"EVENING STAR" SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT OF ENTERTAINING READING.

[Price: ONE PENNY

j No. 39.]

AUCKLAND, SATURDAY, JULY 29, 1876

The Missing Bridegroom.

ii'jfoj I don't like him.' John Hammersley's fist fell heavily n pon the table to give emphasis to the brief sentence, uttered in a loud tone. Margaret, his niece and orphaned charge from childhood, looked up appealingly. Then her voice, very sweet and low, made

(answer: < I love him.' 'More's the pity,' growled h«r uncle, i can't you love some one else ?' ! Just a shy smile, with a lurking of fun I jjj ft, for an answer to this question. I 'Here's Will Hall been courting you over since you were a baby ; and Mark I Halstead would give his eyes for you; ' both smart young sailors. No; you must tarn up your nose at them, and fall in love 4, with nobody knows who.' ' I thought he told you he was a junior iv a wholesale house.' I • Told me!' was the contemptuous reply; | <go he did. And you love him?' Now, ■ here you've lived all your life on the I sea-coast, amongst strong men, and you I S et your heart on a pretty curly-headed I doll, with hands like a girl's.' 1 ' He's tall and strong, and manly, too,' f; urged Margaret; 'he does not know any- I thing about a boat or a ship, and his work I] does not require tarred hands and coarse I clothes ; but he is not effeminate, uncle,' I. 'Humph! Will Hall is a man fit to I marry a sailor's daughter ; mate of a fine I vessel, and making money. It is rough II to see him thrown overboard for a chap I none of us had ever seen six months ago. II wish he had drowned before he came to I Brashaw to turn your head.'

if 'Uncle,' Margaret said, very earnestly, ||'ifHarry Craige had never come to I? Brashaw, it would have made no differ- I ence in my answer to Will Hall. I would j not marry him, if I never had seen Harry.-' A dark, evil face that had been pressed II close to the closed blinds of the room tj where the conversation took plac9, was |l lifted here fbr a moment, and a clenched I fist was shaken in the air. 'Bah! If you had never seen Harry I Craige, you would have married Hall when Ihe asked you six months ago. If your I fine beau was to go home again, you would I forget him in six months, and marry Will, If like a sensible girl.' | Margaret's low-spoken but sensible [1 reply, ' Never !' was lost in the snap of if the garden gate, suddenly closed, and the Prap on the cottage door. H The listener slunk around tho corner of 1 the house, and sped away. But the visitor I entered the cottage, and greeted uncle and ! niece. A tall, handsome man, with a very frank expression. * Though Uncle John growled and fumed, Margaret was the very darling of his ii heart, and he could never seriously oppose S any wish of hers. So, while the evil ¥ faced man who had listened at the window I sped over tho fields, Harry Craige pressed I his suit till John Hammersley was won to 1 give his consent to a marriage that was 1 really a worldly advantage to.his niece. Consent once gained, Harry pleaded I hard fbr a speedy wedding. So the bans I were published, and the guests invited. I Mark flalstead, a second cousin of I Margaret's, and with a disappointed heart, I consented to be groomsman, but Hall kept | aloof, though he met Harry often, and i| gave him a grudging civility. The wedding day came, and the cottage I was decorated for the festivities after the Ji marriage. Margaret's wedding-dress was I already donned. The bride was waiting, I but Harry did not come, Mark Halstead, after a whispered fl consultation with Mr. Hammersley. went II to where Harry had boarded. Here he 1 was informed that on the previous evening If a note had been handed in for Mr. Craige, if and immediately afterwards he had driven I away. That was all that Mark could find J out that night. The guests dispersed, Margaret refusing I all campanionship but that of her uncle. When they were alone together, she | crept into the strong arms that had been I her protection and shelter from childhood, I and lay there, white as the bridal dress I she wore, shivering and tearless. And, I looking at her mute misery, John I Hammersley restrained the ' torrent of 1 indignant words trembling upon his I tongue, and soothed her as if she had been I an infant. 'He is sick or hurt,' the old man said. In his heart he added, • And if the false I villain is deceiving my girl, I will shoot ■ him like a dog.' But he had no opportu nity to keep the unspoken threat. A letter was written to the firm, and one of the senior partners came to Bra shaw. It was some comfort to the heart-broken Margaret to hear of the high esteem in which Harry was held, and see the evi dent sorrow of the elderly gentleman who spoke so warmly of his partner. 'It is absurd to suppsse he has ran away,' said his partner ; •heis a man of influence in bisuness, and his social stand ing is of the best, and' —and here he turned to Margaret—• his love was pure honorable and sincere. I, who have known

«Yes.'

him from a boy, know that he was a man who would scorn to play with any woman's heart.'

