turnkey's wife. She had offered, w M ive Facqz his liberty for forty pounds, and the following waa to be the plan adopted : She was to administer to him draughts of tobacco water, and other narcotics, report him ill, and have him transferred to the hospital, where he was to grow gradually worse and die. When he was fairly dead, he was to be let out of prison; a corpse having been procured to be laid in his bed, for the satisfaction of the doctor. The plan may appear doubtful to our readers ; but it had succeeded before, and Facqz hoped it might succeed in his case. But the forty pounds were still wanting ; and the beginning of the year 1792 found him stil 1 languishing injail.

Letter after letter he sent to Mr. Rosborough, beseeching him to reconsider his case ; and at length _ the good gentle man began to get a notion of the real simplicity of our hero's character. He interested himself again in his behalf, and represented the affair as well as he could to the recorder. Here was a young Ger man, he said, of good family, who had got into a scrape, whether owing to folly or criminality, he would not say ; but would it not serve all the purposes of banish ment to send him home to his frieuds in Germany, instead of incurring the expense of sending him to Botany Bay ? The recorder was induced to use his influence with the lord-lieutenant, and the conse quence was that Facqz received a free pardon. The rapture of Facqz on this announcement being made to him, threw him into a sever, from which he did not recover without difficulty. On his recovery, he pled his majesty's pardon in court, and was set at liberty, as will be seen from the following copy of a certifi cate, tho original of which may be inspec ted by auy ono who chooses to consult the records of the clerk of ?ho crown's office in Dublin:—' Cjsetwicatk—•: At an adjournment of sessions ou the 31st of May 1792, Alexander Facqz de Honig pleaded his maje«ty's free pardon, which waa allowed by the couJt, and ho was thereupon discharged.'—Extracted from tho crown books—Allen and Giieenk, Clerks of the Peace.'

Our hero's mishaps wore not yet over. Taking leave of ins kind friends, Mr. Eosborough and Mr Lafontaiue, lie pro ceeded to Liverpool with a littlo money in his pocket, supplied by them. 'I had scarcely landed in Liverpool,' he says in the account which ho afterwards wrote to Mr Rosboroughof his adventures, ' when I narrowly escaped breaking my leg in consequence of the absence of enclosures for the cellars in that filthy town. Into one of these holes I fell, and stripped thereby the bone of my leg completely of the flesh from the ankle to the knee.' Detained in Liverpool for a long time by this injury, his money was again all expended ; and we hardly know by what means he arrived at York, whither it appears he had gone, with a view of proceeding thence to Hull, where ho hoped to procure a passage to Hamburg. ' I arrived at York,' he says, ' about fivo o'clock in the evening, with fourpence in my pocket, my ahoes worn to pieces, the big toe of my right foot projecting out.' Strolling into York minster, ho attracted tho notice of a benevolent and vonerablo clergyman, who entered into conversation with him, and after hearing his story, and putting its truth to the test by asking him questions which none but an educated man could answer, showed him much kindness, and not only paid his coach fare to Hall, but gave him a letter of intro duction, which secured his passage to Hamburg. At length, after several ups and downs more, he reached his homo in Suabia, and was clasped in the arms of his own dear remittance-sending mother, One of his first cares, after reaching home, was to write to his friends, enclosing the amount of money ho had borrowed from them.

Our hero had probably obtained more wisdom and business talent in the courso of his Irish misfortunes, than he would have obtained by any other mode of train ing; for^the remainder of his life exhibits more sense and sedateness than might have been expected. Having procured a commission in tho llussian army, he proceeded to St. Petersburg, where the only drawback to the pleasure he took in his military duties was, that it was very cold. His abilities and accomplishments appeal', however, to have succeeded in gaining him good friends; for after serving in some inferior diplomatic situations, he was sent by the Empress Catherine on a mission to the English cabinet in the year 1796. Ho embraced the oppor tunity of doing two things, both of which were characteristic; in the first place, he bought a splendid carriage in London, with which he said he meant • to cut a dash in St. Petersburg ;' and in tYu> second place, ho revisited his friends in Ireland. ' One morning,' says Mr Itos borough in narrating the story, ' I received a message from tho Kildare Street hotel, informing me that a gentleman just arrived there wished to see me imme diately. On repairing thither, I was received by a servant in gorgeous livery, who spoke with a foreign accent, and introduced me into a room, in which, to my unspeakable astonishment, I saw dis count Faeqz and Mr Lafontaine seated at breakfast.'

