"good night," because he had not yet been to bed. It was after all a natural way of speaking, and will be readily understood, save by those pious but card-loving persons ■who wait for midnight to sttikis;,6n Sun day in order that they may sit down to whist with a good conscience on a week-day morning. The term "Master Matthew" was used because he had known his present employer from childhood, and it had of old been necessary to distinguish himl from his uncle Koger.

John was a lively fellow, whose counte nance life in the open air had tinged with what—if one ventured to be classical might bo termed the tints of [Aurora ; but as a matter of fact the days of his youth had been (to speak Hibcrnically) mostly passed in night poaching, his incorrigible addiction to which pursuit had indeed com pelled him to exchange his native air for that of the metropolis. In London a devo tion to smrituous drinks of all sorts had maintained the hues with fwhich air and exercise had originally dowored him, and «vcn intensified them. He had also a weakness for the tuif, and to-k such an interest in all the "events" of the racing season—great and small—as is seldom seen save in persons of the highest fashion. It may be thought that these infirmities, taken in connection with the temptations insepcrablc from his position in life, might have suggested a certain unhtness for con- VCVinc £25 00° worth of diamonds about London during the small hours; but it was not so in the case of Matthew Helston. Oil .association perhaps prevented^, or possibly the unquenchable desire winch John Ku therforcf displayed for talk convinced the other tbat there could be no real roguery n» A cigar, sir ?" he said.Jlooking at it as an object"for the first time presented to his notice, though it was always ottered to him on these occasions, and had never yet been declined. " Well, Master Matthew, since you aro so kind; though my missus always says, 'John, you've been smoking, af er 1 takes one, which she never do when I have only had tobacker" (which was his synonym fora pipe). . . ~ He lights it from a lucifer match, held downwards under his horny palm, which it flames against as innocuously as though it were a roof of talc, while his fare takes his seat the while. This ceremony concluded, you mbht imagine that the hansom would start forthwith ; bat Matthew knew better. The little window above his head is opened, and the following questions are .put through it, like doles of charity (or at least of courtesy) through the buttery hatch. , "Mrs Matthew well, I hope, sir?

"Yes, tbankyou." "Besrging pardon for the liberty, but my niissu* —his wife was from Tarlton, and well known to Sabey—"laid it on me special to ask if there might be any addi tion to the family." . "There might be, John," Matthew answers, with a smile directed to the splash board, "but there is none-at least, he adds, either from a love of truth 6r from his inherent matter-of-fact habit, not at Miss Amy, she's herself, I hope, sir?" .

" I T)elieve so." «' And the young gent next door, sir ? My missus allus lays it on me ' _ ''Mr Barlow is quite well. Drive on, John." , . As the tone of his voice grows somewhat decided, not to say impatient, by this time, John flick* his mare, *ho, being a bit of Wood (though showing more of bone), starts off at a canter. They pass swiftly through the cool air, at present undimmed by smoke, and Matthew leans back in his favourite corner, and thinks-or alas, should we lather say he dreams ?-of Madge. If only that valve in connection with the external air could be made to catch and close ! it does so now, after an imperfect fashion, but then the imperfectien is fatal to it; you might as well talk of an "exhausted receiver " that only exhausts one's patience anc not air—if it only could, then no more dancing attendance upon heartless ladies, no more sitting in hateful counting-houses, no more snbmissive " Yesses " wrung from the lips by a hard task-master when all one's soul eric* "No ; ' no more narrow means for tho present; no more carkmg ■cares for the future; no more " Well, what is it, John ?" Nothin" has been said, but a slant ot light from above, and the consciousness of a draught, inform him that the trapdoor has been again opened. " Beg your pardon, Master Matthew, but I quite forgot to asi after your uncle •^HtTis quite well All the family are well, thank you." "Well, that's something to be thankful for, ain't it, sir? As I said to my missus, what a blessin' it is to think as all our family is allus quite well—no measles, no thrush, no glanders, no nothing ever the matter with them—because we haven t got The trapdoor was here shut down, but from certain stertorous noises that found their way through the roof of the cab, it was plain that Mr John Rutherford appreciated a joke, or, at all events, *joke of his own making. The trees and gardens, which had here tofore sparsely lined the way, now grew rarer and rarer, and were succeeded by unbroken lines of street. The dawn seemed to lose its beauty, though its sublime silence still reigned, broken only by the dull creaking of an occasional market cart, full of country produce, which they passed upon its way to Couvent Garden. To these Mr Rutherford would shout, "Hi, hi!" in the loud, tumultuous way peculiar to stage rabble, and the occupants of fire-engines, whereupon the affrighted drivers would wake from sleep, and, drawing up close to the kerbstone, stare out with blinking eyes from beneath their tilts, and swearat tho unconscious Helston, once more with Madge. . John knew that nothing short of being addressed by name would, rouse his faro from his contemplations, and he indulged his love ot excitement with perfect im punity. When there were no market carts, 'lie would again resort to conversation. "Bcggingyourparding, Master Matthew, but perhaps you have not heard of Sir Charles's luck ?"