Only a piteous o.?y of, ' Where can he be P' burst from tho girl's white lips. * Had he any enemies here P' was the next stern question. No one knew of any. The frank, bright nature had won friends all about him. Even Hall had been seen in frendly con sntioa with the missing man on the day of his disapearance. Every inquiry resulted in the same disappointment, till the nine-day's wonder died out, and the mystery was unsolved; The faithful heart that loved Harry kept his imago evor closely folded, griev ing silently and in solitude, and wearily resuming the routine of lifo. Every duty of her humble, quiet life Margaret ful filled with patient care ; but her step was slow and weary, her face pale, and her eyes heavy with weeping. But her uncle who loved her fondly, missed her rippling laugh, her sweet song. And it was a delicate tribute he paid Margaret's sorrow that he never hinted to her that there might be some dishonorable explantion of her lover's disappearance: This idea haunted him. Since the departure of the senior partner of the firm there was no one to speak of Harry in terms of com mendation, and speculations were numerous in the village. A wife secretly hidden away, who threatened exposure, with a favorite theory. Debt was another. Escape from punishment for some crime was a third. But all these theories were kept from Margaret. Winter set in. Hall came often to the cottage. His face was one that could mask an evil heart with an assumption of rough frankness, and seldom had any one seen to as it revealed itself when he listened at the cottage window. He had let the vessel, of which he was first mate and part owner, go upon a long . cruise without him, and he employed all his time in a vigorous pursuit of his courtship. As deeply as he could love any one he loved Margaret; and he had felt secure of her favor until Harry Oraige came. John Hammersley favored the sailor's suit heartily, and after Margaret had given her grief its full sway for three months, she was bidden to * mope' no longer, but cheer up, as there was just as good fish in the sea as ever was caught. So, with her sorrow as deep as at first, her heart true as steel, the girl had to be present when Hall came to the cottage, and listen to his rough wooing. Again and again she refused his presents, his compliments, his offers to escort her here or there. But the man would not be driven away. Encouraged by the uncle's liking, he persisted, in spite of Margaret's coldness. Itwasnoc in the girl's nature to be discour teous or unkind, and her gentle manner was accepted as a far greater encourag ment than she ever intended it to be. The Winter was long agony to her. Her uncle urged Hall's claims at every available opportunity, and the sailor himself was persistent in his attentions. And while her days were busy, her evenings wearily spent in uncongenial society, Margaret's night's were restless and memory haunted. Where was her lover hidden P Where was the dark story of crime written that carried him from her. She never doubted him, and she kept his memory brought in her heart. She did not hope ever^to meet him on earth again, for she was sure that if he lived he would return to her, but no other love should ever obliterate his from her heart.

A whole year wore away, and Hall had urged his suit vehemently in the preceding days, and Margaret realized, with a sad heart, that her steady refusal of his suit was alienating her uncle's affections. He could not understand this constancy. Why should Margaret live alone because one man was false or unfortunate ? So he urged, as they sat in the parlor of the little cottage, and Margaret listened with drooping head, and hands folded wearily. ' I cannot mary uncle,' she said gently but firmly ; ' I cannot forget the only man I ever loved.'

The garden gate clanged, a step crunched the gravel, and without knocking a man in a rough sailor's dress, bearded and bronzed, stood in the door-way. One look, and with a cry Margaret sped to the open arms of Harry Craige. John Hammersley only stared, till a cheery voice said. 'Xouseelam a sailor—a man after your own heart.' * Bless my eyes ! Where did you come from ?'

< Off the ' Sea Gull.' ' Whaling ?'

