"EVENING STAR" SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT ENTERTAINING READING.

No. 34.]

, AUCKLAND, SATURDAY, JXJLY 1, 1876

Price: ONE PENNY

Poetry

FOOTSTEPS ON THE OTHER SIDE.

Sitting in my humble doorway Gazing on', into the ni?ht. Listening to the stormy tumult With a kind of sad delight, AVait I for the loved who comes not, v. One whose step 3 I long to hoar ; One who, though ho lingers from ma, Still is dearest of tho dear. Soft, he comes—now, heart be quiet, Leaping in triumphant pride; Oh ! it is a stranger footstep, Gone by on the other side. All tho night seems filled with weeping, Winds are wailing mournfully; And the rain tears altogether Journey to tho restless tea. I can fancy, sea, you murmur, As they with your waters flow, Like the grief of single baing3 Making up a nation's woo.

Branches, bid your guests be silent! Hush a moment, fretful pain ! Breeze, stop sighing, let me listea— God grant not again in vain! In my cheek the blood it rosy, Lite the blushes of a bride; Jov!—alas ! a stranger footstep, Goes by on the other aide,

Ah! how many wait forever Pot the stops that do not come ; Wait until the pitying angels Bear them to a peaceful home. Many In the still of midnight, In the streets have lain and died, While the sound of human footsteps Went by on the other side.

BEYOND TUB TIDE.

We read that beyond Death's dreary fide, Ig a land so light that it noefls no sun; Where the tates of pearl stand open wide Through a Sabbath day that is never done.

Wo read that no pain can over smite The dwellers upon that glorious shore: No dying is there, nor sin's sad blight, And their tears are wiped for evermore. It is very lonely this aide the flood, When those we loved have meekly died ; And in the silence of our abode We listen for sounds beyond the tide.

We know that their home is a wondroiis land, And we stand on the river's stormy side; Oh! say, if upon this earthly strand There may float no sign from beyond the tide? Where is the angel who rolled the stone From the sepulchre ? Is the gnlf so wide That they only cross to the Holy One, And never again fiom beyond the tide?

THE WORLD IS WHAT WE MAKE IT.

I've seen some people in this life Who always are repining, Who never, never yet could sao Tho storm-clouds silver lining. There always something is amiES, From sunrise to its setting; Tint God's hand mado their map of life, They seem the while forgetting. And I have seen a blessed sight To sin-becloudod vision, Somo people who, where'er they bo, Make earth ssem an Elysian. They always see tho brightest side— The direful shadows never— And keep the flower of hope in bloom Within their heart's forever. The one can make tho sunniest day Seem wondrous sad and dreary; The other smiles her clouds away, And makes a dark day cheery. This life of ours is. after all. About as we shall mike it. If we can banish grief and care, Let'a haste to undertake it.

ONLY A BABY'S CURL.

BY KLTZABETH BAIHrtTT BROWNING,

Friends of faces unknown, and n land "' Unvisited, over the sea, ,•' tell me how lonely you stand £3 ith a single gold curl in the hand, i... Seld up to be looked at by me; , bile you ask me to ponder, and say - What a father or mother can do, !*< ith the bright fellow-locks pat away, Out of reach, bryond kiss, in the clay, Where the violets pross nearer than you— - "Mil I soeak like a poet, or run l ■. nto weak woman's tears for relief ? I; ! children—l never lost one; t" t my arm's round my own little son, *i<i *nd love knows tho secret of grief. id I feel what it must be, and is, c. "When God draws a new angel ao "hrough the hou3o of a man up to His, "What a murmur of music you miss, And a rapture of light you forego.

How you think, stiring on at the door Where the face of your angel flashed in, That its brightness, familHr before, Barns off from you ever tho more, For the dark of your sorrow and sin. 1 God lent him and takes him,' you sigh- Nay, there let mo bre*k -with your pain ; God's generous in giving, say I, And the thing which He gives, I deny That He ever can tf.ke back again.