"Do you mean Sir Charles Pargitcr? "What about him ? ' The name awoke a languid interest in Helston, though as to any luck that might have befallen the young baronet, unless his wife was dead, it could hardly concern himself. "Well, air, it seems he owns Hearty "Hearty Miss !" echoed Hclstoii. He had no idea as to what honest John meant, except that it seemed an allusion to some domestic scandal, it certainly didn t behove him to inquire into. " Oh, indeed! " Yes, sir, though he gave his word to her ladyship, as I'm told, to-give up all such things for good and all when she married him. She runs ■ under another name, of course; but I'm told she's his'n, aud she's a first-rater. Dick Dartmore tells me she's bound to win." " Who is bound to win, and whati inquired Matthew with irritation. "Hearty Miss, sir—Sir Charles.* filly— Txmnd to win the Hokes."

" Oh, I spc ; Artemis, a race-horse. Then Sir Charles has gone on the turf again ?" "Well, yes, sir, under the name of Hobson—but mum's the word. Only Dick andmeanda fewmore is behind the curtain, and know who Hobson is."

Heiston nodded, and threw up his chin in contemptuous disgust: The husband of this woman, then (whose slave he was to-night), had broken his word—passed, as everyone knew to the heiress of Kensington Ingot, before she would consent to marry him—that he would have no more to do race-courses. He was running his horses under an assumed name, yet not so secretly but that a cab man, a tout, aod " a few more " of the like sort were cognisant of the fact! It was no businops of his (Helston's) of course; still this wretched piece of tittle-tattle seemed to make his present errand more hateful, more degrading, even, than usual. A very morbid cfl'eot, it may be said, to be pro duced on any man's mind, and especially on that of a mathematician; but then so many of us (without being in the least aware of it) are moibid. In Ma'thew Helston's view (which, it mast be con fessed, was a jaundiced one), the crowds who thronged Lady Pargiter's house in Moor-street on her rout night*, and paid court to her, and admired her diamonds, wera .themselves not in a wholesome state of mind. What was there in such a woman to attract anyone ? what worth, apart from moneys worth, did she possess? What intelligence ? what virtue ? what merit ? AVhy, in the name of Heaven (or even of common sense), because she was n. money lender's daughter, and had succeeded to his ill-gott Ingot gains, should she be proud ? Matthew was murmuring to himself certain lines of Sabey's favourite poet,

Why wero they'proud? Bccausol'ruiPJlinod accounts Were richer than songs of Grecian years! Why were thoy proud? Why, in tho name o£ Glory, were they proud?l wiien his hansom pulled up short at liir ladyship's door in Moor-street, and John Rutherford, quoting too (though only from the clown in the pantomime), exclaimed cheerfully through the trapdoor, " Hero we aro again. I'm blest if she's come home, and we shall have to wait as usual, Master Matthew." (To be continued.)

