or deportment and man ner, concious that he who would sacrifice his life for the sake of religion, or for the gaod of his fellowmen, yet failed to make turns^ -greaablo to his personal acquain tance, But because, from the infirmity of our >.ure, great interests and high aims of.ci: make men regardless of lesser proprieties, let us not esteem the want of them as other than a fault, nor grudge the domestic philanthropist, who cheers his neighbours' fire-sides, wno raises their dulled spirits, whoso presence briugs refreshment with it, who enhances their every-day joys, and sympathizes in the little trials that each day a_69 briogs iv its train—though it may bo only through tho impulse of a genial na ture -his reward, in his indulgent hojt of friends, with their warm welcomes, hearty priusos, ailjcciouato oxteuu-i'-iou;. tender regrets.

"Widow Bargaining in Olden Times.

The thoughts of the people of Wareham. (Mass.), WO years ago, were occupied mainly by the war and the widows. The war they did not bring on; the widows were an inheritance. The people were ready to adopt tho sentiments to the town of Boston about the w>ir, and to tax themselves in men and money to orry it through. The widows of Wareham were not war widows. They were a domestic product that had to be annually marketed. Although the most trouble some of them first called upon the town treasury when the war began, and dropped out of sight whetn peace came, tho Widow Lovell was not the first or the last of her kind.

Before her was Jane Bump ; and the selectmen of 1747, being sorely perplexed ' to do Sumthing for the Support of Green Bump,' as the town clerk, Bishup, records it, paid to Philip Bump £12 for keeping her a year. Then, in 1754, there appeared ' the Widow Reliance Bumpus,' who placed her whole reliance upon the town treasury. Bishup says that, when • the votable inhabitants' had convened ' in his majesty's name,' September 24, 1754, « John'Bunipus ye 3d eauie into ye myet ing and Maul ye olfer that he would Keep ye Wd.' Reliance Bumpus one year Earning for six pounds thirteen shillings and four pence Lawful money, and ye Muderator Put it to vote to know ye minds of ye town whether they were willing to allow ye sd. Juo. Bumpus ye 3d the money he asked to keep ye aforesd widow a year and ye vole Past for the Affirmative.'

Thus the Widows Bump and Bumpus got into history. In 1759 they were joined by Jane George, for keeping whom a year the selectmen paid to Salathiel Bumpus 16 shillings. It must not bo inferred that all tho inhabitants of the town were either Bump or Bumpuses, although it must be noted that a Mr. Bump or a Mr. Bumpus was always on hand to bid oil'a widow at tho expense of the town. Perhaps there was ' money in it.' Jn 1770 the market price ot the widows hid become uuifrom at three pounds each. The keeping of them probably became so prolllable in money and services received, as to induce the town to vote, as it did in January, 1774, < not to build a poor-house.' A new plan for disposing of the widows was adopted. The town started a pauper traffic by selling the poor annually 'at vendue,' and it continued tuis busines during many years. In January, 177(3, 'the Widow Lovell was added to the annual list, and at a vendue tho said Widow Lovell was struck off to Josi-ih Stevens for to keep one year ('.v- the sum of nine pounds six shillings ; and if she did not live the year in he to have in that proportion.' The Widow Lovell's disposition was very migraiory. Although sold and bought for a years s 31 vice, th.1 buyer seems to have considered . her a, poor bargain, literally, for in a few months Joshua Brings had her in his house, and also had a bill fo.' £14 against the town for keeping aud clothing her. She', became an expensive property to

the town. After she had been hawked from pillar to post, her value rising at every call for a bid, she was, on the 11 th of January, 1779, ' vendued to see who would board her, and struck off to Isaac Savery at 48s. per week.' In December, she was 'struct- off by vendue to Phineas Savery at £5 14s. per week, the town to provide her with clothing and pay her doctor's bills.' In June, 1780, the price of the Widow Lovell had risen to £'9 Bs. per week, when Jere miah Bump tried her. Ho gave her up in September, and Seth Witherell bid her off at $47 per week !