' But what possessed you to go off in that way ?' ' I will tell you. Sit here beside me, Margaret. I was shanghaid. Do you know what that means, my pearl P Your uncle does. I was drugged, carried aboard the ' Sea Gull,' and recovered my senses when we were out of sight of land, bound for a year's whaling cruise.' • But who—' began John Hammersley. • William Hall,' was the stern answer.

' He told me, Margaret, a week before our wedding-day, of a friend of his, a Captain of an East Indian vessel, who had some curiosities that would please you, and rare shawls and fabrics to show me, also. I never thought of teachery, and when he sent me a note to meet his friend in the village, I drove over. Half-way on my trip 1 met Hall, and took him up. We' drove to a small tavern, and while we waited I drank a glass of wine with Hall. A numbness soon seized me, my head grew dizzy and I knew no more until I awokd on board a whaling vessel in the dress of a common sailor.'

' The scoundrel!' muttered John Ham mersley.

' I raised a pretty fuss at first,' Harry continued, 'but it was useless. Nobody believed I could pay the sum I offered if they ■ would carry me to Brashaw, and I concluded I must make the best of the situation. So, Mr. Hammersley, I applied my energies to seamanship, and they tell me aboard the ' Sea Gull that I make a very tidy sailor.'

' You are a brave lad,' was the warm reply, ' and I'm heartily glad you're back; and I'm heartily glad of another thing— and that is that Margaret's ,fcrue love has baffled Hall's little game, 'vld as I am, he had better keep out of reach of my arm !'

Apparently the baffled schemer thought so himself, for he was never more seen in Brashaw. Two there were who little cared. The two were married a few weeks later, and Uncle John threatened to find a wife himself; but at the last accounts he had failed to do so, preferring to wait till Margaret's eldest daughter is old enough to take her mother's place as housekeeper in the cottage.

Spelling v Pronouncing-Bee.

The introduction of ' spelling-bees' might well be followed up by that of pronouncing bees, but for the fact that the canons of correct pronunciation are more easily disputed than those which regulate orthography. Indeed, a good deal of ill feeling may bo raised in a short time by discussion on this subject; chiefly, no doubt, because, as an authority on these points puts it,' a man's speech is apt to be or to be considered, an indication of the manner in which he has been bred and of the character and company he keeps.* It may be best to take warning by the fate of two distinguished savans who have, as tho late Horace Greely used to describe such a struggle, ' locked horns" over a knotty philological question and have by this time nearly demolished each other in the columns of the ' New York Nation.' The cause of their strife is simple the : Whether it is right to sound the A in glass last, and pastor, as it is sounded in fathe.r or as it is sounded in an or at. One of the rival philologists having unluckily remarked that the former style of prounuciation was the 'the surest indication, in speech, of social culture which began at the cradle, the other was down upon him in a moment with the retort that ' the gossips that haunted his cradle must have been miser ably underbred.' It is evident, there fore, that a pronouncing- bee might break up friendships, create domestic discord, and make the once United Kingdom a bear garden, and that it will be best to remain content, with the gentle working of the stingless spelling-bee.

The Zing and the Courtier.

The French King Louis XIV., at one period of his reign, in addition to his other accomplishmenls, undertook to make verses, and received from two of the liter ary men of tho day instructions as to the best method for succeeding therein.

He made one day a little madrigal, which ho himself did not think any too good for its kind, and then said to tho Marechal de Gramont:

' Marechal, I beg of you to bo good enough to read this madigral, and see if you ever saw a more miserable affair. Becaube people have lately learned that I" am fond of verses, they bring them to me of all kinds.'

The Marechal, after having read them, said to the King : 'Sire, your Majesty judges divinely well of everything. It is true that this is the silliest and most ridiculous madrigal that I ever read.' ■

The King began to laugh, and said to him, 'Is it not true that the one who made it must have been a great coxbomb ?'

' Sire, is it impossible to give him any other namo.'

' Oh, well,' said the King, ' I am delighted that you have spoken so honestly to me about it, for I am the one who made

' Ah, sire, what treachery! let your Majesty give it back to me, for I read it carelessly and in a hurry.' ' No, M. le. Marechal; first sentiments aro always most natural.' The King laughed a great deal at this little joke, and every one was of the opinion that it was the most cruel thing that could be done to an old courtier.