The Tribune Primer

SIMPLE TALES FOR TIIE PLEASURE AND PROFIT OF TIIE LITTLE CHILDREN. I. This strange looking creature is a Billy Goat. He has a Beard on him that Looks like Papa's, and he is a Stronger Butter than Mamma uses for Cooking. What is the Billy Goat doing? He is eating an Oyster Can. If you Were to go up and i Pull the Billy Goat's beard you Would feel Something Drop. And it Would not be the Billy Goat, Either. 11. What is This we See ? It is a Razor, and Papa uses it Every morning to make his Neck sore. It looks Pretty Sharp. Draw it across your Finger and Make it Dull. You could Cut your Name on the Mantel Piece with the Razor if you Were to Try. A Razor is a Handy Thing to have in a House where there are Corns and Piano Legs to Carve. It is also Just the Thing to Cut of the Kitten's Tuil with. 111. This Awkward sheet is our Esteemed Contemporary. It is run by an Unhung Felon. We would not Give him a Glass of Water to Save his Life, but We would Take a Beer with him if we were Properly Approached. Our esteemed contemporary has no Circulation, and its Influence is Correspondingly Small. It cuts Advertis ing Rates, and is So Mean it would Skin a Skunk to Save a Scent. If we had Our Way we would Suspend our Esteemed Contemporary, and Put its Editors and Reporters in Jail where they Belong.

Here we Have an Album. It is Full of Pictures for little Children with Dirty Fingers to Look at. Here are two Pic tures of Papa. This is one of Him before lie was married to Mamma. He looks liko a Two-year-old Colt behind a Band of Music. Here's a Picture of Papa after he Married Mamma. Now he Looks like a. Government Mule hauling a Load of Pig Iron. See if you Can put your finger on the Nose and the Eyes and the Mouth of Each Picture. Turn down a Leaf when you come- to a Pretty Picture you Like. The baby is Eating Bread and Molasses. Let him Take the Album and Look at the Pictures too. V. This is a Lamp. It is full of Nice Yellow Oil. Can yon Light the Lamp? If there is Too much Oil, pour Some of it in the Stove. Mamma will not Mias the Oil if you pour it in the Stove, but she May miss you. A little Oil on the Carpet is not a Bad thing for the Oil, but it is a bad Thing for the Carpet and You. VI. Do not Make a Noise or you will Wake the Policeman. He is Sitting on the Door Step asleep. It is very Hard on him to Have to Sleep out of Doors these Cold Nights. There is a Bank being robbed round the Corner and a Woman is being Killed in the next Block. If the Policeman Waked up he might Find it out and Arrest some body. Some people Believe this is what Policemen arc for, but the Policemen do not Think so. VH. Is it a Pipe ? Yes, it is Papa's Pipe, and it Has not been Cleaned out for Four months. It is full of Ashes and Spit. It would not Hurt the Pipe if you were to Take several good long Sucks at it. VHI. Who is this Creature with Long Hair and a Wild Eye? He is a Poet. He writes Poems on Spring and Women's Eyes and Strange, unreal Things of that Kind. He is always Wishing he was Dead, but he wouldn't Let anybody Kill him if he could Get away. A mighty good Sausage Stuffer was Spoiled when the Man became a roet. He would Look well Standing under a De scending Piledriver. IX. This is a Herdic. What is the Sign on the Herdic? The Sign tells us the Herdic is Full. Oh, who would not gladly be a Herdic ? x. Here we have a Clothespin. It is made of White Pine, and has a grip on xt Like a poor Cousin. It would l>e 'Nice to put the Clothespin on the Baby's Nose, llie Baby could not Help itself, and the Clothes pin would get in its Work on the Nose foi All it was Worth.— Denver Tribune.

Restes Tranquille, Monsieur.

A NEW YORKER'S EXPERIENCE WITH THE TARIS AUTHORITIES.

It is true, alas ! too true ! The demon of candour obliges Jones to confess it. Jones was once an iDmatc of a Parisian station house. It is also true, alas ! too true, that Jones was put there for getting drunk. Why seek to disguise the fact in other and more elegant forms of expression ? Why not say that "Jones was overcome by liquor," or "had taken a drop too much, or that he "had been a little imprudent," or any other method of varnishing or gild ing over an unpleasant fact. Jones would not. He despised all such miserable subtcrfupca. Jones had not taken a drop too much. Jones had taken at least a quart too much. It may have been a gallon. Jones knew not. After a certain Eeriod Jones knew not what Jones took or ow much Jones took. Jones was merely an animated sponge, and every Frenon cabaret was willing to keep it full as long as it had the francs to pay tor the thud. Jones awoko past midnight in a dungeon. Jones was alone. The door was of stiut wire. There was no furniture—not oven a gilded French clock. Jones gazed about in wonder. It was the first apartment Jones had ever seen in Paris without a gilded clock on the mantel, under a dome of glass —a clock which didn't go because the key I was lost.