.'5 He gives what He givec—l apneal, To all who boar babes, la the hour I When the veil of tho body we feel Kent round ua, while torments reveal The motherhood's advent in power. I And the tabe cries—have a'l us knowa I' %y apocalypse (God being there Pull in nature) the childis our own— p Life of life, love of love, moan of moan, Through all changes, all timei, everywhere, [7 n' a ours and forever. Believo, \, y'\-- '*hor-0, mother, look back V T(?{ .•.-..'.-st love's assurance :To give ! Means, with Go'J, not to tempt or deceive, With a cup thrust in Benjamin's sjek. He gives what He gives—be content ! He resumes nothing given—be sure ; I God lend ? Where the usurers lent I In His temple, indignant fie went, And scourged away all thoso impure, lie Isnds not, but gives to the oad, As He loves to tho end. If it aoem That He dr&wa back a gift, comprehend 'Tis to add to it rather—amend, And finish it up to your dream.

Or keep—as a mother may toys Too costly, though given by herself, Till the room shall bo stiller from noise, And the children more lit for such joy 3, .Kopt over their head 3on tho shelf. So look up, friends! You, who indeed Hay possessed in your house a sweet piece Of the Heaven which men strive for, must need Bo moro earnest thin others, and speed Where they loiter, persist where they cease. You know how ono angel smiles there ; Then courage ! 'Tis easy for you To be drawn by a single gold hair Of that curl, from earth's storm and despair, To the safe place abuye us. Adieu,

Patriotism in Danbury.

They were goinj to get up a Lady Wash ington tea partyfor the benefit of their society. It was>;o come of on the night of the 22nd. And of an afternoon ;a few days before, sevoial ladies met at the house of one of their number to perfect arrange ments. It was dttcrmined to give a grand affair, something especially designed to transcend the tea >arty by a rival organisa tion last year. To this purpose ie became necessary to devote the most careful thought to all th( details, and this was

done. In fact, it would bejdifficult to find a more coHscientous commitee in a hamlet the size of Danbury. When all the particulars were arranged, and the various stand and miner officera^,assigned to the ordinary membery of the society—who were not present—the important question as to who should take the leading character was brought up. With a view to do without the delay and feeling of balloting, the Pridesent kindly offered to do lady Washington herself. She said that she felt it was not a favorable selection, but she was 'willing to take it, so that there need be no discussion or ill-feeling. If she thought she had not placed a sufficiently modest estimate upon her qualifications for the post, she was presently set at rest on that head.. Hor offer was received in silence. 'What do you think?' she asked. ' I'm -willing to do it.'

' Lady Washington never weighed 250 pounds,' ominously!, hinted a thin lady, with every light eyes. ' She had fat enough to grease a girdle, which is more'n some folks can claim,' retorted the President, with anything but a dreamy expression to her face. The tall lady's eyes grew a shade darker and her lips shaped themselves as if they were saying ' huzzey,' but it is probable they were not.

'As our two friends are so likely to agree,' observed a lady, whose face showed that she was about to metamorphose her self into a barrel of prime oil, and precipi tate herself on to the troubled waters, 'I would suggest that I take the character.' ' Humph !' ejaculated the President. ' Is there any objectionto my being Lady Washington ?' said the new party facing abruptly the President, and emptying out the oil and filling up the barrel immedi ately with a superior grade of vinegar. ' I don't know of any, if some one will demonstrate that Lady Washington had a wart on her nose,' replied the President, with unblemished serenity. ' Am I to be insulted ?' hotly demanded the proprietor of the wart. •The truth ought not to be insulting,' replied the President.

•I s'pose our President thinks she would be a perfect Lady Washington,1 ironically suggested a weak-faced woman, who saw her chances for taking the char acter dejectedly emerge from the small end of the horn.,, ' I don't know as "I would bo perfect in that rold,' replied the President, ' but as there will be strangers present at the party, I shouldn't want them to think that the nearest approach Danbury could make to the dignity of '76 was a toothless woman down with the jaundice' And the head officer smiled serenely at the ceiling.

' What do you mean, you insinuating thing1!' hoarsely demanded the victim ofj the iaundice.

' Keep your mouth shut uutil you arc spoken to, then,' severely advisod the President. ' I'm not to be dictated to by a mountaii of tallow,' hissed the chromatic delegate flouncing out of the room. ' I think we had better get another Pro sident before we go any further,' said i sharp-faced woman, very much depress^ by the outlook for herself. 'It is not hardly time for you yef observed the President, with a signiflcai look at the sharp-faced women ; ' We wll have to arrange for Lady Washington and George Washington before wo nqd tllO HATCHET.' The sharp-faced lady snatched up Jer muff without the faintest hesitation* ;hd rushed out of doors to get breath, ijlie was immediately followed by the propne tor of the wart, the thin lady disastrously connected with a girdle, and the tcothess case of jaundice. This left but tie J*re yident and a little woman, who lad yet said nothing.