The three friends spent several happy days together. Unluckily, however, during our hero's visit, Mr Lafontaine, whose circumstances were still em barrassed, was again arrested for debt; and it bespeaks the true character of our hero, that, though he had bought a splen

did carriage, and was living in a princely style, he yet had no other means or' extricating his friend out of his difficulty than by pledging his watch. After stay ing a week in Dublin, during which he visited hid old prison, he returned to London, and thence to St. Petersburg, •from which he kept up a constant correspondence with his two friends. In one of his letters, he tells them that he had recovered his estate of Honig, which had been taken possession of by the Carmag noles ; and he expresses his anxious wish that they were all three together living upon it, where he says ' he would nurse and cherish them, and make them so happy, that they should be like diamonds in cotton.' It was not till 1803, however, that, after having seen some hard service, and been completely shattered in health, he was able to retire- to the Chateau de Honig. His last letter to his Irish friends is dated February 1803, and in it he is as sentimental as ever. Ho appears to havo died in* the same year. And now, what was this Alexander Facqz, Viscount de Honig? He was a specimen of what we often see in the world —an accomplished, amiable interest ing young man, with a tolerably good head, a very afi'octionate ho""t, and a weak, languid, unmuscular character, that always began crying when a difficulty came in the way. Like iEsop of old, wo may conclude our tale with a moral, which it may be well for all young persons, including gentlemen under the ago of twenty-five, to bear in mind. Let nothing tempt you to tell a falsehood ; take care of the company you keep; labour honourably for your bread ; and try to depend as little as possible on remittances from your mother.

"Goin to Californy."

IIOW THE MAX VJiOlt INUKANNY I'LAYED

ON THE KAILWAI' AGEftIT

Hk walked into the Central depot as though he was the Great Unknown. His personal appearance was decidedly uuiqu c. Frankly speaking, he looked as it ho had been fastened to the rearmost end of the Bridewell tug, and hauled up and down Mud Lake uncil ho matched the shade of the clay which Fulton's proteges use in their daily labor, and then had been stood up against some friendly bill-board and had the contents of a Clark-street pawn shop, shot over him from one of Lippin cott's popguns. An inventory of his clothing taken on the spot is as follows : Shoes, I—size, 11; boots, 1— sizo. 12A ; stockings, l-3rds pants, 2-3rds of a pair ; suspenders, 0 ; shirt, 1, red flannel; shirt, 2-;irds, white or nearly so ; vests, 2 ; coat, 1; overcoat, 1 ; paper-collar. 1 (clean) . centennial necktie, I. His hat carried a signal of distress, consisting of a bunch of ilaming red hair sticking through the crown. The hack drivers all wanted lain to take a carriage ; tho omnibus-collector said he had a 'bus just leaving for tho Palmer, and the Massasoit House- man vociferated, ' Meals fifty cents,' in his most gentlemanly manner. Turning a deaf ear to their blandishments, the stranger, with touching confidence, walk ed up to Dan and asked to direct him to tho ticket otlice. Dan WINKED BOTH EYES at the boys, and showed him the way with the most engaging politeness. Peacefully dodging the various pitfalls for strangers, in the shape of apple-women, etc., he at last arrived at ' Window 3.' ' Say, stranger, do yer reckia I kin git ter go to Galiforny right soon r" ' Yes,' responded the Great Mogul, 'in fifteen minutes.' ' What mought the fare be, Cap'n,' was the next question. ' It might be a thousand dollars, but it ain't. The way you waul to go is eighty eight dollars.' 'That's right cheap, now, ain't it?' turning to the crowd which had gathered around him. ' I say, stranger, hain't you got some tickets that'll give a feller a right good ride into the keor boxes—somethin' rale nice, yer know ? Yor sco I jus come up from Indeanny last nite, and I want to travel vale good, yer sco. I don't reckon I'll mosey round much more, and i want sumthin'—.' 'Say, mister, jus'pull yer yes'!' sud denly shouted Logan in his e.tr. ' Don't reckon I noed ter. .lest give me a ticket on one uv THEM SIIINV KKEU-lIOXES what has beds into 'em. Tell yer what, stranger, I calkilate to mosey 'long in style, this yer lime, 'ii never do agin. Yer see, I jest cum from Indeanny, yer know, and I reckon I'm a goin' to pike a right smart of a ways "'fore I kin git to Californy. How long 'fore I kin git ter go ?' ' Here's your ticket to San Francisco with sleeping-car, clear through. §156.' said the ticket agent. r-CUe ' Indearmy' man reached to the bottom of the pocket in his shirt, hauled up a big cloth tied up with a section of a steamboat hawser, untied it, anH from a big roll of greenbacks selected a tfoOO bill, which he handed to tlie agent, remarking at the same time, ' I don't wear very good does, boys, but I calkilate to allers have enuf money to pay niy way.' Immediately every one was as polite as a peeler who is afraid he is about to be discharged. Logan wanted to carry his valise to the car, and Ed, the newsboy, tried to sell him a prize package ; but he resisted all their blandishments, and inquired for the baggage-room, remarking that he had •' two carpet-sacks and a basket of

