"EVENING STAR" SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT OF ENTERTAINING READING.

No. 30.]

AUCKLAND, SATURDAY, JUNE 10, :876

[Price.- ONE PENNY.

Poetry.

THE SPIRIT VOICE,

BY .TOHtf BDACKJIiN. All nature broathod of life and Iovo; The gorae bloomed o'or tlii rnahy plain ; The mavis whistled through the grove, In summer's genial reign. The meadow flowers ware tipped with gold ; The lwk sang on his skyward way; Cloud-shadows o'er the uplands rolled,— And lambkins were at play. Through villago scenes and o'er the plain, A wanderer passed with laggard tread, That he might find the means to gain I'he needful dally breal Tha beautiful around him glowed, The fresh, Rrean corn, and breezy wild; And Nature, with sweet scqso, endowed ICor wandering, wayward child, Ho saw the landscape, bright and fair, The vill' go church, the cypress tree; And sighad ' Doss life bring nought but care Without Its joys to me ? 'Yon scenes outstrotcliud'neatb. Leaven's own blue In Heaven's owa glorious sunshino glows ; The hirvesi-promise smiles in view—

Still blooms the fragrant rose. ' The soft, refreshing shewer descends, The birds pour torth ezUtic lays ; Tho brook's low voice vith music blends, A wordless song of praise. 5 'Yet, what but woe is life at best, With all its sp.ings'of.joy and pain, Unless there bo some splvit-reat— Some sinles3 hoaren to gain ? 'The gorgeous homos of Fortune's sons, Which seom from earthly blights secure, But mock the gaze of lowly ones— The saddest, veriest poor. 'Did Gad intend th*fc some should live In plenty's broal, pro' Tic sirlle. While othws »U their years should give To uiirt'iiiilli«)({ tiil? ' And then, when ruddy heilthdepwts, And strength no longer nures the arms; To lO3e the warmth of loving hearts— ":i And homely, cottage charms ! • And in those isles, whore Alfred rei jned, And Shakhspbrs shed the light of thought; Where Cromwell., freedom's victories gained, And MiLTONjnobly tau Ji !

•"Wnores Goldsmith broathea his heart's desire, O'er Auburn's scones, and hapless swains; Whore Bonus, from Nnturo a rustic ly.e— Woko Scotia's Ivt'-ng; strains! • Oh, grant me, Thou who h?-it the power; Tho surest rest a man can crave. With one fresh daisy, mornings flower, -_™ To blossom on my grave The wanderer then forgot to weep, And on a mossy bink reclined; When ore him stole a gentle sleep—J Sott as the summer wind. A scene of mingled, light and slnde Opo'd in hia droam' and full of flowers : Where fountains o'er tho wa'ers played, la silver, sparkling showers. The trees were full of golden birds, Of marry note, distinct and clear; And through the loaves cjme whlsp9red words, ' Mortal, why murmur here ?' 1 Spirit,' he cried, ' whose homo is light. Of form uaseon, from regions blest; Dispal tha uilst of inontal night And give tho needful reat.' ' Dospilr not, mortal,'said the voice, 'Thy noarest work do not despise ; And malts tho path of right thy choice, Whore thy first duty lies. ' Tho latent thought within thy breast, Thoujfi twdevelop'd. yet may shine, By life's rough winds and storms' arassed— A ftowet of hue div'.ne. ' 'Tis not for mo to draw aside The vail that hides the high decrees ; Bat s<tcred truth thy steps shall guide To sunny isles of peace. ' Ajise, the untried future brave, let failures nerve to hetrtler strife ; Nor sink, as sinks the abject sl&vo, To soulless, fruitless life. 'Arise, a goal bof ore theo H' s ; Ne'er duem thy woes decreed by fate • And thou shalt win life's noblest prize—