A Child of Romance.

A BCHOOL-GIBI, EIOPEB WITH HEE BOOM-

mate's betbothed Among the young people of the best circle of Eldred),' Blessie' Cookton, aged sixteen, adopted daughter of Jerome Cookton, a rich farmer, was an acknowledged leader. She recently returned home from a Philadelphia boarding-school, where*she had been a pupil for four years. On one of these visits, about a year ago, she met Alva Evans, the son of an iron founder of London, Can. Hewas visiting this section with a party of other young men for the purpose of trout fishing. Evans fell in love with Miss Cookton. the result was that a correspondence was opened and kept up between the two, and a marriage fixed upon, to be consummated when Miss * Blessie' should have reached the age of eighteen.

The room-mate and ' particular friend' of the young lady at school was Frances Peters, of Petersville, N. Y. She was two years the senior of ' Blessie,' and left school some time before the latter. Miss Peters is a blonde, exceedingly attractive, and of a dashing and reckless nature. At the house of a friend in Philadelphia she met Isaac Bell, a young man represented to be of an old family and wealthy. The young people formed an attachment for each other—at least Miss Peters fell deeply in love with Bell. As her parents had other matrimonial prospects marked out for her at home, she kept her acquaintance with young Bell a secret from them, but, it seems, promised to marry him at some future day. Not being able to have her lover visit her at home, Miss Peters made an arrange ment with Miss Cookton, by which she was to pay the latter a visit, when Mr. Bell was to go also and stay a few days. To add to the completeness of the arrange ment, 'Blessie' wrote to her Canadian betrothed, and ho was to join the visiting party.

Miss Peters came to Eldred about the middle of April, and in a fow days there after Isaac Bell made Im appearance. Miss*; • Blessie' liked Mm from the first. It was near the latter part of April before Mr. Evans came from Canada. During the two weeks that had elapsed since tbe coming of Mr. Bell, Miss Cookton bad transferred her affections to her friend's betrothed, and his love toward Miss Peters had visibly grown cold. It did not take the jealous eye of Miss Peters and the young Canadian long to notice the change, as it affected them respectively, but they had no idea it was anything more than a temporary flirtation. On the arrival of young Mr. Evans ' Blessie' planned a May-day party for an excursion in the mountains. On Wednesday morning the party started, in accordance with previous arrangements, Miss Cookton and Mr. Evans in one carriage, and the visiting couple in another. On reaching the woods the party strolled at random. They naturally got somewhat separatod ; but while Miss Peters and the Canadian were always in hallooing distance of each other, it seemed that the other couple strolled further away. Tho occasion scorned to be one of no pleasure to Evans and Miss Peters, and thoy, after an hour or so, met near the edge of the woods and sat down to await the return of the other couple. They sat there talking for an hour or more, and as thero was yet no sign of either 801 l or Miss Cookton, both Evans and Miss Peters betrayed evidence of uneasiness and alarm. The Canadian told his com panion to remain in her seat and ho would walk back over the hill and look for ' Blessie,' as he was fearful she had lost her way. He was absent a long time, and finally returned looking pale and anxious. He had seen nothing of ci l,her of the young folks. Miss' Peters was greatly agitated over the result of his search, but neither she nor Evans at that time entertained tho slightest suspicion that the prolonged absence of the two was by deßign or that they were together. They found that the conveyance in which Evans md * Bles ie had como was gone. For the first time a terrible suspicion crossed their minds. A farmer told them that a young man and a young woman had come off the mountain about noon, and getting into the carriage, had driven rapidly off in the direction of Minot station. Evans would not believe that the conduct of ' Blessio' and Bell was anything more than a girlish prank, and was confident that they would .find them at home. On reaching the farm they found they were still absent. Miss Peters hastened to her room to hide her emotion. In a few minutes she sought and found Evans walking in the yard, and placed a note in his hand. It read as follows ••

Dear Frank : So eroitly do I love Mr Bell, that I hwe given up ail for him. I hope you will bo bra- c enough to bsar up, and think of me as the mos cruel croature In the world. Tell Alva I have not the cour age to write to him, nor to father ard- mother. We are going to be married, and iutend to return to Eldred when the gossips are through with ua Fare well, Frank. Bid Alva farewell for me. I hope he had learned to bate me before this, B. 0.

