eagerly looked for her letters, but latterly he began to thirik'less of her and more of his money; not that he had really ceased to lovo her, but:because his wealth now occupied §o large 8/ place in his mind that there waa. little room'left for thoughts of Maggie. Her image was growing more shadowy, and it was- only i occasionally that he remembered her at all. :■:■•■ ■

.'.'. Man's lova is of man's life a thiug aparty i 'Tis woman's whole existence, f-,' !, !•:■ says Byron,—an excellent authority upon suoh {natters., Men have r so ,many other thingsrwjhicb almost equally interest them, that at best they pnlylpye in;a half-hearted sorfc.of way. , With ,a woman it is. entirely different, and it would require to be a very powerful escite.men,t,which. could cause her' to Ib;got l,ie^,lpv'er,. r AH the time Alick was absent,,Maggie,thought i of. little else than, of the day which w,p l uld i bring I ,lHtn,back to her. She always, :tri,ed t,p for ; his want of pu'nctuaUiy'in,writing,to her,h-per,-, haps, he missed the mail , or may be ill, ora thWsanjJ things.' arenglow, to believe,'in,th^ falseness,.©/ th,pse, they love,,' and are! everjready to .attribute any. shor{; comings or .neglect, ( to lacpideut. or to some-untoward circumstances. Well, of course, love and /trust; are very beautiful and poetical in theory, but quifco.unfit, for practice, .the. trust 'is so often betrayed atfd tfre love flung aside,,',.,',, ~. | . TJpon AHck Q.or.don's return to Mel^ bourne he was very much sought after and flatieyp'd on ,^ccoun,t ; of his, wealth,, so that he^had but little tinie'to.dovote to tytaggie. Sibce his return hehad .never.,spoken of their marriage at all; in fact^, he, began to entertain very serious .doubts ..about Maggie's suitability,(tOj be., hjs wife., j, Alick Gordon, with a small' public, hpuse, and Alexander Gordon, .Esq., . with,., forty thousand pounds, were two very different men. For some time he wavered ;. but. in his'case, as almost in all others, doubts, if nursed for a length of time, ppnder.ed and thought over, will invariably develop into certainties. Poor Maggie! 'In the old days he never entertained a doubt about her. fitness to occupy any station. Now, however, it was otherwise, and ho soon be camo convinced that a fashionable young lady whom he had met at a ball, and who played andjsang admirably, danced, grace fully, arid wag altogether a very charming person, would make him much a better wife than the girl who had Joyed him so long arid so faithfully. After arriving at this conclusion he allowed but little time to elapse before acting upon it; and /to spare Maggie any pain,' as he generously said to himself, would not seek a personal interview with her, and so allowed her to become acquainted with his falseness through the announcement of his marriage in the papers'. Poor Maggie ! It was a great shock to her. Still,, she had .more pride than pro bably any of her friends had: .given her credit for. From tho ; day upon which she read of his marriage she never again mentioned his name, and bo dropped as completely out of .her life as if be nevpr had a place in it. Once only she saw him after his marriage, .and that was in the theatre, accompanied by his richly dressed, showy looking wife. He did not sco,her.then, nor ever again, to recognise her. Some months after, she married a young doctor, who had long been in love with her, and with him she went to Sydney, and solost all trace of her faithless lover. ...