A durable eatato

"Tho richer'weilth that far outwa'-.hs The finest goJd that earth bestows; Lovo, wealth of mind, with happy days, An 1 saintly, soul-repose. ' Arise, and strive with cheerful facs, Ne'er envy those the world Cilia great; Thy every seeming chance embrace— And truly work and wait. • Thou may'jt not own the fruitful fields, But thou canst all their charms enjoy ; And share the good that Nature yleldu, And all without alloy. ' The nobldst spirits of thy"ra^9. The masters of tho wondrous l>re, Will not disdiin thy dwollingplaci, Nor thino own heart's desire. ' Thy Maker serva who'gives thee light, And through life's mazes leads thee on ; Not always reisns the starless night'; The brighter day shall d*wn.' THE PEISN? YE MEANT TO GI'E,

There's a fanny tale of a stingy man. Who was none too good, but might have been worse, Who went to hl3 church on a Sunday night, And carried along tiis well-SUed purse. Whcnth<) soxton came with his : b->ggin?-pUte, The c&urch was but dim with tho candle's light; Tho stingy in in fumbled all through hia purao, And cho-io.Bi coiu by touch, and not sight. It's an odd thins; now'that guineas should bo So like unto pennies in shape and siza. 'I'll give a ponny,' the stingy man said ; 'The poor must not gifts of pennies despise.' The penny fell down with a clatter and rinj; And back in his seat loaned the stingy man. * The world is so full of the poor,' he thought, • I can't halp them all—l give what I c»n.' Ha! ha ! how the noxton smiled to bo sure, To see tho gold guinea fall in his ptato ; Ha! ha! how tho stinijy man's heart was wnm&, Perceiving liis blunder,—but just too late. "No matter,' he said, ' in the Lord's account That guine>» of gold is set down to m% Thoy lend to Him, who give to the poor, It will not so bad an investment be.' 'Na, na, mon,' the chu.ikUng sexton cried out; ' He linew it wai only by aco'dent That out of thy fingers the guinea fell! The Lord is na cheated—he kens thoe well. 1 He keeps an account, no doubt, for the pulr 1 But in that account he'll set down to thee IKsl mair o' that golden guinea my mon, Thau the one bare penny ye me*nt to gl'e.' There's a comfort, tno. in thi little t*le— A serious gid° as wall as a ioke ; A comfort for all the generous poor In the comical word) the seston spoko. A comfort to think tho good Lord knows How really generous we wish to be, And will give U3 credit in his account Jor all the peuniea we long to ' gi'o.'

Little Bobbie.

A SKETCH IN PAEIS

( Weil, sir, I am glad to meet you hero,' said Mr Armstead.

1 Ha, ha ! thanks, thanks, thanks, very much, thanks,' muttered Mr Airey, in reply. Mr Airey had but lately arrived in Paris from Bond-street, Mr Armstead from Beacon-streot. The Londoner had run against the Bostonian at t'lo corner of Rue de la Paix.

I Are you going my way ?' asked Mr Airey, quickly. I 1 am at your service, sir,' said Mr Armstead, with a courteous motion of the hand. As they moved along the broad pavement, the Englishman entertained his friend with^a thousand remarks on men and things. Paris always loosed his tongue; for while he tasted with delight the gayety and sparkle of the place, he found at the same time much solid food for the moralist. When he was moraliz ing, he felt that ho was doing his duty. And so, with sense gratified and conscience in repose, a pleasant sun above him, and a good listener by his side, the sprightly gentleman would comment for hoars on the frivolity of the Parisians. When he had brought to an end a nimble discourse on the probable haunts and customs of a passing Petit-gras, he found that for the moment he was without another subject to dilate. So turning to his companion, like an amiable social inquisitor, he asked, 1 Now what do you find to do with yourself in Paris ?'

Mr. Armstead, whose share in the conversation had consisted of occasional solemn bows of acknowledgment, now coughed, meditated for some moments, and then answered thoughtfully, 'Well, I come down town and I walk around.'