pervisshun thai*, that he wanted checked. tie was shown the way, and ho vanished from the sight of the ticket-agent on the straight road to the baggage-room; and now that gentlemanly ticket-agent has on hand a counterfeit $500 bill, which he will dispose of at the lowest market rates. He has also notified conductors to look-out for San Francisco first-class ticket 10,3/5, The Indeanny man has gone to St. Louis to recuperate. —' Chicago Tribune.

Mark Blakely.

It was a gloomy, foggy afternoon in November, 1841. The" largest forest extending almost the whole length of the highroad between Lynch burg and Somerville, Virginia, was leafless, and presented a most desolate aspect. For miles not a living being was seen. Only now a then a few crows filled the air with their dismal voices'.

At a bend in. the road about midway between Lynchburgk and JSonierville, there stood by the wayside a rough hewn croas. That cross had been erected in commemoration of a horrible event which had taken place on that spot many years ago. Two brothers, William and Frederick Beyers, had returned from .Lynchburgh in a state of considerable intoxication. On the road they fell to quarreling, and at the above mentioned bend in the highway they came to blows. Drawing their knives they began cutting each other, until they both lay on tho ground bleeding from mortal wounds.

Ihus they were found by passers-by, groaning in their agoay, but sti cursing each other with their dying breath.

The two fratricides were buried on the apob of the terrible deed, and a wooden cross erected over their last resting-place

The humble farmers of the neigh boring country never passed bj that spot without a shudder, and the slaves of the few large tobacco plantations south of the forest, believed that the ghosts of the two brothers haunted the spot, and nothing could induce them to walk past the cross after nightfall. On the afternoon mentioned at the beginning of this sketch, a young man, dressed like the well-to-do planters of Virginia, was sitting behind the cross. lie land a long riHo in his hand.3, and was peering with intense suspense in the diroetion of the .Lynchburg part ot the road. He was a tall and handsome man, but on this occasion there was an expression in his countenance which made it look almost hideous. It wa-s livid. The lips were tightly compressed, and in the eyes there was burning a somber liro, indicative of a murderous purpose.

'1 thought Lasollo would have been hero an hour ago,' ho said to himself. ' Can it bo that tho message from Somerville has not reached him ? I cannot believe it, for my slave -Solomon, who delivered it to Liselle, never lied to me yet. O, my G-od, if i should have to wait still louger for the fulfill ment of my oath of revenge ! My poor sister is dying at home in utter despair —she, the idol of our family, the most beautiful girl in Virginia—and now the victim of a married villian's last —dishonored forever, and on tho point of giving birth to a child which will be an outcast on earth. ; Ah, Laselle,' he hissed out almost aloud, ' Mark Blakely will take your life for what you have done to his sister Vera!'

He suddenly paused. The distant noise of a galloping horse fell on his ear. An air of triumph overspread his features, and made his face as a radiant an thiit of the prince of darkness in tho hour of his horrible triumphs. Ho crouched down, still lower and raised his rillo. The horse approached at a rapid rate. Suddenly a horseman came in view. Jtte was a short, stout built man, with pleasant features, a sun-burnt face and kindly eves. When he was within three feet of the cross, tho man behind it fired —the horseman, who had been mortally hit in the head, uttered a piercing cry, and fell from his horse. The latter, terribly frightened, sped on at a furious rate. The man who had fired the murderous shot rushed from his place of concealment. In a moment he was by the side of his victim. 'I he latter was still conscious. The murderer gloated upon him in his agcny with the glare of a tiger.

