"EVENING STAR" SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT OF ENTERTAINING READING.

No. 54.]

AUCKLAND, SATURDAY, NOVEMBER 11, 1876

[Price: ONE PENNY

Poetry.

DRUNKEN JOE.

Poor ? Why I am worse ! 0 what a common curse This thirst for gin! M— may I come in ? These biting winds are cold, And I am old— These rags are thin. Thanks ! Just a bite for me and Jack, Then we'll go back And never more enter your'door ! Jack is my dog. He don't drink grog Like me, you see. ono!if ho Got drunk like me, and had his spree, Why folks would talk and shun Us both, of two were drunk instead of one. Jack barks for meat Upon the street. Boys I ring ro to hear him speak. Pardon me ! Does this roof leak ? 1 am so very, very dry, I may be dreaming. Do not I Hear somebhing dripping ? It is mm ! 0 give me some ! Curse this insatiate desire ; One drop of rum to quench this fire ; This nameless hell that burns within, That only whisky, rum or gin Can quench ! No matter 'bout the cost; Oae little drop or I am lost! Oh thank you, sir ! This drop will save A homeless ' tramp' a willing slave, The desert of whose soul is such That only strongest drink can touch The baren place ! O give me more 1 Just one drop to help mo o'er Your threshold. There, I'm braver now. That rum is good ! It beats all how Strong drink inspires And quenches fires ! There was a time—but I must not refer To those sweet sunny days that were, When I loved her. Come Jack, Let us go back. 1 must not, must not think Of aught but drink ! My name? 0, sir, they call me Joe- Drunken Joe of Yankee Blade ! My other name is in the shade Because I hate to hear it so. It is a shame To be too poor tc own a name ! Thanks ! Good day, sir. Now, my dog, Let's go where I can get my grog, And drink my fill. This shining piece Of coin he gave to me will ease My pains. So come, Jack, come. I must have rum ! I must have rum I 0, that I were dead, And o'er my head Some scattered leaves were lying, And winds low sighing ! It must bo Bwest to slumber Seasons without number, Under the weeds and grasses, Under the sun that passes, At rest on the pillow of clay Till the terrible judgement day ; Down where the whole of the race is Embraced by a mother's embraces. No rich, no poor, no high, no low, No white, no black, no red, no blonde ; Where all are one, and all may know The mysteries of the land beyord. Bat how will it bo with me In the life that is to be, When I am under tho sod And with God 1 Will she know me ? But I must not recall The forms that were. I faint! I fali ! I die, oh God, mine hour is come 1 I die for want of rum ! rum ! rum !

A RHYME OF ONE

You sleep upon your mother's breasb, 'Your race begun, A welcome, long and wished for guest, Whose age,is One. A baby-boy, you yonder why You cannot run ; You try to talk —how hard you try ! You're only One. Ere Inng you wont be such a dunce ; You'll eat your bun, And fly your kite, like folk who once Were only One. You'll rhtme, and woo, and fight, and joke, Perhaps you'U pun ; Such feats are never done by folk Before their One. Some day, too, you may have your joy, And envy none ; Yes, you, yourself, may own a boy Who isn't One. He'll danoe, and laugh, and crow, he'll do As you have done. You crown a happy home, tho' you Are only One. Bat when he's grown shall you be here To share his fun, And talk of days when he (the dear) Was hardly One. Da%r child, 'tis your poor lot to be My little son; I'm glad, though I'm old, you see, While you are only One.

LOVE LIGHT.

Beyond all lights that ever shone On land or glittering sea, The love-light shining in your eyes The fairest seems to me. Quickly tomeetfthe sunbeam'sl^g V The rose with beauty glow.s ;*;-■;(/ Swiftly beneath your tender glance My warm blcod comes and goes. If the sun see 3an answering smile On land or glancing wave, Can you not see in my eyes dear, The light your own eyes gave ?

Monties Two Loves.

Two, and Montague Garthorn loved them both. It; does not seem possible, neverthe less it is true ; and, stranger still, they both loved him. He w.^a nob worthy of half the good things the Fates showered on him with such lavish hands ; but who in this world ever get their deserts ? It is a thorougly false theory that virtue brings its own reward ; long ago it might, but now- it certainly does not, or-Opal Garthorn's life would have booa happier. As long as Opal could renerabor she had worshiped her coubin Montague. As a shild ho was her hero, and as she grew up her chief delight was to be noticed by him. When she ' came out,' and ho seemed to take pleasure in being with her, her joy knew no bounds ; and at length, when ho asked her to be his wife, she could hardly realize that the dream of her life had come to pass ; and he felt as if he could not do en nigh to show his love for the beautiful girl who had promised to marry him.