* But, surely,' cried the other, ' for a man of your active habits—why, my dear Colonel Armstead, I—'

• Pardon me for interrupting you, but drop the Colonel, if you please.' Mr. Airey was vastly astonished. * I bee: your pardon—l beg your pardon,' he said, ' but surely—why I always thought that you Americans were particulary fond of millitary titles.' 'Well, sir, we have had some pretty serious killing lately, and some of us don't tako quite so humorous a view ©f the pro fession as we did when it was confined to Indians and Mexicans.'

• But still it is the custom in England and everywhere for a man who has served to keep his title. And you who were distinguished—you surprise me, you sur prise me very much.' Mr. Armstead acknowledged the com pliment by bending his head and slightly waving his right hand. After a pause, during which his companion watched him with much curiosity, he said. 'It was found that there was a certain awk wardness in sending out your superior officer for a bag of naik or a two-cent stamp.' Mr. Airy felt that like a second Co lumbus he had discovered a new America. This novel and interesting specimen must bo drawn out, to be afterward described and commented upon at his clubs. He assumed an insinuating manner as he asked the leading question, ' How do you like Paris ?' Mr. Armstead. took time to reply. 'I like it,' he said ; .'but I fear there is too much of the New Englander in my composition.' 1 And a capital good thing too/ observed the other encouraigngly. • The Pilgrim Fathers would not have appeared to advantage on the Boulevards.' 1 Certainly not. And yet our country men are, as a rule—are they not? —de- voted to Paris. You know, of course, the saying, ' Good Americans when they die go to Paris.' eh ?' The Bostonian bowed gravely at the quotation. 'Some.like it,' he said; and he added profoundly, after a pause, ' the American in Paris is too often a Parisian hampered by morality.' Tiie Englishman would doubtless have commented at some length on this remark, but his eye was at that moment caught by something which would serve him even better for a text. Above a large window, which was modestly covered by muslin curtains, appeared the name and title of Madame Lolouette Ex 1 6re de M Over the name of the gentleman who had had the honor of employing Madame La louette, a piece of blank paper was care fully pasted. 'Look!' cried Mr. Airey, in great excitement; 'just look at the wo man's ingenuity. She must have been threatened with legal proceedings, which blots out the cause of offense, while it catches every eye and appeals to ) every imngination. ' Sophie, my child,' says one woman, 'of whom is this Madame Lalouette the Premiere ?' 'For me I cannot conceive,' says the other; ' but Madame De Corsaye is sure to know.' So they rush off to a third lady, and the millinar is advertised all over Paris by a single square of blank paper. It is magnificent. Here Mr. Airey paused for breath, and was straightway thrilled by the delightful consciousness of having been unsually brilliant.. ..:

• I know it,' said Mr. Armstead ;' M. Blank ia an excruciating mystery to women, like the veiled prophet of Khorassan.'

'Ha, ha! capital! and, by Jove! she is a clever woman. Jusfc look at that other dodge!'

• I have observed it,' said the American. The large window of the ingenious aetiste was draped with muslin, as if the mysteries of La Mode were sacred as those of the Bona Dea; but at one side of the window was placed a tall sheet of looking-glass, some two feet wide. While the two friends were gazing at the temple of fashion, the one bubbled over the re marks on the ingenuity of French women, the other watched them in silence as they passed that looking-glass. He remem bered a method of snaring birds by like means, and smiled grimly. One lady just touched her bonnet in front, another her bands behind. One stopped and deliberately arranged the lace at the throat, another glanced hurriedly afc the glass, and then darted across the road a mute defiance of the observer. Even a bonnetless work-girl caught a look, as sho slipped back to her work; and a large nurse, whose beauty was no more than health and amiability, shifted her small burden tenderly, while she laid some largo fingers on the crisp border of her cap. The two gentlemen were still staring across the street, when a tiny brougham drove quickly up to the veiled window. ' Who is she ? who can sho be ?' cried Mr. Airey, and added, in a breath; ' upon my word, remarkably pretty. One can see in a moment the French woman of the world—grace, elegance, wit. 1

'If; is my wife,' said Mr. Armstead, dryly. The Englishman was overwhelmed with confusion ; ' I beg your pardon—l beg your pardon ; I had no idea. I——' ' Won't you allow me the pleasure of presenting you to Mrs. Armstead ?'