Evans coolly handed the note back to Miss Peters, and remarked quietly :

11 am glad to have found the young lady out before it was too late.'

The same evening he was driven to the railroad and returned to Canada. The farmer's family took the matter very calmly. Miss Peters, however, was found lying in her bed about 7 o'clock the same evening, covered with blood. With a small penknife she had severed the large arteries of both arms, and was nearly unconscious from loss of blood* But.for the timely discovery of her situation she would soon uave been past all aid.) Her wounds were bound up and a doctor summoned, who now has her in charge. Her parents were sent for and arrived here this morning. They will remove their unfortunate daughter to her home as soon as they can with safety. •; ' Blessie' Cookton has a remarkable history. She was found, in the summer of 1860, on the doorstep of Parmer Cookton's house, in a basket. Accompanying the infant was this note :

* The child's father is the son of a Senator of the United States. It's mother is a gypsy girl, who has been converted to Christ and cannot bear the thought of this innocent creature growing up in ignorance and vice. Is there room for her here ? Its little wings are weary, and like dear Jesus, it has no place to lay its head. Turn it not away, but keep it for the love of Christ.'

The child was a bright little thing, and and as the farmer had no children he adopted it aajhis own. It came to be such a sunshine in the house that they gave it the name of ' Blessing,' which waa subsequently turned into 'Blessie,'

Then and Now.

They hadnot met for years. Once, they had leaned over the self-same garden-gate, and sat side by side on the ■ old-fashioned hanvcloth sofa, whispering those platitudes which young love makes of such breathless interest, while the keroaene lamp was turned down to the faintest glimmer compatible with perfect propriety. .

, He had said that her image,! and her's alone, could fill the void which absenco from her left in his heart; ahd when, after unutterable agonies of broken but impassioned English ho hk<3 said that he adored her, she gently re clined her head upon the home starched shirt bosom that cracked above his manly breast, he having, with great presence of mind, placed his handkerchief thereon, in view of pos sible pomatum.

And then he had taken the assur ance that she reciprocated her affec tion from her own lips, and he remarks with a sad smile, that her breath was faintly suggestive of fried onions eaten the previous eve ; but in those heavenly gold-plated, moments ho thought that tho odor of violets in springs was exhaled from her rosy lips.

He went away to work ; thoy cor responded until, from two letters a week, tho correspondence dwindled down to the exchange of a casual newspaper, and thence in silence.

bhe finally married -so did he

And now that they have met, before his heart had done beating, he saw that instead of a sweet girl with brown hair, and a lithe, willowy grace, which somehow he had dreamed of encounter ing, there stood a stout lady with false front, who said :

" Well, Jamos, Ido declare? How old you've gruwed, an' how gray you be." ,

And he had replied : " Well, Hanna, I never should have known you. How stout you are."

"Good heavens? is that fat old woman the girl that I thought I once loved 1" he whispered to himself as he turned away, while she murmured, half audibly: " Lemme see, wasn't Jim an' I 'ngaged?"

The manager of a provincial theatre was, many years ago, much annoyed by complaints concerning the aggravating height of feminine hats in his audiences. Be made no boister ous observations ; he gave no stern orders ; not ho He merely prinked in large letters '.'■ on his play-bills this master piece of geni'a's :, "The manager begs that all good-lookiDg ladies will remove their hats for the accom modation of the rest of the audience. The aged, the bald, acd ■ the plain, are not'1 expected to comply with -this request."' From that auspicious night the - Boaringi bonnet and the mountainous hat were invisi ble at that wise man's theatre. ': oiil

The laziest man-is on a Western paper. He spells photograph " 4tograph " There have only been three worse than he. I/*36 lived in Kansas, and dated Ins lettr-ra " llworth," another sp'il'oft Tcnuestee " 10^C," and thd other wrote .Wjaodoita