The only article of furniture in the cell was a bench ; and this was fast to the wall. Jones lay upon the bench. Recollection soon came to him. Many recollections—a whole train of them, and not agreeable ones. Jones remembered. Jones reasoned. Jones calculated. Jones compared. Jones judged. Jones concluded. Jones said, "I have been drunk. I have been arrested. lam in a French station house."

Keason more and more resumed her sway. An awful thought*came to Jones. "My money !" Jones fett in his pockets. Money gone ! Everything gone. Robbed, robbed, of course.

Jones walked to the wired door. Jones heard footsteps without. A soldier—no, a policeman appeared in front of the grating. Jones said to him, "Avcz-vous mon ardent?" Precisely what the policeman said Jones knows not. The nature of what he did say Jones knows. His words were to Jones individually unintelligible. But his manner told Jones that the municipality of Paris, or its representatives, had "son argent "—or a part, of it. And then Jones went into a fruitless scries of conjectures as to what amount the idiot Jones had wasted in cups which inebriate. Long hours were they ere the looked-for dawn appeared. Longer grew the hours, more splitting the headache, more nauseat ing the nausea, more bitter and gloomy Jones'reflections.

" Oh, that man should pnt an enemy into his mouth"—but they always say that, and vow and resolve and retorm and sign the pledge, and build card castles of gool resolutions and pave a dozen hells with good intentions and turn over volumes of new leaves, and then sooner or later do the old thing right over again. Jones took it out that night and got some consolation in charging it on his ancestors. ( Jones made them responsible for it all. Jones accused them of bequeathing him this cursed appetite for drink, which finally had led him to the French dungeon. Morning came. The gray light straggled into the dungeon cell. But they did not take Jones out. i More morning came. More dingy, dirty, second-hand light struggled into the cell. The hours loafed and idled tho time away. Sninll eternities came but never went. Time seemed to have stopped doing business. At last more mornine, and the end of this chapter came. A policeman appeared. The door was unlocked with a dramatic turning of big keys—key three times larger than necessary. All keys are in France. A key there is considered no key at all unless ' it weighs half-a-pound. The otlicors marshalled Jones forth. Jones obeyed. Act I. was over. They traversed many corridors, and at last came to an anteroom. Here were more officers, and on a table lay Jones' purse and many other things—some indiscriminate articles which Jones had bought during his orgie. Suddenly, as though it were a dream, and yet not a dream, a bit of the last night's awful fact dawned upon Jones. He re membered now the room, the table, the I officers taking his things and counting his ' money, and Jones himself standing there making a speech, partly in French, partly n American—a semi-hilarious, don't-carc a-coritinental speech, as Jones judged now, recollecting the smile* which pervaded the faces of las captors—a miserable, cursed fool of a speech, such as a man always makes -when blind drunk. The officer led Jones forth into the street. Jones wondered where he would take him —if to the police court j if there was a police court; if he was to stand in the dock among the last night's shapings of Parisian bums and thieves and tramps. They traversed many streets. At last they came to an office on an upper floor overlooking a stable yard, in which there was a pump. Here they set Jones down. Jones gazed out of the window long and earnestly at the pump. Occasionally a girl in "sabots came there and pumped. How Jones wished that Jones had stack to the pump. It stood there like all French pumps— semi-monumental in appearance and construction, three times higner than necessary, with lumber enough to build four Yankee pumps, and a ridiculously long handle, which curled up at the end, and an iron knob at the end of the curl—the most inconvenient thinginthe world for a pumper to take hold of—and when the girl in wooden shoes agitated the handle the pump, like all French and continental pumps, gave down the smallest quantity of water to the largest possible amount of exertion on the part of the wooden shod girl, with timber enough in her shoes \o build a dog- Yet the pump then and there looked to Jones like an angel—a reproachful angel full of temperance, of sobriety, of virtue, oi correctness, of cold water. Jones was very miserable. Jones looked it. They saw it. A kind official ap proached and asked him if he should send for some brandy.' Jones forgot the virtuous but reproachful pump instantly. Brandy ? Jones said he would.

