Select Poetry.

CAN YOU FORGET?

Can you forget the place—the hour ? 'Twas midnight, by the moonlight sea; From your dark hair a scarlet iloAver You shyly took, and gave to me. With idle foot you softly turned The shining pebbles o'er and o'er, And listened to my Avords that burned And quivered Avith the love they bore. Then, as I kissed your blushing cheek, You turned to mine your deAvy eyes. Filled with tho love you could not speak, And all the world was Paradise. More tenderly the rushing waA re Kissed the brown sands ; a holier light Flowed from the melloAV moon, and gave Angelic beauty to the night. And when you spoke, and I divined How you had loved me from the start — Loved me in secret long, and shrined My image in your inmost heart— It seemed the world had nothing more Of good or bright to offer me j I was tho lord of sea and shore, In that I was beloved by thee.

Can you forget the hour—the place ? We wandered on in bliss supreme, And when we parted, your fair face Again touched mine as in a dream. A dream it proA'ed, as sad as death ; A little month had scarcely fled, Ere you had laughed at love and faith, And numbered me as Avith the dead.

C*n you forget ? I see you uoav, Serene and fair as summer skies ; No trouble seems to cross your broAV, No sad regret to fill your eyes. Alas ! that I might shut away That midnight by the moonlight sea ! 'Tis tho one thing in all the grey, Sad past, that's bright and fair to me.

AT REST.

Slow crept the shadows through the cur tained room, As dies the crimson sun from out the Avcst; And round tho sleeper falls a solemn gloom, Rest baby, rest.

Hush ! for the wince moans through the branches hoar, And snoAvflakes' wings against the pane are prest. Hush ! for an angel's step has passed the door.

Rest, baby, rest.

Hush ! for a sound of tears that needs

must flow Filleth the air. with stillness else opprest, As wild a wounded heart sobs out its woe. Rest, baby, rest.

Around thee, fairest flowers will soon be spread, Their blossoms breathing sAveetncss on thy breast— Flowers that are sacred to the early dead. Rest, baby, rest.

Paler than those pale flowers is thy calm brow, And cold as mountain snow-wreath's frozen crest.

For in the shadowy vale thy spirit now Doth rest, doth rest

THE NEW ZEALAND BRIDE,

And Avilt thou come no more to me ? And must my weary life Still linger on uncheered by thee, My own, my angel avHe ? I miss thee hTthe morning bright, And by the glad fireside ; I miss thee always, day and night, My bright New Zealand bride.

Thou Avert so like thy kindred flowers, Sweet blossom of the spring ; For aught but glad and sunny hours, Too fair, too frail a. thing. In winter's cold and cruel day, _ When all the young bud's died, I saAv thee fading fast aAvay, My bright NeAV Zealand bride! I've laid thee now in quiet rest, Beneath the pine tree's shade, But far aAvay Avith spirits blest, I knoAv thy home is made ! 0, send the angels, darling one, To bear me to thy side ; I cannot stay when thou art gone, My bright New Zealand bride. M. C,

THE CHALLENGE.

What ! fight for a worthless vain coquette, for a heartless jilt?—not I ! My mottle, sir, Avas at Worcester proved ; I dread not the sneering lie Of a spiteful tongue, nor the jeers of those who may give me a coward's name ; I'll make him eat his Avords who dares to fling in my teeth the same ! For my sword is now, and it ever was, and I trust AA-ill ever be, As prompt to defend its master's fame as in days of chivalry. I Avill fight for my king, I will draw my sword to uphold the cause of right ; For truth, for justice, for all who are Aveak, 1 Avill fight Avith all my might ! But because a woman looks awry, and it may be, casts a glance On other men than her chosen knights, shall I put in rest my lance, To uphold her folly and flatter her whim, and cause a braA Te man to die, Uinvept by the fickle cause of strife ? Not I, my lord, not I!

So carry this message back to him Avho sent you this Avild-goose chase, That T, like himself, am of noble blood, and I think it no disgrace To keep SAVord in sheath for so Aveak a cause as a Avillful beauty's froAvn. What ! fight! for one aa-lio love's neither of us— Aye tAVO AA rho have fought for a croAvn! Nay, nay, such fight for a Avoman's whim Avould be but the strife of fools. Each of us knoAA rs the other brave ; let us wait till our anger cools. Let us keep our swords tor a stronger cause —the cause of the right and good; Just ' Avhistle our fair one doAvn the Avind," and shake hands as two wise men should. [—" London Society.

IF I SHOULD DIE TO-NIGHT.

If I should die to-night, My friends would look upon my quiet face Before they laid it in its resting-place, AnddecnUhat death had left it almost

fair ; And, laying snoAV-Avhite flo Avers against my

hair, "Would smooth it cloaaii with tearful tender-

UCSSP, And fold my hands Avith lingering caress ; Poor hands, so empty and so cold to-night !

If I should die to-night, My friends Avould call to mind, vrt*h loving thought, Some kindly deed the icy hand had* wrought; Sonic gentle word the frozen lips had said ; Errands on which the willingfeet had sped ! The memory of my selfishness and pride, My hasty words, Avould all be put aside. And so I should be loved and mourned to night.

If I should die to-night, Even hearts estranged would turn once more to me, Recalling other days remorsefully. The eyes that chill me with averted glance, Would look upon me as of yore, perchance, And soften, in the old, familiar way. For who could war with dumb, unconscious clay 1 fy I ms& rat, foigfoea el &U, frtfghti

Oh, friends, I pray to-night, Keep not your kisses for my dead, cold broAV— The Avay is lonely, let me feel them now Think gently of me ; I am travel-Avorn ; My faltering feet are pierced Avith many a thorn. Forgive, oh hearts estranged, forgive, I plead ! When dreamless rest is mine I shall not

need The tenderness for Avhich I long to-night.

