THE STAR SUPPLEMENT.

AUCKLAND, N.Z., SATURDAY, FEBRUARY 17, 1883

SELECTED POETRY.

CONTENTMENT.

"Now tell ma, John, what makes you glad, Though bendim; low with years, I never saw your face look sad. Or eyesbcdimm'cl with tears." Thus spake my Lord to honest John, A ploughman, on whose faco Old Time had ploughed his furrows long In linos of lovely grace.

" Tho key of all my pleasure i 3 Contentment with my store, And while I live—if I keep this— I nevor can bo poor.

" I lenrnt that good may come from gold, But ovil was the snare, And men ofttimes their pleasures sold, In purchasing thoir share.

" And so I built my little cot Upon this mountain side, And shared the treasures of my lot With my sweot Highland bride.

" Our pleasures blossomed one by one, And oft from yonder dell My son's and daughter's children come To wish thoir parent well.

" I envy not tho rich man's lot, Nor yet his downy bed. Contented with my mountain cot And crust of honest bread.

" O'er yonder hill I've seen tho sun Twico forty summers rise, And though my race, is nearly run I'm wealthy whilo I'm wise.

"Health is my wealth, and that I crave From God until I die, And all tho other wants I havo Contontment doth supply." I). S. Chambers,

Auokland, February, ISS3. 0

THE SEASONS.

Now Winter loft hor throne -with bittor walling, Fled o'er tho land with frosty garments trailing 1 Like a dim vapour vanished in tho north. Then Spring camo forth—

Smiling, and dressed in green; whilo rivors

rushing From thoir lato icy prisons, brooklets crushing, A grateful prcan to the maiden sing Whose is the time of buds and blossoming,

Swift follows Summer, her faint breath is burn- With living foyer: boo tho corn fields turning To ambor. Sheets of lightning in tho even Illumine heaven.

Jfext Autumn with his Bieklo. Crowned with & leaves c leads tho reapers dance, or binds the Bheftves; The sunburnt nuts, loosed from thoir withered sheath. Lie all ungathered on tho moss beneath.

The l oathored barley in tho granary fast, Autumn rejoins his brethren in tho past; A chilly breath comes shuddering o'or the plain— My flannel waistcoat I must wear again I

A CHILD OF SEVEN.

All the bellß of heaven may ring. All tho birds of heaven may sing. All the wells on earth may Bpring, All the winds on earth may bring. All sweet sounds together; Sweeter far than all things heard, Hand of harper, tone of bird, Sound of woods, at sundown stirred, Welling water's winsome word, Wind in warm wan weather,

One thing yet there is, that nono. Hearing ere its chime be dono, Knows not well tho sweeteot ono, Heard of men beneath the sun,

Hoped in heaven hereafter; S-utc and strong, and loud and light, Very round and very light, Heard from morning's rosiest height When the soul of alldelight Fills a child's clear laughter.

Golden bolls of welcome rolled Never forth such notes, nor told Hours so blithe in tones so bold, And tho radiant mouth of gold

Hero that rings forth heaven. If the golden-crested wren Were a nightingale—why, then. Something seen and heard of men Might be half as sweet as when Laughs a child of seven.

THE OLD COTTAGE CLOCK.

Oh! the old, old clock of tho household stook Was tho brightest thing and tho neatest; Its hands, though old, had a touch of gold, And its chimo rang still the sweote3t. "Twos a monitor, too. though its words wero few, Yot they lived though nations altered; And its voice, still strong, warned old and young. When tho voice o£ friendship faltered; " Tick, tick." it said—" quick, quick to bed— For nine I'vo given warning; Up. up and go, or elso you know, You'll never rise soon in the morning."

A friendly voice was that old, old clock, As it stood in the corner smiling. And blessed tho time, with a merry chime.

The wintry hours beguiling; But a cross old voice was that tiresome clock,

As it called at daybreak boldly, When the dawn looked gray on the misty way, And the early air blow coldly; " Tick, tick," it said - " quick, out of bed—

For five I've given warning; You'll never have health, you'll never get wealth, Unless you're up soon in the morning."

Still hourly the sound goes round and round, With a tone that ceases never; Whilo tears are shed for the bright days fled,

And the old friends lost forever; Its heart beats on, though hearts are gone That warmer beat and younger; Its hands still move, though hands wo lovo Aro clasped on earth no longer! " Tick, tick," it said—" to the churchyard bed—

The grave hath given warning— Up, up and rise, and look to the skies, And preparo for a heavenly morning." Charles Swain, in Christian Intelligencer.

WE SHALL KNOW.