They brought him a glass-a horn about a horn—not so much of a horn as Jones should have liked-but still a horn. Jones swallowed the horn, and felt a little better. Jone* looked again at the pump. But Jones cared less for its silent reproaches than before. It was losing its benchcent influence over him. Evidently they were waitin" for somebody. Was it the court ? Somebody at last came. Act 11. was over. Jones was taken into a larger and more official looking room. About were desks, tables and cases filled with books—probably French law books. Behind one of the tables sat a large, benevolent looking wentleman. This was the "faomeuocly, who or what Jones never knew. . He motioned Jones to sit down beside him and smiled. This was encouraging. Jones' money and other movables had been placed on the table before the Benevolent. Then he put to Jones a series of questions. What nationality, what occupation, his

name, present residence, where born, father's name, mother's maiden name, if married, and any children ? " Perhaps he wanted to write my biography," thought Jones.

Then he asked if any one lived in Paris who could vouch for Jones' identity. Here Jones made one of the worst blun ders of his already blundering existence. Jones gave him the name and address of a French gentleman with whom Jones hart certain business relations. An officer was dispatched to his oflice. In aii hour he returned and said "correct." Jones was discharged. His chattels and money ■were given him. But the French gentleman would never have aught to do with him again. Fellow sinners and countrymen. In Paris you may every day violate all the commandments, and so long as you do so properly, secretly and respectably, dress well and pay your debts, your standing will remain unimpeachable. But getting drunk is an oll'ence not tolerated, although it is not forbidden by the Ten Command ments. In England they think none the worse of you for an occasional lapse of this kind from virtue, provided you do not relapse too often. Such was the end of Act 111. Jones was free. Jone* was in the street. The damage to purse was not so extensive as it might have been.

But Jones had now to be tried by another Court. Jones has omitted to say that dur ing all this experience Jones was ;i married man—a married man and out all niijht—a married man and out all night in a foreign city, leaving in suspense ami misery one of the many Mrs Joneses now extant. Jones went home. Jones explained before fairly in the house that he had just been released from a French dungeon and how Jones got there.