After so many years had passed, she and her husband, who had attained to em inence in his profession, returned to Melbourne. Time bad greatly . chafed Maggie's appearance - } the quie^-mannered, gentle girl had" developed into the 'graceful self-possessed lady. All thoughts of her early lover had J probably faded from her mind; or, if remembered at all, it only served to make her more thoroughly appreciate the good qualities of her kind, generous husband. After taking ug their:, residence'fn Melbourne^ her husband was daily m tbe'h'abit of visiting,the hospital, lunatic asylum, and, other charitable institutions. , One day his wife expressed a wish to accompany him, Their first visit'wa.s to the Asjlum, where they were politely received and shown over the establishment. They'were about leaving, when Maggie's attention became attracted by a gray-haired patient who was kneeling er a: free in a retired corner of the grounds.'. In answer to her enquiries the attendant informed her that the man had been-an'inmate of the asylum for somo years, and always appeared to be labour ing under the delusion'that he had wrong ed some persop, and daily went at the same honr arid prayed beneath that tree for her' forgiveness., While- they were speaking the did1 man!'slowly approached them, but'abp1 edred to'taltq no notice of them, till Maggie spofte to him ; then ho stared1 earnestly at; Jier' and. whispered eagerly-11- ':' ', ' ''".,'' v \'.,, "•' , ';',. ', •Do you ihirik1 she will 'ever, forgive jnapn-.?.-.'■.•"..mJ-.i-.m. I;;-;"-;--;'-; "; ' Wh6^; asked' the doctbr1. . • WHy, Maggie, of 'course!,' !he' replied impatiently.1' 'Do you not finbw that I left her long ago, and ever sincelseej her, she shakes ber,:herad and iuriis away from me ; ofa'd-Talwhys pray, pray to' ,her to forgiye itie,' btit she 'will not. But when I amdtiad perhajps' she .will forgive me then.'1 Do'"you think shej Will ?" he added addre'«sin& Maggie. ' '",,.';," .' ■ • She does forgive-you' she replied. ' she forgave;y6u long ago1-" / Maggie badI'grown very pale, and clung to her husband's arm; fbr d'urine: those few moments she recognised in the melancholy inmate-'of the Yarra Beiid the once hand some "Alick Gordon, her own unfaithful lover.•'' All her wrongs had been terribly avenged; ,

, * I am glad you .think she will,' he said. ' I think so too. sometimes.' '

rOh.' shereplied; 'lam Maggie. Do you not know me.' ' Arc you?' he said simply; 'but you are not my Maggie. She died long ago. Your hair is not like hers, and your eyes are not so blue. She is dead, poor Maggie,, And she always looks sad, arid, never smiles; butl know she will forgive me when I die. Do you know when I am going to die P' he said. ''Well, when that tree,' pointing to the one under which he had linel-t, ■!'' withers, I shall die then ; my life is in that tree.' Then he slowly passed on arid left themi '.'" .....

Upon enquiry they learned his; history, which had been the common one of many, [nttoricated by success, he speculated one rashly, and lost all his large fortune. He afterwards received some paltry appoint ment in a public office, but even this he eventually lost.' With prosperity, all his friends left-him"; and his wife, who had only married him for his money, ftas constantly faulting him with what he had brought her to. And so at last, under an accumulation of misfortunes, his intellect gave way. From the time he was placed in the asylum his wife never visited him, and it was believed that she had 16ft Melbourne. ■ ' ■

He was1 never violent, but always gentlo and melancholy, and had somehow come to associate that one particular tree with the memory of his forsaken love. He never' recovered his senses, and about twelve months after, owing'to some altera tions being made in the grounds, his favourite tree had to be cut down, and by a curious coincidence ho died upon the same day. His last words were of Maggie :—'She forgives me now, and smiles at last,' ho said; 'I told you so.' \.nd, happy in this belief, he passed away to the silent land, all his faithlessness and falseh«bd ■forgotten and forgiven. In' a quiet corner of the Melbourne cemetery lie now lies at rest, beneath the drooping branches of an Australian blue gum, whose rustling leaves, like spirit voices, whisper over his grave.—' Saturday Advertiser.'

Juggling in the East.

Just'as luncheon had been finished, the dubash, Ramaswammy, entered the room, and announced that the jugglers were in attendance in the verandah. The jugglers' party con sisted of two men, a woman, alad, and a child of about four years of age. They had with them a large basket, containing their stock in trade, and, with the exception of the woman, they were but scantily clad. The latter had a small Indian tabor before her, which she occasionally snatched up and struck with the tips of her fingers, to add expression to some of the wild chants which were introduced during the phases of the exhibition. A leathern strap was unrolled and laid on the ground open to view : a subdued choral incantation followed : there was a slight but perceptiple nervous twitching motion in the strap, when one of the performers, crying out, ' Cover him up ; cover him up, or he will bite us ;' placed a wicker-work basket, called a tapah, over it, and covered it with a cloth ; then seizing a strange-looking musical instrument, the body of which consisted of a small dry gourd, he produced a succession of wild, droning notes, not unlike the treble of a bagpipe. His companion removed the basket, and, in lieu of the leathern strap there was an enor mous cobra, a hooded snake wivh crest erect, darting out its double tongue, and swaying about a foot of its body from side to side, the rest being ar ranged in & close coil. All drew back their chairs in undisguised alarm. Meanwhile the snake, though evidently charmed by the music, kept his bright eyes directed on the movements of the party, whom he seemed to regard as his natural foes. The woman was the first to attack her ancient enemy by slily attempting to nip his tail. He hissed forth his displeasure, and made a dart at her hand, but she was too quick for him. With equal success the lad and the man, who was not playfng, continued to provoke the reptile fora minute or two, but he at length bit the latter in the hand. The blood trickled slowly from the wound, but the man drew from a small bag about his person what appeared to be1 a email, dai'k coloured, flat stone, and pressing it upon the wound left it there, for it appeared to have adhesive and styptic properties, ,In about two minutes the blood ceased to flow and the quasi stone dropped off. A small basket was then put before the snake, into which he quietly glided and was hid from sight; ; ; One of the jugglers then brought forth a ball of fine twine, and unwound about fifty yards of it in a coil in his hand: this coil he cut through with a knife at each end of its diameter : then again and again repeated'the operation til! the twine had been divided into