Montague Garthorn was well off, and his parents being both dead, ha had become a spoiled child in all his relations' households, and many a Mistress Garthorn had been anxious to catch this excellent parti for her daughter. Grent wan the surprise of the Garthorns generally when it was known that he intended to make hi'j distant cousin Opal his wife.

Opal's love for him, was so unselfish, so womanly (and how much deeper is a woman's love than a man's can possible be)! When I say she loved him with her whole heart, better than life, my words seem cold and passionless,-and cannot convey the meaning of her devotedness.

When he asked her to marry him soon she would not listen to him, but stipulated for another year of freedom, because ' he might see some one he liked better,' and with whom he would be more happy. Her delight con sisted in seeing him happy, so she said, and so she meant, no doubt; but really she felt such confidence in his entire devotion, and judged him so by herself, that she never for a moment realized the idea of his loving anyone but her. Montague Garthorn considered that if he understood one thing thoroughly, that one thing was himself; so he was annoyed at her doubting him even in this loving way, and resolved to prove that no woman of lures and wiles could influence him when he had the assurauce of Opal's love.

Opal was standing at the drawing-room window, gazing into the twilight for her lover, while her mother and father chatted together. At last she hears his footsteps on the stairs, and they are together.' • Opal, will you go to the theatre to night ? I have promised to meet Archer there. ' Must you go, Montie ?' 1 Well, dear, I think I must ; but won't you come ?% Opaljdoes not want to go, and she does not want him to go without her ; but before she has time to make up her miad what answer to give, her mother settles the matter by saying she ' cannot allow Op.ai Co go, as she ia tirod with a day's shopping ' Montague remained a few minutes longer, then rose to take bis leave. Opal was^dul, felt a Iea 7e-i weight at her heart What for? 'Surely not because her lover was going to meet a man at the theatre Nevertheless she could not throw tho gloom off, and as she bade him good-bye tears rose to her eyes and seemed to tremble in her voice ; so much so that even Montie, the most unobservant of men noticed them, and was more affaotionate in his manner.

'You are tired, Opil, my child, go to bed, dear.' • It is no': that, Montie, but I feel as if I was losing you ; as if thia was to be our last good bye.' 'Nonsense !' and wi",h another kiss he was gone ; while Opal gozad on him for the last time-at least sjiw for the las'; time; the man who loved her as he loved no o'hsr woman.

Mr. Grr'Aorn rauntared leisurely along, intending to take a hansom down to the Strand, when he remembered that as he was alone he might call for Archer at his loi3giags. Instead of taking a cab he resolved to go by train to Gower-sfcreet, where hirf friend lived. If Opal only knew what would convj of that little railway journey, noeavth'y power would have prevented her going with Montio to tho theatre. Ec was thinking it was a bother to go to the play, as it was sure to bo hot, and it would have been much cooler ia the back drawing-room with Opal. Here his thoughts were interrupted, acd tho carriage door was opened, and a young girl pushed in. A girl with magnetic golden hnir that seemed to make a halo around her head, and saucer blue eyes, and a mouth like Cupid's bow. Nellie'Wylde, the second woman who loved Montague Garthorn, met him now far the first-time, with her bright baby-face covered with blushes, and with her tiny hands held out to him to help her lift on to the seat a large parcel phe had with her. • It is a new dress I have bought at West bourna Grove,' she told him, ' and I am going to sit up to make it to go to a ball.' He was charmed with the simplicity of the child, as he considered her, and con descendingly asked her age. • Seventeen, soon,' she answered. And then all the color seemed to die out of her cheeks and leave her very pale. He watch ed her for Eome time, and then her merry voice broke his reverie by sayiDg : • I have been ill ; this is the first time I have been out. Father would scarcely let me come ; but I wanted my dress so much ;' and then, without waiting for any remark from Mr. Garthorn, she asked if he had ever been to a ball, and what they were like. « Yes, c'aild, many. Good-bye this is my

station. •It is mine, too,' Nellie answered ; and father said he would meet me and carry my parcel home.'

What less could Montague do than assist her to alight and carry her parcel up stairs ? and then, not finding anyone waiting for her, he could not do less than offer to carry it home. And in that little walk how his heart went out to this child, who had not an idea beyond the moment's pleasure, who found life so, bright, although her father kept a chemist shop in a back street and let lodgings! Why not le^ve her as she is—happy, young, heart-whole and. in smooth wa^er ? Why force her in^o stoimy weather whm she is now ab safe ? But already the harm is done, and Montigue is fascinated fatally by this child, in whose natura tl.e-e is no depth, and who could never feel anything, whether of pain or joy with half the keouneas that Opal can. The beautiful blue eyes look without flinching into Iris as sho w/rbles forth an invitation to come and have supper.