THE BUNCH OF WHEAT.

AYe bend to-day o'er a hallowed form, And our tears fall quietly clown As we look our last on a father's face, With its tranquil peace and its patient grace, And hair like a silver crown. As Aye touch our own to the dear, cold hands, From life's long labor at rest, We notice a bunch of golden wheat, Plucked as a token of love so sweet, And laid on the silent breast. Flowers would have whispered of fadeless bloom, In a land where fall no tears : But the ripe wheat tells us of toil and care, The patient waiting—the trusting prayer, And the garnered good of years. We knew through what labours his hands had passed, Through what rugged places his feet; And we joyed in the peace of his brow so white, As touched already with heaven's own light, As it shone in the ripened wheat. As each goes up from the fields ot earth Bearing the treasures of life, God looks for the gathered grains of good, From the ripening harvest that shining stood, But waiting for the reaper's knife, Then faithfully toil, that in death you may go, Not only with blossoms sweet, Not bent with doubts, or burdened with fears, Or with dead, dry husks of lifo's wasted years, But laden Avith golden Avheat.

GRANDMOTHER GRAY.

Faded and fair, in her old arm-chair, Sunset gliding her thin Avhite hair, Silently knitting sits Grandmother Gray ; While I on my eIboAVS beside her lean, And tell Avhat Avonderful things I mean

To have, and to do, if I can, some day : You can talk so to Grandmother Gray- She doesn't laugh nor send you away. I see, as I look from the Avindow-seat, A house there yonder, across the street, With a fine French roof and a frescoed hall; The deep bay AvindoAvs are full of flowers, They've a clock of bronze that chimes the

hours,

And a fountain—l hear it tinkle and fall, When the doors arc open : ' I mean,' I say, ' To live in a house like that some day.'

' Money Avill buy it,' says Grandmother Gray.

' There's a low barouche, all green and gold, And a pair of horses as black, as jet, I've seen driven by ; and before I'm old, A turn-out like that I hope to get. Hoav they prance and shine in their harness

What fun 'tAVould be if they ran away !' 'Money Avill buy them,' says Grandmother

Gray. ' To-morrow, I know, a great ship sails

Out of port, and across the sea : Oh ! to feel in my face the ocean gales, And the salt waves" dancing under me !

In the old, far lands of legend and lay I long to roam—and I shall some day.' 'Money Avill do it,' says Grandmother

Gray. 'And Avhcn, like me, you are old,' says she, ' And getting and going are done Avith, dear, What then, do you think, Avill the one

thing be You Avill Avish and need to content you here?

* Oh, when in my chair I have to stay, Love, you see, will content me,' I say, ' That, money won't buy,' says Grandmother Gray.

THE UNCERTAINTY OF EVI DENCE.

A curious story is told of Sir Walter Raleigh, which shoAVS that a man's eyes are not always trustworthy : Sir Walter, in prison, was composing the second volume of his ' History of the world.' Leaning on the Bill of his window, he meditated on the duties of the historian to mankind, Avhen suddenly his attention Avas attracted by a disturbance in the court yard before his cell. He saw one man strike another, whom he supposed by his dress to be an officer ; the hitter at once clreAV his BAVord, and ran the former through the body. The wounded man felled his adversary Avith a stick, and then sank upon the pave ment. At this juncture, the guard came up and carried off the officer, insensible, and then the corpse of the man who had been run through. Next day Raleigh was visited by an inti mate friend, to whom, he related the cir cumstances. To his astonishment, his friend unhesitatingly declared that the prisoner had mistaken the whole series of incidents which had passed before his eyes. Tho supposed officer Avas not an officer, but the servant of a foreign embassa dor ; it Avas he avlio had dealt the first bIoAV, he had not drawn his SAVord, but the other had snatched it from his side and run him through the body before any one could interfere ; whereupon a stranger among the croAvd knocked the murderer down Avith his stick, and some of the embassador's retinue carried off" the corpse Raleigh's friend added that the government had or dered the arrest and immediate trial of the murderer as the man assassinated was a private servant of the Spanish Embassa 'Excuseme,' said Raleigh, ' but I can not have been deceived as you suppose ; for I was an eye witness to the event, Avhich took place under my oavh AvindoAV, and the man fell on that spot where you see a pav ing stone standing up above the rest.' 'My dear Raleigh,' replied his friend, ' I Avas sitting on that stone when the fray took place, and I received this_ slight scratch on my cheek in snatching the SAVord from the murderer. Upon my word of honor, you have been deceived in every particular.' « Sir Walter, when alone, took up the second volume of his history, which Avas in manuscript, and contemplating it, thought. ' If I cannot believe my own eyes, lioav can I be assured of the truth of a tithe of the events which happened ages before I was born ?' and he iiung the manuscript into the fire.

THE SUN 2000 TIMES HOTTER THAN A FURNACE

On no one of the unsettled questions of science is there so wide a discrepancy as in respect to the values set on the actual heat " ' v *q surface of the sun. Estimates have ? l v", -^hed by Herschel and Secclii that been turn. OOOdeg. ; by Ericsson at I ' nfn rt^A ' '"* the other hand, by 4 000 OOOdeg. ; ana . . .at ft int littl J e r rench physicists or repute t^ -] 50(^16^. over that of a blast furnace —sa.> . °i centigrade. Tliis is a monstrous discrepant.. for skilled experimentors. The difference in results depends upon the mode of working the problem, and the assumption involved. The large estimates come from following Newton's law that temperature increases as radiation does. The smaller estimates conic from applying Dulong and Petit's law, in which temperature is a function of radiation , a function that loaches its practical extreme whenlit in rnvskeil bcypjul a. tompomtuvQ of

"THE VAGABOND" IN PENTRIDGE STOCKADE.