When the mists have rolled in splendour From the beauty of the hills. And the sunshine, warm and tender. Falls in kisses on the rills, Wo may read love's shining letter In the rainoow of the spray, We shall know each other better When the mists havo cleared away— We shall know as we are known. ~,, Never more to walk alone; '" ..In.thpdawningjotthe'moming, •v' ' ' ~ jWben, ,tho roisf^Jiayq cleared away. ■ ■ •

''Ifweerrinhuroaii'Dlitidness' ' ' ' 1.1 And forget that We ard dust.'i " •'"• %f we.mias the law of kindness, .......i ;..'/ When we stmgglp tOjbfl just,,,, ü bu 4 "Siiowy'wiiiga of peace Bhall cover ~ - All the puin that'hides^a'way;'" ' . ,Whßn>tne:.weary'wallols;ov«r; /yuuMi '• Xnd Uiq mists,hove (Cleared awayr-,; 1 'We shall know as we are knpwn,, ■"■' ; Never'mbrotbValk'aKne; ' ' ', ' iln thodawningofthe morintrlcri1 ;jll: • ~ When the mistß have oleared away; ■ •

1 When the silvery'rhisfhas veiled ns. ■■ 'From the faces of our own/ r- ' ' Oft we deemitheir.lovehas failed tjs '-"■ . And, we tread our path alone, i uu .. We should see them near andtruly, ~ . 'We Should triist them fitayhy day, i.N&ver.loveor.blame'andulyi '"" --■' If tho mists were cle'arerl.away.'J - We shall kno^y as we ore known, Never more to walk alone, In the dawning/Of the mornfasr, -- When the mists have cleared away.

When' the mists haVe risen above us, . As our Father knows'Hls own, ••"'' .Faqo^q face, with tbosoithat love us,-1' "We shall know as we.aj;e known ~. lidVe.'beybnd' the orient meadows, . Floats the golden fringe; of day;' ""' Heart to heart we hide tho'shado ws. ■ Titl the mists have, cleared away.- i Weshall know as we are known, • ■ Never more to walk alone, ,When,the;l)ay of Life is dawning, "' ■ And the.miats have cleared away.: >•'

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MY FIRST FEE.

I. I FEAR 1 am not saying anything very original when I mention that my father was a poor clorgyiuan. Thero arc hundreds of poor clergy ; naturally their sons cuu be reckoned by thousands. 1 know there were thirteen ot us, and how we all managed to find standing room in our North Country vioaraga seems a marvel to me when I look back upon that time of growing up. And then the struggle to settle the professions of eight sons ! Mine was, however, soon settled upon. My aunt's husband, a Scotchman, and an M.l). in a country, eaid he would bring mo up to his own profession, provided I eventually became his partner, and in thin manner repaid him the cost of my education.

'lhe proposal sounded well; auyhow, it was accepted. But, ah! the realisation was different. He never praised me when 1 worked myself almost to death in order to pass brilliant examination?, and only grunted when at last I came to settle down with biui in a desperately dull town, after having come out first on the list at t din-

burgh. My uncle cared naught for my being Arthur Merrifield. M.D. I was to be his slave, and repay, with hard work, what he had spent on me. I honestly tried my best to please him, the practice increased con siderably, but time went on and still my uncle never spoke a word about money affairs. I was mote than n partner as to work, but no partner at all as to pay. And yet I ffclt that I could ninke a name, alao a fortune, if I could only get a fair chance. And the five girls at home wete expectinc grand thing* of me, which looked as if they might never be lealised, for even if I persevered till my uncle died and left me his practice, 1 might by that time have become Kray with a;;o aud un able t> begin to make my way. At last I could bear it no longer, and one day I determined 10 coma to im under standing with him, lam sorry to say this ended in a regular quarrel, and I declared I would seek my fortunos in London. My uncle called me all sorts of names, which, as they were the reverse ot complimentary I ,vill not repeal, and 1 respectfully dis agreed with him. Hi» last words were : "I should like to know, sir, how you aro going to find a patient in London?" I did not answer him for I was perfectly un able to do so, but I bad courage and per severance. " Where there's a. will there's a way," I thought, and thus I left my uncle's house, knowing well enough tbat I should never see a penny of his money.