'Laselle, i shot you because you entered the bedroom window of my sister Vera and outraged her.' ' I never did, Mark Blakejy,' gasped the dying man.

'You lie, you villian! Did you not leave your velvet cap in her room ?'

' My velvet cap ?' ' lep, it convicts you, youvillian !' '0, Grod! I lent it one night to

Jack Sproules, and he never brought it back.' Blakely seemed thunderstruck by tb's revelation. <T S that true?' he asked, fixing his eves anxiously upon those of the dying

man. f ( You— haye—murdered—me, re plied the latter in a feeble voice. ' Oh, my poor wife —my poor children !' The death-rattle was in his throat. A convulsiv shudder passed through his frame. One more deep groan, and he was dead. Mark Blakely stood, speechless with horror, by the side of his victim. 'He has told the truth,' he said at last in a husky voice. ' Great G-od ! what have I done ? Murdered _an innocent man. Jack Sproules is just the villian to do such a thing, and I have no doubt he borrowed Laselle s cap on purpose to avert suspicion from himself , and make Laselle appear^ as the guilty party ! What shall I do ?' For a long time he still remained beside the corpse, a prey to the most aggonizing thoughts. At last he aroused himself. With a savage oath he flung hia riflle far away from him. Then he walked rapidly away in the direction of Lynchburgh. An hour later he reached that place, and immediately directed his steps toward the the Old Dominion House, an old-established tavern, where the young bloods of the neighborhood would meet to swagger, brag, drink, gamble, and fight. When he entored the bar-room, he found it filled with quite a crowd of noisy young men. ' Ear-keeper,' said Mark Blakely, 'I ; am very cold. Make me a very stiff glass of grog,' . j He drank, it, and then, asked : ' Is Jack Sproules here?' 'Heis in the back room, sir. Do you wish to sea him V 'Yes, please call him out." A moment later Sproules, a dissi- ' pated young man, stepped up to Blakely. ' You want to see me, Mr. Blakely?' he asked, in a swaggering tone. ' Yes, I want to see you on very serious business, sir/ replied Blakely in a menacing voice. ' Well, let's know what it is,' rejoined Sproules. Have a drink Blakely ?' ' No, sir ; before I speak to you, I want to call upon those present here to be kind enough to listen to what I have to say. G-entletnen,' he called out in a very loud voice, ' will you please to gather around us. I have to say here something which concsrns our whole community.' The men gathered quickly around Blakely and Sproules. The latter affected the most perfect unconcern. ' Gentleman,' said Blakely, in the most solemn tone, 'on the night of April 2ud last a man broke into the bedroom of my sister "VTera, through the window. She was a sleep and she did not hear the intruder. She did not awake until she found herself in his arms, subjected to the foulest violence. 6[e smothered her cries and accom plished his fiendish purpose. It was too dark for her to recognize him. Overcome with shame and despair, she sank into a long swoon. The ruthless despoiler of her virtue escaped. But he left behing a cap —a peculiar kind of velvet cap —which only one man in this town wore. That man was Charles Laselle !' The audience burst into cries of amazemeut. ' Gentlemen/ continued Blakely, 'for months our family has concealed this terrible disgrace, so innocently in flicted upon its dearest, its idolized member. To-day I met Charles La selle and I shot him dead.' There was an outburst of horror among the audience. ' But/ continued Blakely, ' I know now that I committed, although un wittingly, a foul murder, for poor Laselle told me, with his latest breath, ; something which opened my eyes and showed me plainly that he was guilt less of the foul outrage.' He fixed his eyes upon Jack Sproules, who stood before him, with eyes down cast, and trembling like an aspen leaf. ' Jack Sproules/ he said to him, in a thundering voice, 'did you, on the evening of the day which I have men tioned, borrow from Laselle hia velvet cap ?' Sproules made no reply, The audience burst into loud ex ecrations and threats. 'Answer!' thundered Blakely once more. * Did you or not ?' ' I did,' replied Sproules, in an almost inaudible voice. 'The you committed the outrage upon my poor sister !' $o saying, Blakely drew from his

breast pocket a double barrelled pfcy and before the bystanders were abl«(J prevent him, he shot Sproules and jk blew out his own brains.