THAT clever contributor to the ' Melbourne Argus,' who has become so famous under the norn de plume of the 'The Vagabond,' has just been doing four weeks in Pcntridge. He was recommended to the Chief Secre tary as a fit and proper person to fill^ the vacant x>°st of dispenser at the Pcntridge prison hospital, and shortly afterwards re ceived the appointment. After describing how he was duby inducted in his duties, for which, having some knowledge of medicine, he was well qualified, he proceeds to narrate the manner in which he treated his first case, which was PULLING THE HANGMAN'S TOOTH.

In less than half an hour after I landed at Pentridgo I had my first. ' case.' It hap pened thusly. After being showed round the -wards, and receiving instructions from Dr. Reed, we returned to tho surgery. There the warder addressed the doctor, ' I've just come up from A Division,, and there's Ballyram wants a tooth out. Will you go down there, sir ?' 'You can pull out teeth, I suppose ?' said the doctor, turning to me. I sort of hesitated. ' Who was the man ?' I asked. ' The hangman Gately, but they call him Ballyram here,' was tho reply. I accepted the doctor's case of instruments with alacrity, and expressed my readiness to pull out every tootli in ' Ballyram's head. I had never had any practice in dentistry, and this was my maiden effort in that line. With any other subject I certainly should have hesitated, as I dislike frivin" needless pain, but Gately I had little sympathy for. . . . Entering the prison, passing the office, library, bath and store rooms, and through two gates of strong iron bars, we hnd ourselves in ' the model, which is unlike its sponsor at Pentonville in that it is only designed for three wings or corridors, two a"s yet being built, instead of four as in the London institutions, and that it only contains two tiers of cells. Three or four warders, dressed in the simple uni form of the penal institutions, are lounging about a table over which are a number of hooks holding keys, staves, handcuff's, and other outward and visible signs of authority. To them lam introduced as the new dis penser, and we exchange polite salutations and a little badinage, after the manner of our kind. ' He's come to pull out Bally ram's tooth,' said my introducer, and one of the warders escorts me to cell 03. The rattle of the key in the lock arouses the occupant, who springs to the position of ' attention,' as required by the regulations, and entering I find myself face to face with the last minister of Victorian law—Gately— convict and executioner. A frightful animal—the immense head, powerful protruding jaw, narrow receding forehead, and deficient brain space, seemed fitly joined to tremendous shoulders and long, strong arms, like those of a gorilla, which he resembles more than a man. All the evil passions appeared to have their home behind that repcllant, revolting coun tenance. With an instinctive movement, which my companions would not under stand, I placed my hand on my hip. As a brute and a hangman (I trust thi* is not a premonitory warning) the man was iilikc distasteful to me. But in a second I remem bered that here he was but a prisoner, No. 93, and the power of authority was visible all around me. I recovered my part, ' Now, then, old man, let's have a look at this tooth.' He opened his foul jaws. Faugh ! ' Sit down.' 'Oh, doctor, don't hurt me,' he cried, as with a professional air I opened the pocket ense and spread tho foreceps on the little table. ' Oh !' lie cried as the first pull broke oil" a piece of the tooth, the fore ceps slipping. 'Just hold his head, and if ho stirs bang it against the wall,' Raid i to one of ihc warders. There was a laugh the new dispenser was 'a queer sort,' evidently. 1 took out tho largest and strongest pair of foreceps, which would pull a tooth out of a crocodile. One grip, a roar from Gately, a twist of the wrist, and out came the tusk. With the consciousness of talent, I wiped tho instruments carefully, whilst the warders looked on admiringly. ' I must get you to look at my teeth,' said ono of them. ' Have it out now,' said I. ' If there's ono thing I can do bettor than another, it's this—l'm on teeth.' The warder shuddered and said he hadn't time just then. This little operation gave me much eclat, and by the mysterious under ground railroad of the prison was circulated through all the divisions to such an extent, that for a time I had quite a business in ex tracting old stumps, which only fell off after I broke two foreceps in a man's jaw. He wouldn't try a third .attempt, when 1 meant to put the bull-dog on him, and have out that stump or his jaw-bone. I left the cell fully satisfied of my capacity to pass as a dentist, \ and, now the thing was over, amused at my first case. Poor Gately. All the world is" down on him, and when free he had not a place to lay his head. A natural brute, he is as God, or the devil, made him, for it is hard to believe that any spark of aught Divine can rest in such a frame. An 'old hand,' he has had ex perience of the prisons of Tasmania, New .South Wales, and Victoria, passing his whole life in and out of goal. He goes by the several names of Gately, .Ballyram, and Fagin, and was an Irishman and a Roman Catholic. But his long experience.of prison life has taught him that, owing to the practice of confession, it is hard to gammon the priest, and casting around for some other creed, by professing which he might obtain somewhat, Rallyram became a con vert to Judaism. I never met a converted Jew—l believe they cost half a million each, and the article is th.en very inferior—but I have heard of such. A converted Christian I never heard of, and Gately, Fagin, or Ballyram should be celebrated on this account. I am afraid, however, that the respectable members of tho Jewish race, who add so much to the prosperity of the colonies by their industry and public spirit, will no more own Gately than they would the Thompsons. However, he says he's a Jew ; his intentions are good, and he ought to know. I did not examine him as to the tenets, &c, of his faith. The peculiar fact in this conversation is the cause—a longing for passover cake. Gately found out that Jews were supplied with this at the proper season, and seeing that it was a luxury compared to prison fare, has been running on the Hebrew ticket ever since. But this strange caricature of humanity is not at all evil. On one occasion he saved the life of an overseer. Some years back they were working in the quarry, and a plot was made to ' nnickle' the overseer, who was consid ered a hard taskmaster. The one who was to strike the blow knocked the overseer from the bank into the quarry. His leg was broken, and a prisoner approached to finish him with an axe, when Ballyram intervened, and by his threats and enormous strength, subdued the rioters. For this, I am told, he obtained a remission of his sentence, and was afterwards appointed executioner. The effect of such an office on the individual may be learned from the evidence of warders who have known Gately for years. These all say that his conduct now is greatly worse than when when he was an ordinary criminal. Let this be re corded to his credit—he could be degraded and made worse by the influences of his debasing office.