bieces, ,not exceeding four inches in length. Taking up these disjecta, he' put tnemjinto' the lad's mouth, and bade him swallow them, which, after s?ome eflort, he to all appearance did then asking one of the company for a, sharp penknife, the man obviously made in incision, in the skin of the lads stom ach. !From this he picked out with the point of the fenife the end of a thread : this thread he pulled forth, at first gently, then faster, then hand over Hand, until he had coiled down on the grounda continuous length, of about qne hundred yardsof wet sewing thread. This if deception was a marvelous one, fpr the operation hadall the appearance i a^nd tokens of reality, since the ski a of the stomach was slightly raised round ojrifi6© through ■'which.'1 the thread the vjras being evidently'dr'awe., f ■ Our friendg were fairly puzzled,, and tt> add to their perplexity the operator cut off the thread close to the skin, and placed a piece of sticking; plaster over it, leaving it to be, inferred that the supply of thread was unlimited,, and could be drawn upon 'to order.' ' Master, give me one piece of money,' said he who appeared to be the princi pal juggler, suddenly speaking in "English to Mr. Hawthorne. * Why?', asked^the latter, taking a rupee from his pocket and handing it to the man.

' ' Gtood rupee,' said the man, jerking the1 coin into the air with a. sharp fillip qf his thumb nail, and drawing the. true ring from the metal. ' Ofood rupee ! Master sure can hold him tight

his hand, so as cannot run away.

' To be sure I can,' replied the young gerttleman. ' ' ; ' .' ■« Master, try Ihen,' said the juggler, taking Mr. Hawthorne's left hand and placing the rupee on the palm of it. He then requested the gentleman to place the palm of his right hand over the1 coin, to close both hands tightly, and not let the money by any means escape. Thoroughly determined on the point, our young friend pressed his hands together till he was red in the face.

1 Maßter quite sure got money in his hand?' asked the juggler.

'■Quite/ was the reply. ' Can feel him, master|?'

' Tea.'

The iuggler tookthe gentleman's two hands bet ween his .own, and muttered qotno cOfbalastic,words ; then blowing upon them and giviug .them a heavy, shake, he asked, with a grin : ' Can you feel him now, master?' Starting from hia chaiir with a bound, the young Englishman, with 'an affrighted look unclasped his hands,! and there fell on the floor beneath, not the rupee, but a lively, struggling little brown snake, about fifteen inches long, which made immediately for the legs of Captain M Turk. Now this gentleman, who under ordinary circumstances was as brave as a lion, by no means relished, or was prepared for, an encounter with the evil one, of whom he doubtless believed the approaching reptile was an incarnation, so hastily tossing both legs up in the air, the worthy Captain loat his balance, and, together with the chair, came heavily to tho groudd, though fortunately with no serious consequences beyond a broken back— of the chair, wo mean. The worthy skipper soon picked himself up, and seeing that the snake had been captured by the lad, round whose arm it was now entwined, joined in the general laugh, and seated Mmself again in another chair that was placed for him. ' Master, take tis rupee again ?' said the juggler, offering the coin to Mr. Hawthorne, with, it must be confessed, a regretful look. 1 No/ said tho gentleman, 'you have fairly earned it; besides——' 'It might turn into a snake again in your pocket, you were going to add Hawthorne,' said Mr, Kemp.