Has it occurred to you that yot would ]ike to be Lady Washington ?' a;ked the President, concentrating both ofher eyes on a wen just under the small woman's left ear. ' Oh, no,' gasped the small wanan, im* pulsively covering up the excresmco with her hand. I ' Then I guess we'll adjourn 9NE die,' said the President, and pulling on her gloves, she composedly took hiv depar ture. And the tea party became the fragment of a gloomy memory. —Danburj News.

Fredrich the Great of Prussia.

Lecturing in New York, on this grand historical character, Dr. Lord, said: His childhood and youth were unfortunate, exposed to tho caprices of a tyrannical father, whoso almost sole redeeming virtue was a sincere belief in God Almighty. The age was one of great reactions, when the earnest inquiries of the seventeenth century were su-bstituted for mockeries, levities and infidelities; when no great enterprises were carried on, and when scarcely any department of literature was marked by original genius—an age callous to the evils of war, and when general cynicism and • pleasure-seeking

characterid the reading classes of Europe, redrick became King in 1740 —at thatlme a fashonable philosopher and flute-ayer, liberal and tolerant, but akepticalnd infidel—free from hatreds and frieiships, active, imperious and ambitioui Ho at once gave his attention to raisin^nd equipping armies, with an i:f.cnse lb of military glory, hoping to play thejirfc of an Alexander. His first importaipublic act was the seizure of a part of c territory of Liege, which he pretend;1 belonged to Prussia—a robbery for whiche had no excuse. This act was regfled as an outrage, but was not of impcance enough to alarm Europe. His neiimportant measure was the seiz ure of.lesia —a province nearly as laige as his ra kingdom—which belonged to Austri; As all his movements were made with celerity, and his intentions were uuspected, he made an easy con-

quest .;This was a flagrant wickedness, and ansult to Europe, and was the signal AN EROSION OF EUROPEAN POLI | TICS, Whicended in one of the bloodiest wars of tWentury. Mam Theresa appealed heroilly and pathetically to her subjects, and ,'epared to recover the province whic. had been thus unscrupulously wresd from her. But the fortune of

war tabled Frederick to retain the pro vine although forces superior in numbers weri'arrayed against him, while good fortje gave him great military eclat. Bhad now ten years of repose and re newl preparations for war, for he was cerin that the storm would at last burst ovehis head, since all Europe was out rafi. During this period he was visited byioltaire, and their memorable f riend sm was broken by the egotism which msed both the King and the philosopher. Tr' storm which had been long gathering ov? him broken out in 1756. ' Austria, Esia, Saxony and Prance were arrayed aiinst him with overwhelming 'armies— tt'most powerful coalition since, the wars ojhe Reformation. His only ally was Inland — an ally to him. with the ulterior diign of fighting France—then' inglor-

i| sly ruled by Louis XV. Then occurred HE FAMOUS SEVEN YEARS' WAR, ] which 000,000 men were marshaled jder different leaders to crush the man iio insulted all nations alike in his in itiablo desire ot military aggrandizement [is resistance to the vast forces arrayed gainst him constitutes his heroism. All dmired the dexterity with which he .xtricated himself from his difficulties. Jlo successively defeated three armies arger than his own—a French, Austrian md Russain army, which gave him immense fame. But these successes 'were followed by great losses from the

exhausted state of his own country. He vvasplaced in mostdesperate circumstances, still his indominitablc will remained. He