A deficiency of evidence.—A son of Galen who was very angry when any joke was a physicians, once deiended himself passeu v- «ayiug, ' I defy any person from raillery uj " *■- accuse me of ignor whom I ever attendeu t>. -w do safely,' ance or neglec;.' ' That you nn v *-*d replied the wag,' for you know, doctor, Uv men tell no tales.' Thcmost remarkable instance of indecision we ever heard of, was that of. a man who sat lip all night, because he could not decide vfi*i«fe to UU. off fintj Ms coat er to m%

A TRUE CIRCASSIAN LOVE STORY.

STORY OP AN ENGLISHMAN AMOUR.

When an occasional English tourist arrives at Bucharest, (the word " Bucharest" means " The city of pleasure") it is more genorally tho effect of accident than design ; and not- Avithstanding the attractive name of the city, and the fascinating flavour of the River Dimbovitza, he jolts off to the banks ot the Danube, as soon as the soreness occasioned by his pre vious ride has left his bones. Some rears ago, a man arrived one morning to the door of the British Consul-General. Ho Avas clad iv the dress of a Transylvanian shepherd. His beard Avas untrimmed, and his long hair hung in wild locks from under his broad hat. The sandals which ho wore were coA-ered Avith soil, and his dress Ava* travel stained as though he had come a long Avay. There Avas in his eyes a look of sombre melancholy, but it seemed the efi'ect of some brooding thought, rather than of any priA^a tions lie had undergone The Consul- General invited him into his house, and made him his guest. He had no baggage, not even the bundle which the Avayfarer carries on the end of his stick. But he was hartily welcome, nevertheless, and had the best place at the Consul's table. He Avas an Englishman of rank and large fortune A Avound in the affoctions had driven him from home, and he wandered on as far as the Carpathian mountains, where for some time ho led the rude life of a hunter, hoping that in change of sceno and the excitemcut of the chase he might find a cure. He was disapointed, however., for there Avas not sufficient danger in bear and Avolf hunting to give it the excitement he required, and ho left the Carpathian forest, and wandered alone through the desolate steppes of Wallachia, sharing the food of the stray herdsmen he happened to meet, nnd sleeping Avhorever ho Avas OA rertaken by the night. Each day that he remained at Bu charest he grew more and more unhappy, till one morning the Consul-General hap pened to receive a letter from Constan tinople, giving the details of a victory Avhich the Circassians had gained over the Rus sians. The letter was written by an en thusiast in tho cause of Circiassian inde pendence The description of the fight was animated, and the letter concluded with a glowing panegyric upon the bravery of the Caucasian warriors, and a prediction of the success of the noble cause in Avhich they Avere engaged The moment this letter was shown by the Consul-General to his guest, whom I shall call Manly, the latter at once determined to start for Circassia, and volun teer into the ranks of tho mountaineers.