In 1718, the widow market fell. Mistress Lovell brought only ' a hard dollar a week,' while Jane George was talken at 316 a year, and tho Widow Chubbuelc at §28. In 1582, tho town voted to buy the Widow Lovell ' a shirt.' She was then 'set up,' as usual; aud after various sales, her death is at last discovered in these words of thei town record of September, 1784 : ' Voted for a winding sheet and shift for the "Widow Lovell, 8s

But Jane George lived on, and outlived all who had been her contemporaries. Through nearly two generations the standing inquiry among the farmers was, • Who's going to buy George ?' It passed into a saying ; and thus 'By George ;* became the town expletive. In 1806 she was sold for §58, 25. She began to be one of the towns poor in 1759, and was set up at xendue for the last time in 180 S. The town was pleased with the business, and persistently voted ' not to build a poor-house' on overy occasion when it was proposed. The widows gradually increased in number, and they were sold to the lowest bidder, every year, without without any expression ot sentiment. Thus, in December, ISOB. it was 'voted to vendue the 'vidow of the lute Jonathan ferry and child, and also two more o_ the youngest children, and also one cow and one heifer.' in this way children were sometimes rated with crttle, and separated from their mothers. In 1823, it was voted to put up the poor in lump or together, and if they will nod go five dollars lower altogether, why therl they arc to go separately.' But this plan did hot succeed, and the sale of widows, in 1824, is thus recorded : April sth, 1824. The poor of the town was thou set up to be kept one year, and their clothing to be kept in repair or to be returned as they now aro. S.iles : Mary Nye, 338 ; Ada Bumpus, $18.50; Salome Bumpus, 817; Mary Bumpus, $42.75 ; Lydia Burnous, 824 50 ; Wd Long, $29 50; Lois Ohubbuck, $37; Merina Hatbaway, §38 50; Mary Barrows, 843.

This method of disposing of the town's p->or may have been a good one under the circumstances of the times. But it was accompanied by some acts which rnusr be considered as scandalous to any community that favored them, ;»nd which tended to destroy all family affection, For example iv 1708, .Rowland Sturtovant, was paid by ihe town for keeping his brother. In 180(J William P«rce iva< paid 350 for keeping his mother, and §8.08 for supplying his father; ami the town also voted to give this mm §200, for which he promised to support his mother during her natural life. Even as late as 1822 the town voted to give to one Savery 825 a year to pay him for supporting his own sister and his own mother.

Such things show that som, of the blood of these days was a good deal thinner than water. —' N. Y. Evening Post.'

Venice

Venice has no poet! Sua has been cele brated by strangers, but never in her own musical tougue by a r.ou of her own. All the great sotijJJ of Italy have a une from other re giottH ; n<>r, only tho Divine Comedy, which would be our, of place among those gleaming watery ways, but eveu the .igu.-s.oiieU strains ot the Decameron, the h;ve-f_o.iuecs which would have chimed so sweetly to the measure of thb waves. Music is overyhtvere about, but articulate verse no whet c, Ah ani from, lea Feaifciana chantent, says in bad French, aud with a certain Teutonic con .enipfc, the German waiting-maid, suiffing disdainfully with broad Teutonic nos^ at the soft harouaies thi. risa from thegfloatiug choir iv the gondola outside the window. All Venecions sing ; and no doubt there are humble popular poets here as el..«where in It aly -a hundred nameless song-m>_kr.rs, who supply the wants of tho people ; but r_.» «• -ice great "enough to have been heard beyoao'.he lagoons has risen out of Venice ;iio_.o/, ...*_-p_ iv ' tones of statecraft and diplomacy—lq roar ofcinnon, o in the painter's still Jant guago, the poecry of art, _yen kiud old Guidon., witn his lively dramas, is a Uhizziote and our own Byrou is the greatest poetical recollection which one hears of alon.; the noble poebic course of that; canal highway,' every housa of which, reflected with all itg lights in the danciug water, is of itself a poem. —

'My son' saw _ affeo-unit-be mMherto her, son, wtio lived ft little, way fvO-Ti ncr, and ex pected in. a shore fctme _•> r_ei; BHftiwi, 'yon are getting very thin.' m-ther,'he re plied, 'I am, and jt-ini cotae nc_« I think yon will <.««. m& yib. 1