was given up for lost; nobody supposed he couldextrieatc himself from his troubles. But ho did succeed in retaining Silesia, but at the expense of 180,000^ men, and the impoverishment of his country. After he had escaped the perils of the Seven Years' War, it is surprising that he should have committed any new crime. He united with Eussia and Austria for the partition of Poland —another triple-handed act for which he was not alone to blame, This is justified by Carlyle with his accustomed sophistries, but cannot be defended on any principle of justice, although it may have resulted in the aggraudizement of Prussia. Carlyle says it was 'an operation of Almighty Providence and the eternal laws of nature' —a key to his whole philosophy, which is that might makes right—a Jesuitical maxim, in opposition to the Christian standard—' D^ unto others as ye would they should do unto you.' There can be no doubt that Frederick ABLY MANAGED HIS STOLEN PRO VINCES, Enforcing law and order, spending as little money as possible , and showing many interesting qualities. Ho loved loading and learned men, cultivated music, and was agreeable and intelligent. tie had a great insight into shams, was saga cious as a statesman, as well as a trans cendant military hero. But he was cold, dissembling, ambitious and unscrupulous. Sceptical in religion, a disobedient son, a heartless husbaud, and selfish egotist. His latter years, though dignified and quiet—an idol in military circles, and with an immense fame —were nevertheless sad. He heard the distant rumblings of the French revolution. Though deceived by Voltaire, he could not be deceived by ( the theories of llousseau, whose logicalv; sequence was destruction of all thrones, as well as feudal institutions., ft was doubtless grateful to the dying King to hear the plaudits of his idolators as he stood on' the shores of the great ocean which separated him from eternity ; but the view of spectators, their cheery and triumphant voices must soon have been disregarded, as the bark, in which he sailed alone, vanished in the unknown ocean to meet the eternal judge of the living and the dead.

Brown's Blunde.

BY JUDGE CiAßiji

Mr name is—no I won't tell t» isn't Norval, at any rate.

Let us call me Brown, for cofemence

I had studied law in the ccitry, and opened an office in the city—tlt.is, I had that sort of interest in one echnically called ' desk-room,' which may>e defined to be tho previlege of settinju P one's legal work-bench in a corner, i>h a right of way to and from the sainefj se^ and clients —a right, the latter bra h where of, in my case, bade fair t<lapse, by non-usage.

My clients were few % impecunious. Their cases lia

than money ia them, but servi

me into court once in a whil'

I improve the occasion iWE

I mostly more law to bring and did'fc ? Daniel v in his slf on a have on a )urt, for a

Webster, with a big reta:

pocket, never spread Iw constitutional question, as I five-dollar case, in justice's two-dollar fee contingent. The balance of trade was i and finances were in a siato contraction. Ijkept a tolerabl< lip, though. When IWM spoke assuringly of my risitj and in my letters to Sophy Ej complain of being overrun wif

?amst me, f chronic jfciff upper & home, I : practise; ke, would ' work.

Sophy was a semi-sweehest of mine. We had known each otherfroi childhood, and when we didn't quarrel were the best of friends. Who knows'rhat might have been if—but I won't antiiipate.

A note through the post-oj&e inform ed me one day that Sophia aal her aunt were on a visit to the city, aal stopping at the hotel, where they would bo glad to see me. Of course, I went. Itwasiciar in the evening, but Sophy had already- got her best bib and tucker on, as f prepared to go out.

'Oh Mr Brown !' she cried, when we had greeted all around, ' I'm so glad to see you !'

I simpered self complacently, •' I'm dying to hear MsdarneKatsqualli she continued, ' and was so sfraid you wouldn't come in time !'

Here was a fix to be in ! Katsqualli was preforming high-prised opera before the fashon of the city. The cost of a single ticket was two dolars which exactly seized my' pile, of coirse, I couldn't own to that, after what I had written of the extent of my practise. My vanity wouldn't stand it, and 01 thai rock I split.

I thought I would try i light com plexioned lie.

'I—l don't think the madame sings to-nishf,' I stammerad.

1 Yes, she does.' said Sophy. ' I've read all about it in the papers. 1 Wouldn't you rather go to the theatre? I ventured to hint; 'ifs; far moro entertaining—and much cheaper,' I added mentally.

' Oh ! I must see the opera I'persisted Sophy ; I've never seen an open, and I'jx fairly dying to see one !'

I saw I was in for it. The:o was no bending Sophy once she got iying for a thing.

There was but one plan viable. For my two dollars I could get tvo tickets to the top tier, and as Sophy hid never seen an opera'before, I might persiade her that that was the choice part of;he house. To my great relief fophy's aunt declined to go. Had she <ecided other wise, my cake would have ben dough.

' Shall I call a carriage, or shall we walk ?' I asked, when Soply was ready. The question, I felf, ras almost tempting fate.

• The distance is very short.' I added. I went into silent raptures when Sophy prefered to walk.

Though the walk was longer than I had led her to expect, sle stood it without complaint. We reached the end of it at last; and having invested my all in a couple of 'uppermost seats,' we began our ascent.

' Are we —going into—the steeple !' panted Sophy, out of breath, as we en tered on the sixth flight 'This is the last stage,' said I. 1 Goodness ! how; high we are !' said Sophy, when the ulaer had shown us to our seats under the sky-light.'