That very night Manl/ started for Giur gevo, where he crossed the Danube to K-utschuck, and there engag id horses and a guide, and proceeded on to Constantinople. In that city Manly found another English man ready to join in his expedition, and instantly freighting a Turkish vessel with salt, some ammunition, and arms, lie sailed for the coast of Circassi-i, This Avas about tho time the "Vixen" was captured by a 'Russian man-of-war, and her cxcav impri soned. The 0.0a jt ol Circnssia was more strictly blockaded than ever ; and it Avas only after the most hairbreadth escapes that Manly a;i(l his fri'nd; succeeded in landing. They AV^re well received by the Circassian chiefs, to Avhom they brought letters of in troduction ; but what Avas more highly prized than the letters was the salt, the am munition, and the arms, which were quickly landed. Tho vessel in which they caino then sailed on hnr way back to Constantinople, but at a short distance from the Circassian coast was captured by a Russian cruiser, ;"id was brought into the rflurkish port of Trebizond, and there burned by the Russians notwithstanding the objections of the governor, The two Englishmen proceeded into the mountains with the Circassians to where tho fighting was going on, and they Avcre soon busily engaged in skirmishing, ambuscading, and, at times, in hand-to-hand encounters with the Muscovites. Manly, mounted on a fiery Tartar horse, clad in chain armour, and Avith a long lance in his hand, Avns in the thick of every danger. He courted death ; but for a long time passed unscathed from lance or bullet. At length, in a sharp encounter with a party of Russians, lie was struck by a chance shot, and though not seriously wounded, he was forced to submit to being carried to the house of one of the chiefs, where he wan recommended to remain till his wound should be healed. The wife and daughter of the chief in whose house he was quartered tended him Avith care and skill, and he was soon able to move about, but wns still too weak to return to the camp. The chief's daughter was about fifteen years old. She was called in the country " The Rose," on account of her beauty. Sho was gentle and intelligent, and Manly passed many of the hours of his convalescence in giving her instructions in Komo of thn.se simple accomplishment which form the first rudiments of an education in Europe. There is something ineffably win ning in the manners of the Mahomcdan Avomen of the East. They possess a timid gentleness, and a naivi» grace, Avhich are eminently feminine. lhjy are taught to believe themselves as tar inferior toman as creatures of clay, that have no existence beyond this world, and their manner, therefore, towards our rougher sex is one that avoos protection. It is this feeling of inferiority which gives to the face of the Oriental girl, Avhcn in repose, that expres sion of dreamy sadness, and that inward look to her lustrous eyes, for if she is not beloved, the end and object of her life is not fulfilled. Rose made rapid progress under Manly ; and when, after some months the camp Aval broken up on the approach of winter, and her father returned home, she quite astonished the poor chifcf Avith her Franlcish learning. The Avinter passed ra pidly by—the snoAV and the ice disappeared —the stream was again babbling merrily before the door of the Circassian keep—the forest trees Avero coming into leaf, and the Avild flo Avers and aromatic plants which covered the hills filled the air Avith perfume. The mountaineers began their preparations for Avar; but Manly had found a palliative for the sorrows of his brain, and determined to return to England ; but he would not part from " The Rose." He knew the fate for Avhich the poor child Avas destined, and, therefere,. had no hesitation in proposing to the old chief to take Rose Avith him to Frankistaun, nnd to adopt her as his daughter; for he said that he had grown to loA re her as if she were his oavh child. The chief said that his daughter Avas beautiful; and that, moreover, thanks to Manly, she had learned certain accomplishment Avhich increased her value. She avouM, therefore,, he said, fetch a very high price at Constan tinople, and that it was his intention to take her at once to the slave-market in that city, Avhere she Avas sure to be bought by one of the great Pashas, or, perhaps, by the Padishaw himself. Manly offered to give any sum the chief named ; but it Avas useless. The old man said he would never permit his child to live amongst ghours, (pronounced jours), for that she would be much happier and better as an odalich (mistress) at Stamboul, Avhere she Avould ride in a gilded araba, and wear a jewelled fez, (a napkin fastened around the head and face, above and under the nose),and have armed kislers to do her bid ding. Manly still persisted in his oilers ; and the chief at length said that he Avould give him a final ansAver on the following morning. At a short distance from the house. Manly found Rose seated on the ground, weeping, It was a place at which they had often sat together, and talked of the strange country from Avhich the Eng ■-i came. Poor Rose had overheard lishnu. -.4,1 aJl^ her father's refusal. Manly's propob.- -m.i, g,i ie had passed She was no longer a cm.-, "*y A jj Vr all l v rapidly into budding womanhoou. « JJ» W

him had grown into a timid but passionate love. Manly said that her father would be sure to consent, and that in a little time they would both be happy together in Frankistaun. So poor Rose was comforted. She dried her tears, and returned to the house confident and cheerful.

The sun had been risen for some time when Manly awoke next morning. Ho waa astonished to hear none of the usual sounds about the house. There was something ominous m the silence. He dressed hastily, and hurried into the principal apartment and found it empty. With a beating heart he called Rose ; but there was iw answer. He went out and met au armed Circassian coming from the stable where his horse was kept. This man told him that the chief and all his family had loft for Battoum in th middle of the night, at which port they in tended to embark for Constantinople. He waa left behind, lie said, to wait on the Mousafeer, (gentleman) and to be his guide wherever he wishedj to go. Some months afterwards Manly arrived at Constantinople. Ho made every inquiry amongst the Circassians at Tophana to try and discover some clue to the old chief and his daughter, but all in vain. One day he wag coming down the Bos phorus in a caique. He was passing close along the Asiatic shore, and had reached the village of Kandeljee, when an old woman, who was standing on the marble stops, which led into the yally, or summer resi dence of one of the great Pashas, called to him to stop. She asked him if he were a doctor 1 He answered that he knew some thing of medicine ; bo she made him a BJgnTto follow her into the house. She led him along silently into one of the small rooms of the harem. The apartment was dimly lighted, for the silken draperies of the lattice were closely drawn. On the divan lay the form of a young girl ; her hands were pressed upon her bosom, and she was moaning feebly. At the noise which Manly made in approaching she raised her eyes, and, suddenly starting up she put back the long dark hair which fell loose upon her shoulders and after staring at ■him wildly for a few minutes, she fell back upon the divan apparently lifeless. It was poor Hose that lay before him. Under his care her senses returned ; but Manly saw, to his unutterable grief, that she was dying. Immediately on her arrival at Stamboul she told him she was > bought fo a large sum by the Pasha in whose house she then lay. The Pasha made her his favourite, and the other odalichs grew jealous. Finding they could not succeed in alienating the Pasha's love from Rose, they determined to posion her, and that very morning she had swallowed the fatal drug in her coffee. She said she did not regret to die, for her life had been one of constant suffering since her [separation from Manly. She could never love but him ; and she would take her love with her to the other world that he spoke of, and there wait his coming. And she talked of her native mountains, and of the happy hours they had passed there to gether and, [speaking in this way, she laid her head upon his shoulder, and, drawing a long sigh, she died.

She is buried amonjrsttho cypress trees upon a height above the Pasha's yally. It was on a summer's evening, years ago, when seated beside poor Hose's grave, that I heard her story.

Manly went home and entered Parlia ment, and he is at this moment a worthy Member of the house of Commons. He is still unmarried, and I believe means to die a bachelor.

