"EVENING STAR" SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT OF ENTERTAINING READING.

No 53.1

AUCKLAND, SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 4, 1876

[Price: ONE PENNY.

NOTICES TO CORRESPONDENTS.

Ip C," f Cambridge).—The poem on 'To bacco''will appear in our next. The poem W a3 written in the reign of Charles the Second by an obscure author. iHenry Stiles."— ' According to Cocker,' is a common saying, In the early part of the last century ; one Henry Cocker, a school-master of Southwark published a work on arithmetic, the b 9 st of the period, hence the saying. Cocker was buried in the churchyard of St. George's, the martyr •iWm £umpkm."-The term 'Veipers,' : used by catholics, signifies evening song, aaswerin" to evening prayers. Sicillian : vespers denote a famous era in French •history, being the B"«^ o f «"J~ °*£ the French in the island of Sicily. The , number destroyed was computed »t 8,000. »BUenor."-ln our answer respecting tea nots, it should have read ' Mrs. Marrryat, not ' EarryaV-it was a typographical

|<Frank H.," (Ponsonby).-We, have con sidered your ode to the Ponsonby Highway Board : but as this war is over, your ode has lost much of its interest. We give one speciman, which ia evidently a parody :— Of the Ponaoub people I sing, Of the ponoonby district so fair ; "Where the voices of ratepayers ring. But what must it be to ba there!

"Baptist '!'(Wellesley-streeb).— Banyan died August 31, H3SS, and was buried in Bun hill Fields, London. . v W. Cooper.' —Cromwell gained a complete victory over tho Scotch army, at Dunbar ou Sept, 3, 1650.

THE LIFE WRECK.

Treadln? the alley-way dark and damp, By tha flickering light of a feeble lamp, Breaking the night with her ghostly tramp BbR totters alon?—alone, alone. From hovel to hovel, from street to street, She picss her passage through rain and sleet With not a friend in the world to greet, Not a bonnet to wear, nor a morsel to eat, Hot a sueck of earth to call her own. Wearing her life out day by day, Throwins: her priceless soul away, Shunning for very shame the ray Of toe Sun of Heaven, the glorious Sun. Weary of life and afraid to die, Afraid of the earth, and afram Of the BKy, Afraid of the lisjbt she knows not why. She woos the night as she heaves a sigh, And thinks of a race that is almost run.

phantom of life and beauty fleet, Shadow uniting the qnicfc and dead ! I knew her before hep heart was Wod To tha demon of hatred and despair. I kno-.T her a happy toough'l-ss child, When she pr*uled and laughed and leaped and

smiled, . When hit h-:nrt was pure ana her spirits wild, And all her troubles as light a3 air. I knew her iigain in -womanhood, , When beauty and wit no he?it withstood, Gkand and lovely yet gentle aad good, \dm".rea nn& lovact b7 ihc great ana wise Pe'fect'.in »11 that gr»ndour lends To native bsauSy, in all tint sends A. thrill wherever the proui kuee bands, l'so'crowninggem of a cluster of friends, A. queen iH3iul, anc^a quean in state. 1 know hor now-but 1 know hor not ! •Where all but pr»i<e from the senseless sot, Where all that is pnre is spurned, forgot, I nothing know but a holy dread Steepocl in misery and disgrace. The oya of man no more can trace In that shatterd form and shriveled face A s"gle mirk of their ancient grace— Tho figure is there but tha woman is dead,

THE DESERTED THEATRE.

The sta?e is dark and desolate, The footlights all ate gone. The music hushed, the scenes all past, On which those footlights shone ; The place where youth and beauty met, Is silent night and day; And all those happy faces passed To other scenes away. Gone, gone those actors wont to Bet The audience in a roar, Dismissed those fair dramatic stars, Perchance to meet no more ; Thoae sparkling eves reflect not now Their mimic calm or rage, Tha baize ia down, Othella done, And cobweb 3 drape the stage. The actor 3 who have mingled at Rehearsals many times, May breathe perchance in southern ears The poets' pleasant rhymes; —But sad, oh sad, in other lands, Must sound each actor's tone, Where those in Auckland so admired May meet with hiss and groan. Dsspair not gallant actors, linked By threads of golden years, Kor melt away, liko snow-balls, Into vain and useless tears, But up my boys, up on your feet, No loDger sit aod moan. Although the old thoitre is Deserted and alone. E. G.

BEGINNING AGAIN.