'We are not grand ; we only have water cresses in the shop-psrlor '

He goe3 in, and Nellio Wylda's father thanks him, and I;he hack parlor is paradise, the water cresses food for the gods, the theatre forgotten ; and a^ he looks at and listens to Nellie, Opal, in the cool back drawing-room, has b?como a thing of the pr;sfc.

' What ball are you going to, Miss Wylde ?'

• At Aunt Mary'fl ; their first floor is empty, and they arc going to have a dance. Call mo Nellie-every one does ; it seernß too grown-up to call me Miss Wylde '

' That is not a real ball; but if you would like to go to one of the best balls in London, I will take you to Willis' Rooms to morrow nigh!;.' ' Oh, father, say yen !' said Nell, as she throw her arms around his neck.

' I don't know what is right to say,' ruminated Mr Wylde ? ' only as you have very little pleasure and no mother, perhaps it would not be any harm '

. So it was settled that beautiful, bright Nellie was to make her first entry into London society.

Montague tore himself away from tho enchanted chemist's shop. Now came tho time to think—to think of what he had done, Of course, it was too lato to go to tho theatre; in fac';, everything soeraed too late, now that the door of Mr. Wylde'a houso was shut. What had he done? Promised to take Nellie to a ball, and ho was engaged to go to a dinner-party with Opal! What should he do? Go home and make the best of his dilemma. Next morning Montague knew something must be done ; so he got his writing materials and intended to write to Nellie to tell her he could not take her to tho ball; but directly ho began, the vision of th.030 blue eyes filled with tears, and that Bmiling mouth pouting was too much for him, so ho changed his mind and wrote briefly to Opal, «that un foraeen circumstances prevented him going out to dinner with her to-morrow.' Opal is 30 good-natured she won't mind. He thought little of her breaking heart, though he thought so mcuh of her tearful blue eyes. Nellie and Mr. Garthorn went to the ball and enjoyed it. Nellie looked lovely iri'* c,r fresh white muslin dress, and Montr^V-s's gift of real flowers. When he left her at home, he longed for the moment when ho should see her next. On his return he found a letter from Opal, full of tender re grets at his absence and assurances of her love. Ho ro3olved never to see Nellie again, and to marry Opal as soon as possible. How easy it 13 to make resolutions at night, and how difficult to carry them out in the broad day ! Tho following afternoon, Mr. Garthorn called at Opal's and left his card, for he found her out. Tacn, what more natural than he should see how Nellie was after dissipation ? He found her at her home — beautiful, blushing, charming, full of grati tude for tho pleasure of the ball, and winning as only those childish women with big blue eyes can bo. Hor father was ia the shop, so they were alone, and before Montague knew what he was doing, ho had avowed his passion to Nellie, and she had confessed that she was 'very foi-.d of him and of balls at Willis' Ilooms.'

Opal, driving in tho park, was straining her eyea to sec the beloved form of Mon tague Garthorn among tho crowd of men loaning over the railings, Day after day Mr. Garthorn spent with Opal, and evening after evening with Nel lie. Opal was so sweotly kind to him, sang and played for him, declared that something must be wrong, and besought him to have confidence in her and to teli her hia trouble. In reply, he kissed her, told her not to ' worry, and that she was a fooiish girl.' And directly hisi duty visit was over, he rushed to "Nellie's house, where she met him with bright eyes, merry repartee, and kitten-like caresses. She really waa very lovable ; and it was no wonder that this man, who so loved being made much of, fancied she was more worthy of such love as he had to give than the woman who would have died for him.

Things could not last much longer like this. Opal wondered why he did not come of au evening, and asked him to spend the following Monday with her, as she would be alone. He could not refuse ;so all day Sunday he spent with Nellie wandering in Kensington Gardens ; then to church with Mi'- Wyldo, and a delightful Bohemian sapper in the shop parlor. Afterwards came tho good-night : and Montague told Nellie he could not come the following day because he had to see a cousin of his ; and then he went on to say that these happy days must end, as he was going away for a long time, and would only come once more to say good-bye. The blue eyes filled with teais, the tiny hands rustled up into the rir, and and with a wild scream she threw herself upon the stairs, sobbing. • Montie. you cannot, shall not leave me !' 1 Darling, I must.'