THE DELHI DURBAR.

THE Vicoory of Imlia had no idle time of it this last Christmas. During live days of the Imperial assemblage, ho received over seventy native princes, and returned the visits of nearly forty. As oach chief drove in, he was saluted according to his rank with guns and music. No attempt was made to receive them in order of precedence. Such a course would only have given rise to endless heartburnings and jealousy, and would have deprived the sight of half its picturesqueness. The contrast between the magnificent carriages and well-equipped retainers of the greater chiefs, and the shabby vehicles and ragged following of the petty hill rajahs was vory remarkable. Scindiah and Holkar drove up, each attended, as be came Mahratta chiefs, by a small but soldier-like body of Lancers ; a body of fairly mounted cuirassiers escorted the Maharajah of Cashmere ; and troopers on camels pre coded the plain close carriage of the Begum of Bhopal. Behind her came ten or twelve horsemen, and at the end of the procession a miserable old man, riding an equally miserable pony. Now and then a chief came up with troops dressed in what seemed to bo cast-oft" British uniforms ; then a. body guard, clad with chain armor, carried the imagination back to the Middle Ages, only to be speedily recalled to the present by the appearance of a motley troop representing every possible military type, and showing in their equipment that mixture of splendor and squalor so characteristic of the East. One of the most interesting receptions was that of the Kahn of Khelat on Friday. Greater chiefs than he have attended the Durbar during the week, but they for the most part are our own feudatories'—men who are frequently seen at the Viceregal Court. The Kahn comes from beyond the border, and had never entered British India before the beginning of the present month. The Kahn was quite a/t liis ease, and •answered the Viceroy's questions without hesitation. He had seen, lie said, in British India, three things which greatly surprised him—namely, steamboats, railways and telegraphs. Lord Lytton replied that he hoped two of them might shortly be intro duced into His Highness' dominions* and that the British Government would be glad to assist the Kahn in establishing them. Then the Viceroy said a feAv words by way of exhorting the Kahn and Sirdars to live for the future on better terms with one another. They had come here peacefully together, and he hoped they were ready to forego old feuds and to remain friends. Presents, which comprised guns, shawls, and a variety of other things, were brought, and His Excellency handed to the Kahn a com memorative gold medal as a personal gift from the Empress. Then binding a jewelled sword round his visitor's waist, he said lie trusted it might never be drawn save against the common enemies of England and Khelet. The interview then closed, and when the Kahn got to the door he found awaiting him another gift, in the shape of a magnificent elephant, which greatly pleased him. Each chief got a commemorative medal— gold for greater princes, silver for those of inferior rank. The Viceroy himself hung it round each chief's neck, while the Foreign Secretary made a short speech in Hindus tani, to the effect that this was a personal gift from Her Majesty, in honor of her assumption of the Imperial title. The medal, which is large and handsome, bears on one side the Queen's head, and on the other the words ' Kaiser I. Hind.,' in Arabic and Sanscrit characters. Each of the greater chiefs also received a heavy and beautifully worked banner, emblazoned with the arms of his house, and carried on a gilt pole, which bore the inscription, 'From Victoria, Empress of India. Ist January, 1877.' Two stalwart Highlanders supported the banner before the throne, and the Viceroy, rising and grasping the pole, addressed to his visitor gome such words as these : ' Whenever this banner is unfurled, let it remind you of the relations between your Princely House aud the Paramount Powor. 1 As tho chiefs left the Vice-Regal presence they were again saluted according to their rank, and received all the military honors which gunpowder m& BUWi<3 coiild bestow njiva tiicujt

MY WIFE'S PIANO.

The deed is accomplished. My wife had got a piano, and now farewell the tranquil mind—farewell content, and the evening papers, and the big cigars that make am bition virtue, 0, farewell! ' And oh, _ye mortal engines, whose rude throat the im mortal Jove's dread clamors counterfeit !'

But stop ! I can't bid them farewell, for one of them has just arrived. It came on a dray. Six men carried it into the parlor, and it grunted awfully. It weighs a ton, shines like a mirror, and has carved enpids climbing up its limbs. And such lungs —whew ! My wife has commenced to prac tice, and the first time she touched the machine I thought we were in the midst of a thunder storm, and the lightning had struck the crockery chest. The cat, with tail erect, took a bee-line for a particular friend upon the back fence, demolishing a six shilling pane of glass. The baby awoke, and the little fellow tried his best to beat the instrument, but he could not do it. It beat him.

A teacher has been introduced into the house. He says lie is the last of Napoleon's grand army. He wears a hugh mustache, looks at me fiercely, smells of garlic, and goes by the name of Count Kun-away- nev er-come-back-by. He played an extract de opera the other night. He ran his fing ers through his hair twice, then grinned, then cocked his eye up to the ceiling, like a monkey hunting flies, and then came down one of hisfingre*, and I heard a •'delightful sound, similar to that of a cockroach danc ing upon the tenor string of a fiddle. Down came another finger, and I was reminded of the wind whistling through a knot hole in a hen-coop. He touched his thumb, and I thought 1 was in an orchard listening to the distant braying of a jackass. Now he ran his fingers along the keys, and I thought of a boy rattling a stick upon a storebox or a picket-fence.

All of a sudden he stopped, and I thought something had happened. Then came down both fists, and 0, Lord ! such a noise was never heard before. I thought a hur ricane had struck the house, and the walls were caving in. I imagined I was in the cellar, and a ton of coal was falling upon my head. I thought that the machine had busted, when the infernal noise stopped, and I heard my wife ejaculate : j

'Exquisite !'