I explained that we were in the best part of the house; thai the music sounded better up there; that nobody of taste went elsewhere—in sliort, I couldn't have told more lies in fire minutes, had I been for ten years in full practice. Sophy lookfid a little incredulous ; but the performance began, and she soon grew so deeply interested as to be. obli vious of all else,

When the curtain fell at the end, and Madame Eatsqualli had blundered through a speech in macaroni English, and Sophy had iurst her kids applauding, then, and not till then, was she ready to go-

The tedious descent ended, I was be ginning to congratulate myself on getting out of the scrape so lixndsomcly, when we

reached the door to find —oh ! horror !— IT WAS RAINING.

' We'll have to take a carriage,' said Sophy.

How I wished I was a lost child, a babe in the woods, or any other thing that couldn't be found.

The situation was desperate. I had no choice. I beckoned to the mildest-look ing hacktnan I could see, who at once drove forward.

I handed Sophy in, gave the driver the direction, and jumped in myself. What would bo the consequence when I came to throw myself on the tender mercy of the benevolent jarvy; as I should eventually be obliged to do, I trembled to think of.

Presently, Sophy hinted at ice-cream, and asked me if I knew good place. I told her I thought it very unhealthy —especially at night. She said it never hurt her.

I replied the doctors had predicted the approach of cholera, and.^were warning people to be cautious in their diet, and to obstain from icecream particularly. The doctors were fools, she said.

I saw it was no use contending. At the same time a happy thought struck me. I knew one of the clerks in a first-class confectionery. Doubtless he would trust me for a cream, and might lend me enough besides to settle with the hackman. Atany rate, to stop awhile would pospono the evil moment, and I might stumble on some friend of money-lending proclivities. I told the driver where to stop, bat luck was ngainst me. The clerk whom I knew was out!

With the rashness of despair, I ordered two dishes for vanilla. I ate slowly and sadly. Sophy's plate was out first. I asked her to have another—it made no difference now, and she did.

I would have gladly lengthened out the time : but the hackman was getting impa tient, coming from time to time to look at the door. The crisis might as well come. With as bold a face as possible, I approached the man at the desk.

'I'll pay for this to-morrow,' I said. Mis fasc assumed a look of want of confidence.

'We do a stkictly cash buisness,' he ansvered with some sternness.

| ' But I—l don't happen to have the cash about me,' I stammered.

Yvhat a fool I was. I thought the next mommt. I felt as though I deserved to be disbarred for stupidity. Why didn't I ck) my hands upon my pocket and prcteid it had been picked ? But the brigli idea come to .late.

1 Y»u had no business to or dor what you hid'nt the money to pay for,' said the man, n a loud angry tone; 'The law calls t\at swindling.'

' Ths law, sir !' I excalimed ; ' I know the lav, and I'll have you arrested for slandei to-morrow.'

• And I'll have you arrested for swindl ing nov !' was the responco; and sure enough,a policeman was called in, and I was givin in charge on the spot. To add to the cmfusion, the hackman rushed in and begin clamouring for his pay, while poor Sojhy commenced to cry and wring her hand.

1 It's Mt r oponion the gal's no better nor her pall,'put in the. hackman, 'an' my advice is;o 'rest 'em both.'

And thre's no knowing but it would have bcerdone, but for what followed.

• What) all this ?' exclaimed a young man, comlig forward from a back table at which le had been seated.

I recognzsd him at a glance and so did Sophy. _ Ilwas Sam Trett, an old rival of mine with Sophy, now a country grocer, who had ccne to the city to lay in his stock.

Sophy few to him and clung to his arm.

' Ho —he~he,' she sobbed, pointing her finger at me ' has dis-disdis-GEACED me J he brough-bough-brought me he-he-here in. a ha-ha-hick, and or-or-ordered i-i-ice cream, and dxl-did-didn't pay for it, and got us bo-bdboth arrested !'

Sam gave ac a look of scorn, paid for the ice-cream assumed my liability to the hackman, ami led Sophy in triumph to the carriage, in mich they were driven away. 1 learned aterward that he took her to the opera, aid had private box every night durningier stay, besides treating to all the ice-oeam she wanted.

The upshot i; that Sophy is now Mrs. Sam Trctt, anal am a crusty old bachlor; all through thoblunder of trying to cut a swell on a capital of two dollars.