I But you said j£ou loved me 1' 'God knows how much, nay darling bub I must leave you. for I am in honor bound to mary my couain Opal.' Nellie did [not receive this announcement with haughty pride, or despair, but threw hersolf down ah Montague U-sr thorn's feet, sobbing piteously. ' You shall never marry her—the proud lady you showed me in the Park ; but me, your own loving Nellie, who worships you with devotion she, can never feel !' " i I 1 do believe you love mo best, my golden wig,' he exclaimed, aa he caught her in his arm and ho kissed her, promising to call again soon. Nollie was immediately comforted, and before he had got to the end of the street she was singing to horself as she cleared the supper things away. On Monday, Opal dressed herself in the dress Montague admired, ordered the dishes for dinner he preferred, and made up her mind to try and win him back, remembering the words of ono of our greatest writers, that ' revived love is the strongest.' He came in determined to make the evening pleasant to Opal, even to confess to her his flirtation with Nellie—to tell her that he had rooted it up and was ready to come back to her more devoted than ever ; but Opal looked so strong in her self-possession, so passion less, so unsympathetic, that the image of Nellierecurred to him as hesaw her last in her attitude of worship at his foet. ] ' Moutie, why are you so strange ? Does anything worry you, dear ? ' Nothing.' ' But lam sure ifc does. Have I anything to do with it?' 'No.' ' Only remember, Montague, if there is anything in the world I can do for you I will' ' Would you really, Opal ?' and a gleam of hopo came into his face, and for the moment, he felt inclined to tell her all j and then, if only she had come towards him instead of going to the window, he would have made a clean breast of ib, and saved Nellie and himself a sorrowful fortnight. Opal crossed the room not even looking at him, and with her eyes fixed on the street, she said : 'Montague, even if you love another woman better than me, I can bear it, and give you up so readily—for your happiues3 :' and she turned and smiled ono of her brightest smiles at him. 'I am but poor company to-night, Opal, so good-by" And before sho could call him back he was gone.' 'How little she cares for me !' he thought, while she wa3 caring for him more than her life. For a fortnight Mr Garbhorn saw neither girl. Ho was selfishly unhappy ; ho was in that state of mini that he did not know what to do next. He wished some one j would take his destiny from him, and make him do-something. Every day he thought more of Ne'lie and less of Opal. The latter wrote him a kind note, hoping he was not ill ; should papa come and eco him ? Nellie wrote mad letters, beseeching him to coma or she would die. Rho was ill ; bug was pa!o ; she really was dying. She should never ace him more if he did not come. He sat down to answer theso letters, and felt relieved when they wore finished. Opal received hers by the last post, and direcUy she saw the well-known writing she took ifc up to her room to read it; alone. It was only a short note, and she perceived it was ia a school-yirl hand. 1" ran thus : Own dirlinet ATontie: Your broken-hearted golden wig is ]>alo, ili, languid ft'-Ul dying If you don't s ie h'.r room il will be too late, and you cxn only put iiowcM in liar coffin, and bid her a last a'lieii. Do,?dj, do como to your loving NELLIE. | The address was full on tho letter, and in one moment Opal saw it all. How Mr. Garthorn had sent her this letter by mis take : how this letter was from some one to him ; and Bhe realized that in trulh he had found some one whom he loved more, and consequently would make him happier. Her resolution was made. Her love was no use if it was selfish. Next morning she wroto to Montague, asking for a moment's conversation thai afternoon. Then she went to Nellie's home. She rather wondered at the appearance of the house, but fancied the lady might only be staying there, Blooming, blue-eyed Noll opened the door, and Opal asked for Nellie. ' Why, I am Nellie. Wha!; do you went?' ' I want you to come home with me, Mr. Garthorn will be at our house this after noon.' • Will he really ? Then he ha 3 not given me up, as father said. And I was so un happy becauss he had gone away from me to marry his cousin.' ' Never mind about the cousin, Nellie. He lovea you, and you only ; and now you will see him very soon.' ' I must put on a pretty dress to see him in, Miss 'Garthorn.' ' Oh, you are his sister. How kind of him to send you for me !' and she trotted away to try and smooth her golden ttaie. When Opal arrived home with Nellie she hurried her into the drawing-room, and waited herself outside the door until she heard Montague coming up. Then she brought him into the room, saying: ' Montie, dear, I have brought your Kttle Nellie to you. You see I have found out your secret, and I am so glad to make you happy. Good-by for the present.' And with a ringing laugb Opal ran up stairs, only to throw herself on her bed in a paroxysm of grief. In tho drawing-room Montague Garthorn was supremely happy with tho woman who he deemed loved him best.

Works of Fiction.