When, sometimes, our foet grow weary, On tho rugged hills of life. Tbo path stretching long atid dreary With trial and labour rife, Wo pause on th» upward journey, Glancing backward on <i alley and glen, Aud sigh with an infinite longing To retura and begin again Far behind is the dew of the morning With all its fre3haoss and light, And bsfore are doubts and slnddow3, And the eMU and gloom of the night. And we think of tho sunny places We pissed so carelo3sly than, And Bi^h. O father ! permit us To return and begin agaio. But ah, how vain is the anklng ! Lifo's duties prssH all of m on, Ami who would shrink fro a their burden, Or sigh for the sunshine that's gone? For, it may be, not far on before \u, Wait lairer placea than then ; Our paths may yet Jead by still waters, Tho' wa may not be:;in again, Yet, evarmnre, upward and onward Be our paths on the liil'.s <5f life, But »'«i long v- golden (iawning Will glorify trial and strife, And on: Father's hind will lead 113 Tendorly upward then; la tho joy and peace of the better world He'll let us begin again.

Rattlesnakes.

Soms time ago, says an American paper, attention was called to the presence in Kansas city of a West Indian darkey who pro fessed to be a kind of a charm doctor. He professed to be master of all the ills incident to human, flesh, except consumption. He gave his name as Noble, &nd seemed to have implicit reliance on hia own promises. He made rheumatism a speciality and treated some of our citizens -Gen. Parsons among the number. The effect was temporarily beneficial, but "no lasting good followed. As will be seen by the following account clipped from the Kansas City Times, Noble has come to grief in a hand to hand enconn ter with a rattlesnake : —

Yesterday afternoon, just when everybody appeared to be seeking shade and a breath of air, while the entire city was sweltering under a brilliant blanket of sunlight, the shadow of which scored one hundred in the shadiest corner, just at this time a queer, repulsive looking mortal came hopping, skipping, and howling down Main Street. Reaching the corner opposite the oourt-house he staggered a moment and then rollod himself, howling, upon the door of Ebersold'a restaurant. Here he exhibited a bleeding hand and announced to the few who had braved the torrid glare of the noonday sua, that he had been bitten by a rattlesnake. He belongs to that strange class of beings called voudous, or negro doctors, who, by spells and horrible incanta tions, hold a wonderful sway over the minds of the superstitious, uneducated colored people of the south. This fellow, who gives his name as George Noble, is a native of Jamaica, and spent a large portion of his life in the West India Islands, where he became a voudou doctor. About four years ago he came to Kansas City and created con siderable trauble among the too credulous colored people, who became converted to his horrible doctrines. He finally fell into the grip of the law, and was obliged to leave the city. He says that he went back to the West Indies, and returned betfcar prepared to cure diseases, cast out devils, tell fortunes, extracb corns, and perfoom miracles according to the latest art known to voudouism. When he arrived here two or three days ago he brought; wiGh him a valise, which, on being opened, presented the inviting prospect of a mass of twining, writhing snakes, all little yellow and spotted fellows, such as may be seen at almost any time in and about farm houses, barns, and garden patches, all com paratively harmless. It is the habit of this repulsive looking wretch when entering the cabia of a patient, to turn loose his swarm of reptiles over the bed, and while they were wriggling and writhing over the floor to re peat his incantation, and apply hia nostrums aad medicines, most of which are composed if oils made from saakea, liz.irds, and oiiher reptiles. He ia held in perfect awe and ' respect by a certain clasa of people who fear hi 3 power and respect his akill. Yesterday, about one o'clock, he went to the office of Prof. Jsfferson, the colored doctor on Fiffch street, near the Liudell hotel, -and inquired whether he had a snake. Jeffersonaaid he had one or two live specimens of the rattlesnake family, and at once showed the foreign looking visitor a glass case containing a rattlesnake three or four feet iv longth, with one or two young rattlers. The voudou doctor admired the horrible looking reptile, and announced his intention aud desire to purchase it. He said he was a snake-charmer, and that he wanted just such a snake as that, with which to inspire respect among his patients. Prof, -iefforson informed his visitor that his snakes were not for sale. But the more the voudou doctor looked at the huge writhing reptile in its glas3 box, the more im portunate he became for its purchase. Finally he asked permission to handle and play with the snake. This was reluctantly granted by Prof. Jefferson, who repeatedly told the fool hardy fellow that the snake would bite. The doctor opened the trap-door and inserted his hand, and seized the reptile by the neck, and drew the startled snake forth. Every one nearly fled in horror and dismay. But the snake-charmer seized the now angry snake by the head, and proceeded to repeat his strange incantations. Suddenly the repulsive looking reptile gave an angry rattle, and in a minute had twisled itself from the graßp of the West Indian doctor, and turned and planted its fangs in his right thumb, near the end. Then again it seized him in the fleshy por tion of the thumb, near the hand, and tore open a gash, at the same time planting a load of deadly venom in the flesh. The doc tor, startled by this attack, attempted to tear the now enraged reptile from hia hand, but it writhed itself around his arm and neck, and for a moment it baffled all attempts of the doctor to return it to its cage. He main tained remarkable presence of mind during the contest, and oucceeded in placing his deadly antagonist in the box and closed it. Me then called for a string and tied it tightly round the bitten thumb and started out for relief. He persistently refused all medical attendance, saying that it would destroy the charm and he would die; that voudou would save him. When told by the doctors, Day and Harris, that he would die if he did nob allow hims|Jf to be treated, he said, ' Well, let me die; I can only die once.* He rl lowed himself to be filled with whiskey, and, at last reports, had been taken to a collar on Third-street, where he was slowly dying in the most horrioie a ponies. The hand and arm were terribly swollen, and as blua as indigo. The colorod people on Third-street were much excited over the event. Some who be lieve in the snake-charmer's magical powers say he will surely recover; others, more intelligent, say ho must die. There were those in attendance on the crippled voudou doctor who balieved and assured our re porter last night that he cnuld * chaw up de