' What the deuce is the matter ?' The answer was, ' Why, my dear, that's 'La Sonnambula !' Sonnambula,' I thought; and the count rolled up his sheet of paper. He called that music, but for the life of me I can t make it look like anything else than a rail fence with a lot of juvenile niggers climbing on it.

"NO MORE FALSE HAIR."

The crusade against false hair has com menced in several Parisian journals, and 'No More False Hair' is a very frequent heading. Fortunately no one re-echoes this cry. These writers not only demand a total disappearance of false hair, but they also advise ladies to have their hair hair cut 'a la Titus.' The Paris coiffeurs energetically protest against this heresy, this outrage, as it "were, against reason and good taste. 55ut that alone is not sufficient; English hairdressers, as well as those of every civilized country, ought to coalesce against the common enemy; they should be on their guard in reference to this idle talk, which some Indies might take to be in earnest, and that would seriously injure their trade by "withdrawing, for a time at leas,t one of its most important branches. In order that hairdressers may know what to do under tbese circumstances, it is right that T should plane thfl matter before them, so that they may provide an efficient remedy. The following extracts could have been read during last month iv several journals :— ' A change has just been made in the coiffeur of women. The style of wearing the hair 'a la Titus,' adopted by several ladies of fashion, marks the beginning of a reaction which will be completed before long.' .

' Women of common sense incline to ward the exclusive use of the natural hair, and the following motives of indisputable value have led them to it. Science has victoriously demonstrated that the use of false hair was to be deplored from a sanitary point of view. Wherever it is applied it creates a dangerous heat, intercepting the perspiration, so ncessary to the growth of the hair ; it tires the head by its weight, and produces nervous headache. It is the cause of most illness from which women suffer.'

' The more they have recourse to this auxiliary coiffeur, suggested by clever pro fessionals and welcomed with an awkward coquetry, the more women lose the chance they would have of reviving the fecundity of the scalp, where from some cause or other, it has become barren. Science has taught women that the means to get beauti ful hair consists in having^it frequently cut, air and light being the two principal elements of life.'

' A decisive argument in rfavour of a com plete repudiation of the" grotesque chignon in whatever shape it may be used is that it is often ihe cause of more or less serious quarrels. False hair, considered at its best, is a subterfuge against which the man sooner or Jater revolts after haying succumbed to afacination which is solely one of surprise.'

Now in response to all this nonsense I "will observe that the fashion of wearing the hair ' a la Titus' has been seen on less than ten fashionable ladies' heads in Paris. The re action, therefore, cannot have set in. Women of common sense still wear those high and long coiffures which become them j so well; they continue to use false hair which enhances their beauty and saves their natural hair, especially if it be used in moderation. Science has shown in an irrefutable manner that false hair, which is taken off every evening, and consequently rest on the head only tor a few hours, can not be injurious to health and in no wise causes fatigue or oppression. As for the means proposed to get a fine head of hair, viz., to have it cut, I don't believe a wo man would ever consen to the sacrifice of her greatest ornament if she could by any means avoide it. As for the so-called quarrels which false hair is said to have produced, they are simply the inventions of writers hard up for news, who consequently have to invent some ; for everybody knows that men nowadays are fully aware of the nature of the chignon, and that not one as rebelled against this habit which, so to speak, has become an institution and will remain, if hairdressers consult their own in terests. Meanwhile, Paris hairdressers have undertaken to produce ample coiffures only, such as necessitate the use of false hair. For instance, one sf the latest inventions is composed : The front is slightly waved, all the natural hair being fastened on the top, serving also as a foundation for the addit ional hair, which is placed ovei it in the shape of soft pulls. A completely dressed chignon, composed of puffs and waveband terminating in long papillotes, on a straight haired or a large waved catogan, is placed behind. Almost all coiffures, with the exception of some slight variations, are made in this style at present. During the lectures on hairdressing which are about to commence, the professors have decided to adopt the high and long coiffures this winter. Therefore there are no good days coming for the postiche, notwithstanding what its detractors say against.—[Paris Correspon dent of the London Hairdressers' Choronicle

To mako people quiet, justgtvc thorn what they want.

The man -who reached the height (>e' . ness Juih Buddenlv tU»apiH\'uarl *-' pome- Whatgonttomk^; \ t •"lacloud- t nropriutyaaka^4 "', *' Vltu ai^ T BC"ac of

AN AUSTRALIAN BOY'S POWER OF ENDURANCE.