' Thanks, thanks; delighted I'm sure. But do you think wo may go in —two men, you know!

11 am not afraid for myself, said the Boatonian.

The front room of Madame Lalouette was tenanted only by gowns, erect upon wire frames. ' Dress-extenders, eh ?' said Mr. Airey. ' Average woman,' observed Mr. Armstead; but there was a twinkle in his eye which softened the sevority of his remark. From an inner apartment, which was seen through open folding doors, came the rattle of two shrill French voices, one voluble in the language of the coun try, the other almost equally effective in a mixture of French and fantastic English. They were the voices of Madame Lalouette and of ' Mees,' so called in the establish ment in recognition of her almost miracul ous knowledge of our barbarous lan'guago. The double stream of persuasion, decla mation and exclamation was occasionally interrupted by a third voice, high but not loud, and with a very pleasant pronun ciation of French. Evidently the lady was not yet satisfied, for her tone was a little pathetic, Mr. Airey hung back in alarm; but Mr. Armstead, courteously waving him forward, stalked through the open doors with unruffled calm of a Red Indian. ' Prudence,' he said, ' will you permit mo to present you to my friend Mr. Airey ?' lam afraid, lam real'y awfully afraid that I am intruding hero said the polite Englishman. ' Why no,' said the lady, with a slight delay on each word to emphasize her negative; and she added ' You can help me to choose a Winter, jacket. Do you like that ?' and she point ed to a garment, which was floating up and down the room on a most elegant young person, who had risen in life by the remarkable fall in her back.

' Charming, charming ! upon my word exceedingly pretty!'

' Which do you mean ?' asked the lady, demurely. Mr. Airey was delighted. i These little American women have so much self-posession and so much spirit. His heart warmed to her, as it does to all pretty women. He enjoys their society, as he delights in Paris. In their presence he feela himself kindled to wit; when they are gone, he will moralize on them by the hour. He is ever ready 'to break a comparison or two' on a charming lady. 'It must be a strange life,' he observed, lowering his voice, _ ' this sweeping up and down and bending of the body under other people's jackets.' 1 My figure is my fortune/ remarked Mr. Armstead, who was standing very upright by his wife, and staring at the gliding garment. ' Why it must be delightful!' exclaimed Mrs. Armstead. '(My fancy being always sure to have on the very latest thing.' ' Good gracious ! how frivolous !' thought Mr. Airey. •It is evident that I must-<go to my banker,' said the lady's husband. ' Shall. I have the pleasure of your company^ sir, or do you remain among the jackets P' The lady looked an invitation prettily. •How. charming!' thought Mr. Airey; i and he said, ' I think, if Mrs. Armstead will allow me I will stop and put her into her carriage.' Tbe:lady smiled, and. her

husband stalked off alone to his banker. The Englishman now bloomed into talk with so much sprightliness and vivacity, that Madame Lalouette was reduced to a fixed smile of appreciation, and Mees could no longer display her unique power of language. _ Mrs. Armstead rewarded her cavalier with occasional smiles and nods, while she gave her undivided attention to the business before her. She liked a prattle at her ear, and had the rare gift of seeming to understand it.