paper and spit out greenbaoks, an' chaw de Dickies, and spit out de gold pieces.' Of course, such a man as this, who could Bleep with snakes all the time, would not die from the bite of a twelve year old black rattle snake.

Mr. Smith's Bereavement.

He was tall and slender, and clad in the habiliments of woe. He entered the office and took a chair. Removing his hat, he wiped the moisture from his eyes, rubbed his nose thoughtfully for a moment, put his handkerchief in his hat, his hat upon the floor, and said :

1 You didn't know Mrs. Smith ?'

' I hadn't that pleasure she?'

Who was

4 She was my wife. She's been sick for some time. But day before yesterday she was took worse, and she kep' on sinking until evening, when she gave a kinder sudden jump a couple of times, and then her spirit flickered. Dead, you know. Passed away into another world.'

' I'm very sorry.'

ISoam I. And I called round to see if I couldn't get some of you literary people to saw out some kind of a poem, describing her peculiarities, so that I can advertise her in the paper.'

11 dunno ; may be we might.'

1 Oh, you didn't know her, you say ? Well, she was a sing'lar kinder woman. Had strong characteristics. Her nose was the crookedest in the State ; all bent around sideways. Old Captain Binder used to say that it looked like the jib-sail on an oyster sloop on the windward tack. Only his fun, you know. But Helen never minded it. She said herself that it aimed so much around the corner that whenever she sneezed she blew down her back hair. There were rich depths of humour in that woman ! Now I don't mind if you work into the poem some pictur esque allusions to the condition of her nose, so her friends will recognize her. And you might also spend a verse or two on her lame eve.'

' What was the matter with her eye ?'

• Gone, sir ! goen Knocked out with a chip while she was splitting kin'ling wood, when she was a child. She fixed it up, some how, with a glass one, and it gave her the oddest expression you ever saw. The false one would stand perfectly still, while the other one would was rolling around, so that 'bout half the time you couldn't tell whether she was studying astromony or watching the hired girl pare potatoes. And she lay there at night, with the indisposed eye wide open, glar ing at me, while the other was tight shut, so that sometimes I'd get the horrors, and kick her and shake her to make her get up and fix it. Once I got some mucilage and glued the lid down myself, but she didn't like it when she woke in the morn ing. Had to soke her eye in warm water you know, to get it open.

' Now I reckon you could run in some language about her eccentricitirs of vision couldn't you ? Don't care what it is, so that I have the main facts.'

' Was she peculior in other respects P'

' Well, yes. One leg was gone; run over by a waggon when she was little. But she wore a patent leg thht did her pretty well. Bothered her sometimes, bu most generally gave her a good deal of comfort. She was very fond of machinery and then, you know, she could take it off at night and stand it on the hat-rack in the entry, and go to bed with only one cold foot. She was very grateful for her privileges. Although sometimes it worried her, too. The springs 'd work wrong now and then; and may be in church her leg'd give a spurt and began to kick and hammer away at the board in front of the pow, until it sounded like a bolier factory. Then I'd carry her out, and most likely it'd kick at me all the way down the aisle, and end up by dancing her around the vestibule, until the sexton would rebuke her for waltzing in church. Seems to mo there's material for poetry in that, isn't there ? She was a self-willed woman. Often when she wanted to go to a sewingbee, or to gad about somewhere, may bo I'd stuff that leg up in the chimney, or hide it in the wood-pile. And I then wouldn't tell her where it was ; do you know what she'd

do?'