• * • • * AH was of no avail. In vain Jones told how royally they treated him in the Con cierge—how they put him in the same cell occupied by Marie Antoinette the night before she was beheaded—how lie spent the entire night looking over relics of the French .Revolution in tbe company of the Prefectof Police, who purposely sat up with Jonos to keep him company; how Jones breakfasted with the Prefect at the Trois Freres ; how they gave him a guard of honor from the Conciergo to the ollico of the Pre fect ; how liia examination and trial wan a mere form, and how altogether it had been a rich and profitable experience which in the end would benefit them both, and per haps prove the turning in the road which was to lead Mr and Mrs Jouea to fortune and to fame. The trouble with women is, they do not s»o far enough ahead. They do not peer into the dim perspective of futurity and observe how causes apparent}' objectionable or ignoble, if not beastly, at the onset lead to results which terminate in a lmlo of glory. Such was the end of Act IV. Jones thought the curtain was down and the house shut np. JouCs congratulated himself on being discharged without even a line. Jones counted too soon. Jones hadn't begun to be discharged. Jones wasn't discharged at iiM. Two months rolled away. Jones had ceased to remember the occurrence with feelings of lively compunction. Time had softened down the bitterness of the atfair into a sad, soothing, gray and dead gold sort of not altogether unpleasing grief. The agony of the disgrace had faded away save at rare intervals, when, endeavoring to ele vate himself on his former pedestal of mas culine superiority, Jones was unpleasantly reminded of his weakness by hisnobler and better half. Two months passed, when one day Jones found at his residence a long and finely written paper It gave the information that Jones had been guilty of an offence against the peace of La Kepubliquc Fran cais, that Jones had been tried, convicted and condemned, and that the fine imposed and costs accruing amounted to the sum of £1. Jones desired to pay this fine at once, for he knew if neglected the costs would accrue at each step of the lesal process. The trouble was to find the proper authority to whom to pay the line. The official who served the paper had left no word. Indeed, he was never heard of again. Jones consulted his French landlord. He was then living at St. Cloud. St. Cloud is not within tno municipal boundaries of Paris. St. Cloud has its own Mayor and local government. The landlord advised Jones to pay his fine at the St. Cloud Mairie. Jones trudged off to the Mayor's office. An official took the paper, looked it over, smiled, twirled his mustache, and directed him to a second party. The second party looked over the paper, smiled, twirled his mustache, and directed him to a third. The third went through the same motions, and finally made Jones unr jrstand that no one present had any authority to receive money from him. He advised Jones to go to the Mairie at Sevres, where he would find a " Hussier," and this "Hussicr" might re ceive the fine. Sevres was two miles distant. The day was rainy and Jones was tired. Jones went home, ate his lunch, and told his troubles to Mrs Jones. "The tiresome, stupid honesty of the officials in this slow country is exasperating," said he. "I can't find anybody to pay my fine to. Would I were in my native city of New York. I warrant there I could find somebody who would feel authorised to take my proffered money, and keep on taking it, too." Then he went to Sevres. He went by rail, and, missing the proper station, was set down two miles out of the way. The rains descended and the winds blew. All this ensued during the dreary French autumn, when the brightness of nature «ives right out, and the decay of the lea is preceded by none of the gorgeousness of colour peculiar to America. Jones, after many Inquiries, found the office of the Huissicr. It was a dingy office, tucked away remotely in a dingy building on a narrower and still dingier street. The Huissier was not in. Only there the small French boy keeping the office. Jones waited nearly two hours. The Huissic came. Jones handed him the paper con taining the sentence. Full twenty minutes th- Huissier pored over it. He was as tonished. He read the paper in sections and alternately looked at Jones. Evidently such an occurrence had never before hap pened in that office. And when the un precedented and unexpected docs happen in France, especially if it happens officially, there is no cutting of Gorclian knots to get out of the difficulty. No. It becomes a matter of time, of talk, of speculation, of surmise, ot discussion, of delay. The Huissier finally shook his head. He could do nothing. He could not receive the fine. . , • T "But, great Scott!" cried Jones. I •\*int to pay my fine and have done with it all. Where shall Igo ?" . . "A Paris, monsieur," said the Huissier, and a great deal more that Jones could not understand. "But where in Paree? asked Jones. " To whom in Paree ?" The Huissier may have told Jones, but he talked so much and talked so fast that Jones, whose understanding of French always gave out after the sixth word, was

not in the least enlightened. Again, ho took that awful pnper and went home with it through the driving storm, via the park of St. Cloud. "I must go to Paris to pay my fine, said he to Mrs Jones. "I don't know where or to whom to go in Paris. My case seems a desperate oue. It puzzles all the French authorities in this part of the land. What is to become of me. If the rest of my life is to be spent in search of the proper French oflicial to whom to pay this £1? I think so. You know they won't let me out of the country until it is paid. Ira registered here, as are all foreigners. I'm on the public booics, not only as a lodger, but as a criminal." The landlord was again sent for. lie came, lie looked grave. "Find out," said Jones to him, the proper oflicial in this strange and compli cated system of justice which prevails in your beautiful countiy-a country with a government which tries and convicts a man without even notifying him to be present at his own trial—find and pay for me this unknown quantity of justice and I will reward you well." The landlord said he desired no reward. Ho would serve Monsieur Jones to the best of his utility. In the meanwhile his advice to Monsieur was "Kestcz tran tiuille "

"But—" said Jones. " llestoz tranqiulle, Monsieur," said the landlord. "They won't let me—" "Ke-tez tranquillo, Monsieur," waid the landlord again, "What docs he moan by his rcstez trim nuillo, and all the rest ?" said Jones to Mrs Jones " Jlc means," said she, "that you needn t bother about it at all -that there's nothing alarming about it—that if the man comes for the money give it to him, and if he doesn't, that you needn't go tiamping all over the country like a goose trying to find one to pay it to. Three weeks afterwards Jones, who, regarding the matter, did not restez tran quille, but who suffered daily from mental spasms of apprehension wherein his imagi nation saw files of soldiers at the gate with orders for his arrest lor contempt of the court he couldn't find, a-ked the landlord again if he had found the ollicial to whom he should pay that fine. "Eestez tlanquille, Monsieur'" said the landlord. Jones left the country and never paid his fine. He has now the document in his possession, and cherishes it as a souvenir of Paris. PUENTICE MULKORD.