Having finally decided how the jacket was to be cut, how it was to be decorated, and what it was so cost, she became light hearted, and for conversation's sake began to babble of her doubts. She wondered if she had chosen right. Did he think that the shape would go with the latest gowns ? Was it too heavy ? Was it not too light ? Would it be very becoming ? To all these questions she waited for no answer, bnt stepped daintily into hor brougham. Then she gave the gentleman some fingers beautifully gloved through the wiudow, and said, smiling, * I have half a raiud to go back and countermand it. Would you be so good aa to tell me the time? Thank you so much. How late! And I have forgotten little Bobby's medicine again. I guess I won't go back aboat the jacket. Home!' Thereupon she was swept away, leaving Mr. Airey with his hat in his hand. Ho stood hold ing his hat and staring after the carriage, until a fat French lady of fashion pushed him off the pavement, while her little darling of a dog ran between his legs. Having unwound himself from the animal's chain and murmured an apology to its owner, Mr. Airey put on his hat and heaved a sigh. ' I have forgotten little Bobby's medicine agpin !' he repeated, as he moved away. ' And they talk of the frivolity of French women. Poor little Bobby!' This moralist has a tender heart, and delights to exercise it; Pathe tic were the pictures which he conjured up of the little innocent. He thought of Tiny Tim and little Paul Dombey. He fancied the sick child lying like a faded flower on his small bed, and lisping bless ings on his mother, whose whole mind was concentrated on the choice of a winter jacket. Sho had forgotten the medicine again! How often had she for gotten it ? Perhaps for months that little blighted child had been sighing for the lively tonic, or the dark-brown cod-liver oil; but the hand which should havo administered the draught, while its fellow smoothed the pillow of the sufferer, was poising bonnets or fingering fringes. Perhaps at that very moment pooor little Bobby was looking his last look into his mother's eyes and whispering, 'Never mind, mother, it's too late. I shan't want the physic now. You may take it all yourself.' ' But this is weakness,' said Mr. Airey to himself, as he fouud the tears in his eyes. He went home like a man bent on discharging a duly, and springing light as a French thinker from the particular to the general, wrote in his diary. ' Amorican women have even less feeling than Parisian,'

A week passed and Mr. Airoy had not called upon his Boston acquaintances. It was no small sacitiee. Had any one ever told him that he was in love with a married woman, his neatly arranged hair would have risen and betrayed the thin places, Nevertheless, on some of those platforms which in countless numbers lie between the abyss of love and the heights of sublime indifference, the estimable gentle man moved with ease and grace. The pleasure which he felt iv the presence of a charming woman, was, to some extent, uniike that which he derived from the conversation of his maiden aunt or his former tutor. The unlike element, what ever, it may be, never troubled his con science ; but when he was forced to dis approve of an attractive woman he man fully resisted his inclination for her com pany. He resisted his tendency to call upon the Armstcads for a full week. 'IJn mothered mother —Iheartless, pitiless! he frequently repeated to himself, recalling the words of Telemachus, and thereby raining raising himself to a heroic leviathan. Yet he was decidedly bored. He had walked daily on the Boulevard dcs Capucines, the Rue de la Paix, the Rue dekivoli and the Champ Elysees. He had stared into all the choclateshops, and gaped into the allegorical works of Re bens in the Louvre. He had mora lized before the ruins of the Tuileries, and had scanned with approval that costly triumph of indigestible ginger-bread, distant cousin of our own A'bert Memorial

the new Opera House. He had laughed under protest as M. Lecoeq's last opera, and stared with blank amazement at the

newest social, problem of M. Dumas—a problem on the immediate solution of which the existence of society evidently

depended, while he and the majority of mankind had been completely ignorant of its existence. Mr, Airey was bored, but still he would not yield. It is strange, if we consider his fixed determination, that he remembered the Armstead's number so clearly; yet more strange, that on the eighth day of their former