'What ?'

' Why, she'd lash an umbrella to her stump and drift off down the street's if that umbrella was born there. You

couldn't get ahead of her. Sbe was ingenious. I've known her, when the baby was playing with the potato-masher, to unbuckle that leg and use it for mash ing. Take it b} r the knee and work the joint backward and forward splendidly.

' So I thought I'd mention a few facts to you, and you can throw them together and make them rhyme, and I'll call around and pay you for them. What day ? Tuesday ? Very well; I'll run in on Tues day and sec how you've fixed her up.' Then Mr. Smith smoothed up his hat with .his handkerchief, wiped the . accumulated sorrow from his eyes, placed his hat upon his head, and sailed serenely

out and down the stairs towards his desolated hearthstone.

The Canton Sliver.

Of all the extraordinary scenes which can be witnessed, nothing can be more surprising or astounding to the European than the appearance of the Canton River ; for let him have travelled ' far and wide,' naught can give him an idea of the scene but ocular demonstration.

Myriads of boats float on the waters; some devoted to handicraftsmen of all des criptions ; others to retailers of edibles, cooked and uncooked; boats laden with chests of tea piled one upon the other, tier above tier, until the side of the boat is level with the water's edge; mandarin boats forcing their way authoritatively through the crowd ; war junks at anchor ; while here and there is an European boat, manned by sailors who give vent to their excited feelings by uttering sundry and divers ejaculations not particularly compli mentary to the good seamanship of the natives, nor expressive of kindly feelings towards them.

Flower boats, and others belonging to artisans, vendors of food, pedlers, mer chants, poultry and sand-pans are wedged together in one solid mass, apparently im penetrable ; while the air is filled and the ears stunned with the deafening sounds of gongs and wind instruments, discoursing most unearthly music, accompanied by the yelling, screaming, gabbling and clamour of hundreds and thousands of human tongues, producing a hodge-podge of sounds, unrivalled and unequalled since the building of the Tower of Babel. The denizens of the river, who habit ually reside in their boats, are said to exceed two hundred thousand.

The British Museum.

The magnificient British Kuseum is internally and externally, typical of London. It ia grand' gray, gloomy, damp, massive, and depressing. Bright, lively, cheorful colors are heresies in the museum. To be sure, it is a trea sure house of art and science. But the stuffed lions and tigers, the kang aroos and giraffes, with, so much of their hair and far peeling off reveal ing the bare, dried, leathery hide be neath, look seedy. There are cold rooms, to, full of ancient stone coffins. There are;- other damp halls full of | mammies—mummies with, skeleton hands audioes baiting from their bandages. There are glass jars con taining dried, shrivellod-up mummy heads —once belonging to fellows who ought really to have been allowed to decay and remanded back to their ' original elements in peace. There are glass jars full of. cat-mummies ,all fallen Ito pieces—a hideous mixture of cat's ; bones, rags, and dust, which, if found lying anywhere about one's back yard would be put out of sight as soon as possible. People think they are made wiser by staring at this things. Then there are the live English mummies in the library—reading mummies—book worm mummies—pale, sallow, and lean —trying to fill themselves with wisdom from books, and the more they cram the leaner they get-^-middle-aged mummies, with wigs and spectacles, and seedy black clothes hanging about them in wrinkles —suck dried-up, leather-like men, who live on the at mosphere of old books —whose morbid andunhealfchy interior apparatus, men talandphysical,demands,asits unwhole some nutriment, the emanations from old musty paper, parchment, and old, worn-out, musty ideas. Of what ruin and ghastliness doe 3 a life and diet of this description bring to the other sex- —the female mummy of the British Museum library, with her note-book and pencil, her tallow c*m plexion, her scant and wormy ringlets, her form painfully suggestive in its outline of the skeleton strangely kept alive underneath —her desire for per sonal adornment so cnmpletely elimin atee that she neglects now by recourse even to artificial aid to make up for natural plumpness or symmetry —con- sumed, galas ! by the library fever— neglecting and even forgetting such important things as love or matrimony or any manner otfdelightful improprie ty in this craving for book-knowledge ; tottering day after day tothesestagnant founts, and forgetting that the warm and cheerful sun is without. When I see her, I % for relief to the con templation of the Egyptian mummy in the rooms above,