The utmost excitement prevailed j» Lynchburg next day. Through unfortunate accident, Vera Blake),: heard of her brothers fate, and dj^ within two hours afterward.

Vera and her ill-fated brother,^: buried in the same grave. L It is stranga that not ono of tUJ* numerous Southern authoresses should have chosen this terrible tragedy as (i subject for a novel.

THE SONG OF THE SPADE.

All honour to be paid to tho homely gpade The sword and the spear are idle thuL-," To tbe king in hia prioe and his subjectabesij Its tribute the spade of the hußbaudnj! brings. A Bright thought from heaven to the tflta was given, * r Who first turned up to light the soil richly brown : God told iv the bias 6 how the seed shouldL; cast— \ See the first yellow grains by the husband, man sown ! See the first harvest inooa, and the ripe yd, low corn, And the first crooked sickle thrust into the grain ! With dancing and singing the valleys m' ringing, For all that the spade has raised out of the plain. Then all honour be paid to the conqueriij spade — ™ The sword and the shield are idle thinga- To the king in hi 3 pride and hia subto beside, Its bounties the spade of the husbandman brings.

NOTHING IS LOST.

Where ia the snow ? ! Tia nob long ago It covered the earth with a veil of \rhife1 We heard not its foocsnspa soft and light Yet there ie wa3 ia the morning bright' Now ie hash vanished away from aigU Not a firac^ remains ° In tiaids or ianes. Where is the frost 2 They are goae and lost— The forms o: b.sauiy it gaily tnade, The pictures rare ou windows am/d, 'Be silent,' it said : tha brook obeyed The frost-work's wiid pictures all did fads;! At the smile of the qua Ail wa3 undone. Where is the rain 1 Pattering it; came ; D^nciug aloug with a merry sound, A grassy bad in the fields it found : tSacii drop came ou the roof with a bound i ' Where is che ram ? Ie hash left the ground, What good hath it done, Goiag away ao -goon'i Ever, ever Our best endeavor Seemeth to fail like the melted snow; We work ouo oul- thought vyisely and slo»; Tne seed we sow— basis will not grow ; Our hopes, oul- resolves—where do they go! WhaS doch remain 2 Memory aad pain. Nothing is losS— No snotv or frosfc. .: ■ That come to enrich the earsh a<*ain : We thank them when the ripening grain Is waving over the hiil aud plain. And the pleasant rain springs from eartt amaia. All endeth in goad— Water and food. if ever despair j Disappointment: bear. Though hope seemeth vain, be paWv still ; Thy good iutent3 God will fulfil. Thy hand is weak ; His powerful will Ia completing thy life-work still. The good endeavos Is lost?—ah! never.

THE MORNING STAR.

The morning star is in the sky, And Phoabas' car is drawing nigh The top of yon hill, Its luuiinious wheel Will appear before to greet thine eye; I The morning-star it horalds the day, And Phtebus' car it lights the WiJ i For travellers lone, When far from their home, And who bufc for in would go astray. ';,. My love is the morning star to me, My love siie is Phoebus' car to me, As radieat and blight As those bodies of light She would look from a distance as far to W Her beaming eyes they make my day, Lighted by thorn I cau's lose my way, Her smile so benign As it oa me does shine Disperses ail darkness and cares with IfcsWf Otahuhu Sih Sept 1576 B.C ;

A husband we know complains ml at the price of 'ducks.' His wife recently bought three for 226 dols., viz: A'dueM of a dress, a 'duck'of a bonnet, and'a W of a parasol.

The young woman who was liffifl thought, after wandering in her own*" 11*;/ found herself at; kst in her lover's armV' It takes a faaid headed man ago? 3 ffr» r to learn taa art of switching a solitary 1^ j hand look over to the right haad side W out haviu« it Litiraoi; atteation.

Printed and Published by the P*oP" Btor' p ?JtM B*ett. of V ameil, at his General atPa™\K Office, Wyndhaui-stroot, in tUu City of AtK**"* New Zealanil: - batorday, Ogtybcic Ji, IS7C,

EVENING STAR SUPPLEMENT, OCTOBER 14, 1876.