An empty flower-pot was now placed upon the iloor by the juggler, who requested that his comrades might be allowed to bring up some garden-mold from the little , plot of. ground below. Permission being accorded, the man went, and in two minutes returned with a small quantity of fresh earth tied up in a corner of his handkerchief,; which was deposited in the flower-pot, and lightly pressed down. Taking froth his basket a dry mango-stone, and handing it around to the company that they might examine - it,, and satisfy them-, selves that it was really what it seemed to be, the juggler scooped out a little earth from the. center'of the; flower pot and placed the stone in the cavity. He then turned the earth lightly over it, and, having poured a little water over the surface, shut the flower-pot out of view by means' of a sheet thrown oyer a small triangle, And now, amid

1) full chorus of voices and rat-tat-tat of the tabor, the sfeone iterminated; presently a section of (of the. cloth, was drawn aside, and gave [bo view the tender shoot, characterised jby. two long leaves of a blackiah-brown jcolor. The cloth was re-adjusted, and the |incantation resumed. Not long was it, 'however, before the cloth was a second 'time drawn aside, and it was then seen that the two ffrst leaves had given ' [place toseveral green ones, and that jthe plant now stood nine 01* tea inches high. A third time, and the foilage iwas much thicker, the sapling being kbout thirteen to fourteen inches in height. A fourth time and the little miniature tree, now about eighteen inches in height, had twelve mangoes, iibout the size of walnuts hanging about its branches. Finally, after the lapse of three or four minutes, the cloth was altogether removed, and the fruit, having the perfection of size, thought not of maturity, was plucked and handed to the spectators, and, on being tasted, was found to be approaching ripeness, being sweetly acid.

An Embarrassment.

At an Hotel in Salt Lake City a man and his wife were stopping. The man waa subject to severe attacks of (J!olic, and was taken sick there in the n|ight. He told his wife he must have immediate relief, or he oould not live,, he thought a mustard plaster would relieve him. She hastily robed herself, went down stairs, and spread the mus tard from the castor on her handker chief, and hastened up stairs. Finding the bed-room door ajar, she rushed in, and clapped the preparation on the unconscious man's bowels. He instantly sprang up in the bed and a strange voice said. 'My G-od Madam, What are you doing ?' She had got the wrong man. Wo leave the reader to imagine her feelings. She found her own room, and in accents of horror told her husband of the facts. The extreme ludicrousness of the incident sent him into a strong fit of laughter that relieved him as thoroughly as the mustard would have done. Very early next morning, before many of the guests wers up, a man, woman, trunk, band-boxes etc, etc, might have t>een seen leaving the Hotel; for the wotuans name was on the handkerchief.

COMFORT.

If thera should come a time, as well there may, When sudden tribulation smites thine heart,

And thou dost come to me for help, and stay, And comfort —how shall I perform my part ? Row shall I make my heart a resting place, A shelter safe for thee, when terrors smite ? How shall I bring the sunshine to thy .face.. And dry thy tears in bitter woe's despite ? How shall I win the strength to keep my voice

Steady and firm, although T hear thy sobs ? How shall 1 bid thy fainting soul rejoice, Nor mar the counsel by mine own heart throbs ? Lore, my love teaches me a certain way, So, if thy dark hour come, I am thy stay.

I must live higher, nearer to the reach Of angels in their blessed trustfulness, Learn their unselfishness, ere I can

teach. Content to theo whom I would greatly

bless. Ah me ! what woe were mine if thou shouldst come,

Troubled, but trusting unto me for aid, And I should meet thee powerless and

dumb, Willing to help thee, bat confused, afraild It shall not happen thus; for I wiU,'rise, God helping me, to higher life, and

gain Courage and strengeh to give thee coun-

sel wise, And deeper love to bless thee in thy

pain. .... Fear not, dear love, thy trial-hour shall be

The dearest bond betwee my heart and thee.. .

ANSWERS TO CORRESPON DENTS.

Snowdrop, Parnell. —Your poem to the Violet, contains a pretty fancy, but some of the lines are faulty, and the rhymes at verse 5, are wanting in harmony. Try and mend them. H^nby B.—Your effusion from the Express .stand,,to the JSTew Theatre,, is ! not so bad, especially your recollection •of the, .Front. The poem will appear next week if possible. '■ Minnie F^—-Harriet Martineau; as you 1 say, was a wonderful woman. She died on the 27th, of JuUe last at Ambleside, near to Rydal Mount, the residence of the poet, Wordsworth, where she possessed a rustic home and. a few acres of land. We intend shortly to give a few person al recollections of her.»,.,'.

WOMAN'S WORK.