There are other interesting, though melancholy sights, in the British

Museum. There are the attendants. Every room is presided over by a man holding a long wand, or rather billiard cue. He does little but sit on a bench and sleep. He can explain nothing. He may have been a brilliant or at least a sensible man when first appoint ed to this position, but a few months of such employment, or rather non employment, of life among the stuffed lions, tigers, and giraffes, these dead beasts and birds, these coffins and bones and stones, these mummies, dead and alive—all this serves to re duce him to a corresponding condition of deadness. It is impossible that it should be otherwise. Daily he sees hundreds of people coming and going, wandering aimlessly and hopelessly about these cold, grey rooms, peeping into coffins, gazing at dead men and dead animals, wondering when and where the laugh comes in—people tired, cold, hungry, sleepy, depressed, and disheartened, aud getting worse all the time--and after making the full rouud of all these dreary halls, going forth cowed down, exhausted, and inteit upon committing suicide or getting drunk. He sees and feels all this, month after month, and year after year, and moreover he accumu lates on himself all the discourage ments, depressions/cblues, and vapors, generated in the museum by these people, and of which they must leave more or less behind, and of course, in time, if all this does not kill him, it reduces him to a sort of vulcanized' mechanical, soulless individuality, with just force and intellect enough left to totter about and wish for dinner or death.

Did I wish to take a terrible revenge on any man—a man, say with a son whom he dearly lovsd—a boy of more than ordinary brains—a whelp who might some day become a bright and shining light, I would entice the boy to visit the British Museum; I would wait until i saw him yielding insensi bly to its pernicious influence, and then 1 would leave him—leave him among all these coffins, corpses, cat's boues and dead things—leave him to the slow and gradual dementatation which would surely follow—leave him to poke about and imagine he was gather ing wisdom by peering into cases full of dead rats, eats, and snakes, or of bugs and shells with Latin names.

A. month of this work, and ossifi cation of the intellect would set in. Sufficient intelligence would remain to direct the operations of eating and drinking—of walking and dreaming— then I would secure him a position as attendant at the British Museum. I would put the long wand in his hand, he should sit upon a bench, and nod and sleep, and laugh to himself in foolish dreams, and wake up and stare wildly around, and long for death or dinner. Then I would bring in his father and say, ' Behold your son—or what once was your son ; this is all my doipg ! My revenge is now complete. This it is for which I have worked a"nd waited for years ; this I have done be cause you robbed me of my heart's idol —you married her ! You raised that boy, her son, your son—my victim; look on him now !—a mummy, a dummy, a companion of mummys and dummys!' [Peentice Mulford.

A player performing the ' GhosS' in Hamlet verd badly, was much hissed ; but after bearing it agooy while, he put ihe audience in good humor by stepping forward and s*yiug : ' Ladies and gentlejnen, I am extremely sorry that my humble endeavors to please are not successful, but if you are not setlsned I must give up tha ghost.'

A gentleman affllotad with an impediment in his spoeca took dinner at a tavara, aad calling to a waiter addrussnd him thus :—' "We-w-waiter, jfi-give me ma e-s-some ro-ro-roaat b-b-beof.' The waiter ataminercd out in reply, • W-w-we a-a-ain't g-g-got any.' At which the gentleman, highly enraged, supposing the servant was inocking him, sprang from hia seat and was proceeding to knock him down when a third person arrestud his aria and cri3d to him not to strike, saying: 'Ha st-si-stutten ss sanoe S3 w-w-we d-d-do.'

'"Well, tat. said an indulgent master to his coach inau. who had just been describing tUa glorias of a St Patrick's D»y dinner, ' was your appetite Sited ?' 'Sited, is it, your Honor? .Sure an' it wusn't. It had to slitaud up wicl megelf most of the tiuao.

Ayxingvlorgyamn, whoss reputation for veracltv was none of the best, ventured to differ with nn old Doctor of Invinity as to the propriety of whi»nlni* Children. 'Wby,1 said he 'theonly time my fVthsr whipped me was for telling the truth.' ' vVell ' re tortea the doctor, 'it carodyoa of It didn't it?' ' ' Can you change tnid Wiiha.u forinefgiidivmin aian who presented v 50 Dol bill at tlae counter of a Gluuc«s-er, Masa., .National bauK recently ' Yes " siidihecißhioi-, 'but why do you call it William'? Ob lmaot familiar enough witti tats kiui of talus to col! it >i bill," was the quick r.piy. a Do .aot imagine when you ssd one of thoae broad chesttd statesman gat up ia hia place on the floor of the Uoii c ol JtteptescntiiUye3 that your soul is abjut to be hi o ised by a burst of sOl oom doquwe He cartiesi vis paper ot chewing tooacca in his coat-tail power, aiia is top fat to reach it without rising