Bits of Fun.

To refuse to pay the landlords is the densest form of Irish ignore-reuts.

Cariylo frequently made mistakes in spelling. It is the same way with Josh Billings. Mrs Itamsbotham says her nenhevr John is a tooteetcller now, and drmks nothing but "overrate! waters." — Puck.

The city of New York will probably com niencea suit against the temperance societies on account of the water famine.

The esthetes of Boston are daily gaining strength and assurance. They now speak of hash as "amosaic "

A paper says : The School Committee have decided to erect a new schoolhou'c lar^e enoivh to accomiu'udato 500 scholars iive storys liigh. The only man we know of who doesn't want the credit for the work he does is the bur"lar. He is quite willing that some other fellow should have the name of doing hit! work.

The Rev. Dr. John Hall believes that newspaper writer-, if given a text, could often write a better sermon than some ministers. It would be bad for the news paper business if they couldn't. Before he died, John Brougham, the actor, boasted that no member of his pro fession had ever been t'icd for a capital crime. Poor John, he forgot lion- many a time and oft members of his profession had murdered Shakespeare.

Everything bears hard upon the poor. The ricli man who raits nothing in the con tribution-box Sunday morning is at once supposed to have left his pocket-book in his other trousers ; but the poor man who lias but one suit of clothes can't get oiF so easily. Chicago papers are criticising Boston cri tiques o? Kossi. The Chicago idea of a critique is to say : "He got in his work immense, hogged all the good situations, elocuted like a ward caucus president, and got the audience solid." Then Chicago folks understand that it was a good show. Another chance gone ! Irate old uncle (to nephew)—" Unpiwctual again ! How is it you never can keep an appointment?" Out at-elbows nephew (coolly)—" Because I've never had a good'un to keep. sir. Now,'if you'll got me something light, under Government, from 12 to 2 " Exit

uncle. " AVant any species ef cloves ?" asked a peddler of a saloon-keeper one day this week. "Vat for I vant urn?"asked the proprietor. "To take away the smell of beer from the breath," exclaimed the peddler. " Take away dot smell ov beer !" exclaimed the man Dchind the counter. " You got something vot makes der smell stay on, I buys him." A good story is told of Laboucherc, the well-known English journalist. A gentle, man was introduced to him at the Beefsteak Club, who mistook the belligerent editor of Truth for the .sen of a well-known legislator in the Upper House of the British Pailia niont. "I heard a most forcible speech from your father a few nights ago in the Lords," said the new acquaintance. " You don't say so." replied Laboucherc "Poor father !He died many years ago. I often wondered where he had gone."

The old proverbs are great things. At least some folks think they are. One of them says "a man cannot bite the bottom out of a frying pan without smutting his nose " Now, wbat is there clever or re markable about that ? If it had said that a man cannot bite the bottom out of his nose without smutting the frying pan, of. that a man cannot bite the smut off the pan with out frying his nose, or something like that, there would be something in it to interest

and instruct. In promulgating your esotoeric cogitations, ' or articulating superficial sentim-- .ies and philosophical or phsychologi<S l /> iw'er vations, beware of platitudinous ponder osity. Let your conversation possess a clarified conciseness, compacted comprehen siblencss, coalescent consistency and a con catenated cogency. Eschew all conglomera tions of flatulent garrulity, jejune babble ment and asinine aflectat'bns. Let your extemporaneous doscaivtings and unpre meditated cxpatiations have intelligibility and veracious vivacity without rhodomon tade or thrasonical bombast. Sedulously avoid all polysyllabic profundity, pompous prolixity, prittaceous vacuity, yentriloquial verbosity a"d vaniloquent vapidity. Shun double cntendres, prurient jocosity, and pestiferous profanity, obscurant or apparent. In other words, talk plainly, naturally, sensibly, truthfully, purely. And donfc use big words.

STAR SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT, FEBRUARY 11, 1882.

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Special Medicines for Children, Infadts' Food Feeding Bott es Nursing Shields, Enemas, Waterproo Sheeting, Bandages, Belts, and all kinds of domestic appliances may be obtained at Gardner's English Pharmacy. 184, Queen-street, Auckland.— [Advt.]