Darning little stockings, :-•..:. I For restless little feet; Washing little faces, To kßep them clean and sweet- Hearing Bible lessons, ' ' j Teaching .catechism, Praying for Salvation From heresy and seism— J

Woman's work, f Sewing on the buttons, Overseeing rations, Soothing with a kind word, ; ■ Other's lamentations. Guiding clumsy Bridgets, .... And coaxing sullen cooks ; Entertaining company, And reading recent books— ' i: J

Woman's work. ■■'-:■■•;;' Burying out of sight Her own unhealing smarts; iM, Letting in the sunshine, ': On other clouded hearts, n] Binding up the wounded, And healing of the sick ;Y,,- Bravely marching onwards, .\ Through dangers dark, anithick. Woman's work. Leading little children, And blessing manhood's years; Showing to the sinful,. How God's forgiveness cheers,'" Scattering sweet roses, j Along another's path ; ■:■•,., '~ Smiling by the wayside, '[„. J. Content, with what she hath— i , Woman's work. /^.J Letting fall her own tears, Where only God can see, Wiping off another's, With tender sympathy; Learning by experiance, , {i '- Teaching by example; Yearning for the Gateway, . , , Golden, pearly, ample— '■ Woman's work;-,■•:.. Lastly cometh silence, A day of deep repose, t or Her locks so smoothly braidedjj' Upon her breast a rose. Lashes resting gently, Upon the marble cheek, , ' A look of blessed peace, Upon the forehead, meek— Woman's work.' . Pale hands softly folded, The kindly pulses still; The lips know no smiling, ■ The noble heart no thrill. Her couch needs no smoothing,. She craveth for no care ; ob| . Love's tenderest entreaty, , j ;■} Wakes no responses there— , Woman's work. /Mr Fresh graves in the valley,; •;• ' Tears, bitter sobs, regrets;, ■ '; One more solemn lessoni That lips may not forget. Pace for ever hid, Race for ever run;

; Dust to Dust 'a voice saith, • \ And woman's work is done—' r Woman's work. ;

A baldheaded friend of. a phlegfflstic temperament was accosted by a -ftuanj acquaintance with, 'Tom, why is yotei head like the Arctic regions ?' —'I give it up.'—' Because it is a white beab place? 'Mamma,' asked a precious youngster at the tea-table the other evening, after i long and yearning gaze toward a plate o! doughnuts, 'Mamma, do you think I could stand another one of those frieJ holes ?' She thought he could. •Papa, did God have time to get around all the churches after staying to hear Mr, 's prayer, or did he leave before it ended ?' is what a Massachusetts young ster asked the other Sunday, after church, The Congregationalisfc's iittle boy TO ' badly to blame when he went to an Epis copal church, for the first time, to'hen his uncle preach, for exclaiming as the minister came out in his white robes; Papa, does Uncle Joseph sleep here?1 The genuine pig whistle appears at the Great Exposition. It is a whistle briilt out of one of the extermities of pork: in short, a whistle from a pork's tail; and ii awarded a prominent place in the pavilion, ' Nothing,' says Emerson, 'is impossible to one that wills.' Oriental Proverbs :— It is easy Jo mount a little donkey.—Two captains in one ship will surely sink her.—The foi ends by getting into the furrier's shop.— The nightingale was shut up in a golden cage, but she still cried, 'My home, my home,' —Knife-wounds heal,but nottta produced by a word. —The heart'ln crystal place ; once broken, it can never be mended.—With patience, sour grapeSoe come sweetmeats, and mulberry lewd turn to satin.—At sight of a glow-WOTi the timid cry 'Fire.'—A fly is notl* but it spoils the appetite.—The apple <W j pomegranate trees disputed which ff^ | fairer, when the thistle exclaim \ •Brethren, let us not quarrel.' "fAj Answering a fool.—On the road to Ep* ' som, a moustached youth on the top of 1 r dray, evidently ambitious of being taken for 'an officer,' thus saluted i J coachman, who was gravely driving f master and family :-^Haloa, yoif F wherh' yonr shirt-collar ? How dare p come to the Derby without a shirt-coM; Jehu growled forth without lifting "" eyes from his horses, 'Ow the deuce could I have a shirt-collar, whenff mother has not sent home my washing'

Printed and published by the proprietor, J&jL Brett, of Parnell, at his General Steam FJJg Office, "Wyndham-street, in the City of 4a*f New Zealand, ' ■ ■'■ \" '• .j ! Saturdsy, September 30, 1879'

Evenfiig Siipplpmeut, September 30, 1870*