An accident of a shocking nature, which, befel an unfortunate lad near Cooma, is thus detailed by the 'Monaro Mercury' —William, eldest son of Mr. Thornton, builder, started with a waggonette, in which were two of his brothers from the homestead, a selection at Dairyman's Plains, intending to leave his brothers, at Cooma public school, about four miles away. They passed Mr. Oches's residence a little before eight o'clock, and all wont well till the hill was topped. Descend ing the hill on the Cooma side, it was dis coyered that the bolt or pin scouring the shafts of the waggonette had dropped out. The boy William, who is about sixteen years of age, drove cautiously. But in consequence of the shaft swaying abut, and part ot the timber knocking against the horse's legs, the animal grew restore, aad at length, becoming unmanageable, bolted. As the horse was galloping along, kicking and struggling to free himself from the vehicle, Willie Thornton, the driver, was pitched out, falling on his side ; his arm and shoulders were bruised. It is presumed that the younger boy, Charley, attempted to jump out,, or let himself down the side of the vehicle as it was rapidly borne along. He slipped, however. Instantaneously one of his legs was caught and jammed in a narrow space betweon the spokes of the wheel, near the box. :Ho lay suspended, his head downwards. As the wheel rapidly revolved, tho boy's leg was twisted with it, his body remaining stationary. For fully twenty yards, per haps more, did the wheel revolve with the little boy affixed thereto, Where the boy had been dragged, across the brambles and over the green turf, the tracks' were discernible. The leg was fractured in several places, the flesh torn, and tho sinews broken. Ultimately, tho right leg was wrenched off abont midway between the knee and ankle, but rather closer to the knee, the muscles having been drawn from above the knee and severed, and the bones broken in two. The maimed boy was thrown to the earth. The third boy still retained his seat. A few yards further, the the waggon was brought into violent con tact with a stout sapling, which it broke off,sogreatbeingtheforce of the collision that the sharfts were freed from the waggonette and carried off by the runaway horse. Tho boy remaining in the vehicle, fortunately escaped without a scratch. Under the buggy wheel, yards away from where the poor boy lay, the severed portion of his right leg in the boot was found. Though the boy must have experienced intense agony, his spirit was indomitable; there was not a murmur from him. Then began the pain ful journey homewards. Being raised, he stood on his uninjured leg, and got on his brother William's back the other brother carrying theboot containing the foot and por tion of the leg, taking him on their backs in turn, the mutilated lad standing on one leg whilst one brother relieved the other, they conveyed him thus three-quarters, of a mile, to Mrs Oches's place. Word was sent to their mother; who could scarcely believe what she had heard. Mrs. Thornton ran to the place immediately, and cut the boot, and took out the foot attached to the mangled leg. A messenger was promptly despatched for medical aid, and Dr. Clifford arrived about an hour after he was called on. He was accompanied by Dr. Donovan, who had also been summoned to attend. The little fellow did not bleed much, it was said, and appeared to suffer little pain. He was quite chatty, and readily repeated his account of the accident that had visited him with such great injury. It was decided.by both surgeons to have the sufferer removed to Cooma hospital, when, after Drs. Clifford and Donovan had held a consultation with Dr. Daniel, chloroform was administered to the boy, and Dr. Clifford, to save his life, resolved to amputate his leg above the knee.

THE COMMERCIAL IMPORTANCE OF SEBASTOPOL.

A GREAT change is coming over Sebastopol, Heretofore, grain for export from districts north of the Sea of Azoff has been brought to ports of that sea ; but the superior advan tages . offered by Sebastopol, with: its magnificent harbor, never frozen over, have induced the Russian Government to make it a commercial port. At the close of. the war in 1856, compensation was given to th owners of property, but no attempt, was made to rebuild' the town, as there was no intimation given that its future character would be commercial; and it was generally persumed that it would remain in ruins until circumstances should enable Russia to restore it in a fortified form. Hence the land was of no value, and. seven years ago the population may be said to have con sisted of the dockyard workmen, and one division of the 13th Regiment of Foot. But, since 1871, when a railway to Lozovo was commenced, to join the main Kharkoff line, the town has rapidly improved; and, from the opening of the railway in January 1875, and the official announcement in March, that the future of Sebastopol was commercial, its rise has become simply a question of money. Consul-General Stan ley, in his report this year from Odessa giving an account of a recent visit, to tha Crimea, states that he was much struck with the active movement displayed a^ Sebastopol. He says : — ' Most extenp' lV c custom-houses and warehouses are r e imr built there, and good roads are being" rmde to the wharfs. Quays a mile in "j cn eth faced; with concrete, alongside w.J t j ' largest steamers can moor, are completed. The railway is brought along the quay, passing the doors of the wareho' , ses so as \L reduce to a minimum the cos',, of 10-idino- Houses are springing lip in every direction! It seems evident that Sebastopol is destined tp.be the outlet fora lar^.e grain --rowing country. I feel mute convmced that com can be shipped there considerably cheaper not only than at the Sea of Azoff ports but than at the present prices at Odessa'and Nicolaieff. Both these are farther from Constantinople than Sebastopol is and Sebastopol is nearer than Odessa to' Mos cow and St. Petersburg by rail ' Vice" Consul.Harford, reporting from Sebastopol" says ;—' A handsome railway station has been erected on the site of the old Greek battery, whence trains arrive and depart daily, from and for Moscow, and a branch line runs along the west side of the bay The Malakoff, Redan, and Flagstaff batteries are being laid out as boulevards, dedicated to England, Russia,, and France Several large hotels, one of them on tha sitejof Fort Nicholas, afford good accomc dation, but the charges are hi^h ' The population was estimated at 26 000 it, *\ll spring of 1875 The Vice-CSonS^^J at that period describes the gkrvLn £ consisting of two divisions of thTl 3 t h Regiment, and a bngade of artiiiprv ?i other two divisions being quarSd *? Swheropol, and a Tartar £urfS£* fa "* strength) raised m 1874, bein* a tTi. chisserai; and he observes that th* i are Caucasian, and, though n hoxwß very hardy, and so easily trSinedTh?t « •*** months aftertheorganisationoftLtf ■ ree every horse lies do Wa at s O «^ 1 * trumpet. He add. that -TheS* A' *% this corps and. the infantry 'is adm?, ~of He says that the climate of the r!?, üble too dry for cereals, and the princir ,Jiea Is ductions are salt and vine W le p-ro" comes from the south coast Vw wine [;. "*.ve steppes, of the north-west coast rt uould not be utilised for sheep-farming, and a "wool trade established" He coma* to the conclusion that though want of capital nml the influence of other £orts may retiir d the progress or Sebastopol, its ultimate com « mercial success is ensured by its geographical I'ositiwi ite luu-byr, nud itekc^hy

THE EVENING STAR SATURDAY, MARCH 31, 1877