meeting he had his hand on the bell of their apartment.- Perhaps he went to moralize, perhaps to offer medicine. The door was opened, by a French maid, who was crying in a most becoming manner. The visitor's imagination was aroused. 'Is it Bobby ?' he gasped. She noddod prettily. She could not speak for weep she led the way into the first room, and after a moment's hesitaton, he followed her. The sight which he boheld was sur prisng On the table stood a bottle of physic, and by it the most delicate of sweet-breads untasted. Mr. Armstead, his somewhat rugged face softened by emotion, was bending, like a breechloader with the charge withdrawn, over j a com fortable sofa. Opposite to him was his wife, who had sunk upon the floor and with tears pouring down her cheeks, was soothing the little sufferer! Between husband and wife, propped by the softest pillows, draped by the softest shawls, important, and deeply conscious of his importance, reclined the prince of pugs. Mr. Armstead came forward. ' How do sir ?' he said; ' I hoped that you were the physician. Have you any acquaintance with the maladies of dogs P' 'None, what ever,' said Mr. Airey, tarfly; 'and indeed, I am glad to see that you can interest yourself in a dog at such a moment.' 'At such a moment!' repeated the other slowly. ' When little Bobby—' began the Englishman, visibly affected. 'Why, sir, this is little Bobby.' At the sound of his name, uttered in that measured tone which he knew so well, the sufferer turned a plaintive eye upon the intruder. ' Behold howtho great minded suffer !' he seemed to say. His skin was so loose that it would have been well had an accomplished work-woman gathered it in at his waist. His coat was starry, and his tail, that sign of his nobility, uncurled. The lines about his ebon visage were deepened by illnes3. The face told of suffering, but of a certain pride in the interest which it excited. Tho large, dark eye was tureed upon Mr. Airey, but awoke no pity in his breast. That ho should have expended a whole week's sentiment upon a sick dog! As well set down in the ditch with the great Mr. bterne to lament over a dead donkey, 'I think I had better go,' said the moralist, with a glauce at Mrs. Armstead* ' I am afraid that my wife is not equal to conversation at present. I trust that we shall have the pleasure of seeing you under happier circumstances.' ' Ah, thanks, I'm sure, ah,' murmured the visitor, and he glanced agiin afc the lady. She wa3 wholly unconscious of his presence. She was holding tho limp right hand of* the patient in her own, and was bathing it with her tears. Mr. Airey departed abruptly.

The next morning, as the moralist was toying with his breakfast, and meditating fitfully on t/ie New England character, a curious note was brought to him. It was shaped like a fan, He opened it with a sniff of scorn. Another novelty !' he exclaimed testily. ' Our mustard pots are made like beer jugs'; we shall soon have beer jugs in the shape of baths, and baths disguised as handsome cabs. Marvelous powers of invention truly !' He spread out the sham fan, and read the nimble pointed characters:

Dear Mr. Aipley : How you musb have wondered at my strange conduct yesterday ? i was in the deepest despair, and quite unfit to receive anybody. To-day all looks bright again. The dear doctor came soon after you left. He ia reckoned very clever, and attends the dogs o£ the beat people ia Paiis of all parties. The favorite hound of the Due d'Autne Ij, La Marquise de Balderee's famous a panic's (of course you remember M Caßimi('3 brilliant mat), and M. .Baretta's new poodle Fraternite, are amony his patients. He says that our little Bobby has no serious malady, but recommends a warmer ciinvite. So we start at once for the South, and shall winter at Nice. I should prefer the Nile, but hear that the boats are so irritating for dogs. Will you do me a great; favor, and send me some cleansing tablets when you go back to London ? I would not trouble you, bu« thoy are invaluable for Bobby's skin. My husband is in despair at having to leave without returning your visit. Perhaps we may meat somewhere in the South. Very cordially yours, Pktoence Armstead. ' I buy tablets for that cur!' cried Mr. Airey. 'Well, I suppose I shall,' ho added. He could eat no more breakfast. He took down his diary, and wrote in it with the air of one who fulfills an important duty— ' American women are absurdly over sensitive.' —Blackwood's Magazine.

Any Excuse.—' Why, Georgie, are you smoking ?' exclaimed an amazed mother, who came upon her little son as ■he -was puffing away at a cigar.—' N—no, ma ; I'm only keeping ib lighted for another boy. ■ A Syrian convert to Christianity was urged by hia employer fco work on Sunday, but he declined. 'But,' Baid the master, ' doth not your Bible say that; if a man has an ox or an ass that falls into a pis on a Sabbath day he may pull him out?' ' Yea^ answered Hayop, ' but if the ass hes a habife of falling into the same pit every Sibbafch day, then the man should either fill up tUa^ pib cv; sell that ass.'