There has been considerable difference of opinion in regard to the effects produced upon the mind by fictitious narratives. Without"''

entering minutely upon the merits of thia controversy, I think that ifc may be contended that two evils are likely to arise from much indulgence in works of fiction. The one in a tendency to give way to the wild play of imagination— a practice most; deleterious both to the intellectual and moral habits. The other is a disruption of the harmony that ought to exist between the moral emotions and the conduct—a principle of extensive and important influence. In the healthy state of the moral feelings, for example, the emotion of sympathy excited by a tale of sorrow ought to be followed by some efforts for the relief of the Bufferer. When such relations iv real life are listened to from time to time wifchoub any such efforts, the emotion gradually becomes weakened, and that moral condition is produced which we call selfish ness or darkness of heart. Fictitious talea of sorrow appear to have a similar tendency— the emotion is produced without the corre sponding conduct ; and when this habit has been much indulged, the result Beams to be, that a cold barren sentimentalised is produced, instead of the habit of active benevolence. If fictitious narratives be employed for de picting Ecenes of vice, another evil of the greatest magnitude is likely to result from them, even though tho conduct exhibited should be shown to end in remorse and misery for., by tho mere familiarity with vice, an injury is done to the youthful mind, whichia in no degree compensated by the moral at the close. Imagination, therefore, is a mental power of extensive influence, and capable of beiug turned to impoitant purposes in the cultivation of individual character. But to be so, it must be kept under the strict control of reason and virtue. If it be allowed to wander at discretion through scenes of imagined wealth, ambition, frivolity, or pleasure, it tends to draw the mind from the important pursuits of life, to weaken the habits of attention, and to impair the judgment. It tends in a most material manner to prevent the due exercise of those nobler powers which are directed to the cultivation both oE science and virtue.—[Dr. Abercroinbie.

Whoso Ducky are You?

A Cleveland drummer (says the ' Leader') was ia Illj'ria a few Sundays ago, and while sifc'ing iv his room, heard, from the next room, tho mysterious question and answer— ' Whose duekey are you?1 ' I's your duekey.' A few moments passod daring wh'ch the drummer sat in open-mouthed wonder, and tho silence was agiiu broken. ' Whose duekey are you ?' ll'syour duekey.' Unable to stand it much longer, alone the Clevekndcr hurried down to the office, learned that a newly-married couple were in the house, incited three othur drummers to heur the fun and tip-toed back to'the room. Tiie wicked quartette crammed their hand kerchiufß iuto iheir mouths, and during the next quarter of an hour heard that fond conundrum put and answered do less than four times by the unconscious rus.iu and his blushing bride. At dinner, as luck would have it, the bride and groom were seated betweon two of tho drummers, while the original discoverer of the bonaazi sat opposite. The table had been cleared of the substantial, and orders for dessert had been given. At that moment a spirit of mischief took entire possession of the Clevelander. Leaning across the table ha looked archly at his nearest friend, and in < dulcet tone propounded the conundrum, ' Whose duekey are you ?' Tho other chap was equal to the emergency, and in tones of affected sweotness, got ia his answer. ' I's your duekey.' Two scarlet rustic faces, the flutter of a white dress through the doorway, two Vacant seats at the table, and four crazy drummers laughing till the tears ran, flished aorosa the vision of the spectator as the curtain fell.

On Coal.

Air experiment made by Greonamann at Yar owitz, in Germany, is said to have proved conclusively that an exposure of bitutninona coal, in heapa, to the action of the weather, for a period varying from, two weeks to a year, results in a considerable percentage of loss. This loss is stated to consist in a slow or in complete combustion—being greater and more rapid, iv large heaps than in smalJ, and is also favourrd by the greater or leas state of anbdi vision of the coal, large fragments losing pro portionably lesa than smaller ones, the losa varying from five to Wenty-fiva per cent. In one of the tests by which this waste haa been ascertained.ja quantity of pulverized bi tumioous coal was placed in a tight vessel through which a current of air could be drawn. The vessel and air were brought to a temperature of 280 degrees, Fah., and the air, after passing through the apparutun, waa cavsed to bubbie through certain chemical preparations which had tho property of retai ning as well as rendering visible carbonic acid. Under these circumstances, carbon of the coal was ultimately removed Jby the chemical solution of the air as carbonic acid, showing conclusively that a truo combus tion had taken plaoe—this combustion being so complete, too, that in three months nothing but ashes remain.

Legal Mem.—lt is well to bo polite uuder all cir cumstances 'but nevertheless remember that many a man lias been a heavy loser all through a civil action. Quip says that there is a sleeping-nivr on ihe New York Central for lyicg in, and ttut there are many berths theie; but Quip is an intolerable punster.