I will pass over the many difficulties I next encountered; the applause of the other twelve as to my conduct, and the regrets of. my father, who had fancied I, at least, was off his mind, and lastly, the difficulty of finding any one to lend mo some money wherewith to mako a start. I meant to begin at once in good style; nothing venture, nothing have, and I was determined to have one of the best practices in town. At last a part of my dream was realised. But yet it was all very well to bo the occupant of a respectiible-lookinjj house in a quiet London square ; to huve gone to the expense of a brass plate on which was neatly engraved " Dr. Arthur Merrifield" ; further, to have engaged a worthy middle, aged femalo to answer the door, if the door bell had ever been rung and the master inquired for. Alas! I was beginning to feel depressed in wind because no patient appeared, and no fees filled my pockets. I had told the five girls at home that my homo would soon be besieged at all hours of the day and night. 1 had even had a night-bell attached, which rung in a deafeniug manner close to my ears as I lay in bed; and, best of all, I bad con trived a peep-hole through my window shutter, in order to distinguish the rank of the visitor who disturbed my Blumbcrs. But up till now I bad slept peacefully night after night, and I might have slept all day if I had ao wished it, for no patients had come to a"»k me to cur* thorn. " And yet," I thought as I paced the floor of my consultiDg-room, where no con sultation had ever taken place, "and yet that rich young Jones promised that he would recommend me to the first ot his relations who fell ill. The constitution nf the Jones family must be teiribly good, for lam sure the fellow meant what he said; he it good nature itself. Perhaps I have been a fool after all, and I had better have staid with my uncle, where, at least, my food cost nothing I"

Yon must understand that my spirit* reached far below zero to be able, even in my most private thought*, to wonder anything of the Mud. And, curiously enough, it was at this very moment that my front door bell was rune in a furious manner. I very nearly rushed out to open the door myself, only I was mot by Mrs Davis, who had run up from below, almost as much excited as 1 was at this unpre. cedented event.

"Show the visitor the consultiog-room, Mrs Davi?," I whispered, " and say you'll see if I am disengaged."

I retired into a small study next to the consulting-room, and separated from it by folding doors. It was here 1 had my meals, and besides my Jiedr.fqnjuit was at piesenfr the only furnishodvtQpintiatbeihouse v' But' hajclly had I^qsed thQ.dQOiiHihenil'.recog-'. nized, the joudi. javial .tones ot.n'.'young Jories," who iathei,uncerernohiouiily entered' ■my,den.. „„, „..,.,,, w, i..- r -..i. "«i ..--.u.v | Tom .Jones, was tbo fon.of ai ti.ob^bßewer^ .and;, kn.p.iy,ipg l yc.ry i well that he WQuld.come' in! for heftps, oi,nmoney,^had .cansiderad'ib wo^ifj,really;,.be; iWastejoLiimoito settle-to any professipn^uHo was,- howovettiagood cnatured, gertefoiiaiiyQUlhjideliijhryed.to do*' kindness, aprj vitK,no,grfiateDi,viqothiMi:i a' love of doinij notbingjxseful. -■•.■•> :•"

" Hello, MeHifield;!";_6e;exciainied, "how are you? Worjied to death I^expect, jsinc^ yoa set- up -on 0 ybttr-jVwii'ho'olc. 1 ' TveWly ' come to town this, yery'day, but I made a point of hun'ing Jjriu up, as! prpmjsed v> !T earnest lunch-tlmei'tbffe'a'r'otherwise, pt,' 'finding you' di&e't'etf''WltOoi^e'ticb, hyp_o|, chondriac."1 -" ' '••"'■.".";'"■' ,' i " ' w '.^ •x l am DotvcTy 'busy Jjvist"now," I< answered,'" but'delighited 'tp",,see you at n any time." "■'' ■"" "'" " ;'" v '" ['" ■' i "■ Well, how tnany fees have'you taken f! t askedthe irrepressible Jbne^ '''■' '[ i couis'c^ London is already'ripping ''with ypi(r' praises." ■ I wished nb'woula'tallc on'soipi:. Other subject; but truth"'cplbpelled me ito, answercrrelesklyI: '""'"''"7.^ ■ | (<No, no, not yet'; tHese are early days ;' the truth is I'have very few patients. T6 L be quite open'witn jbu,''my dear tcllow t ■ you are my first." ~!.*..

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Jones jumped up, pulled n face, aud then gave his chest a mighty slap, intimating he was perfectly sound in that direction. '■ My dear doctor, I wish I could think there was anything the matter with me, but. uiiOii my word, 1 never felt better in my life. I havn't n pain or au ache about me. However, if the case is as you say, you won't quite despuo my news ; 1 fear it is worth more than a guinea fee, but it may lead to mure. My rich old uncle, Jonathan Dillon, is cumins to consult you this very afternoon, because I told him you wore the very hillii ho wanted, but I just looked iv to tell you that he is very crotchety, and you most just manage him properly. As to ins ailments, 1 don't believe they are of lunch consequence, because he has boeu just the same ever since I was in arms, tiever looks a day older."

" I'll do my best, professionally," I said, secretly not much believing this rich man would turn up. ''As to managing him, I am afraid that is not in my line."

" Well that's a pity, because if lie wore to take a f.incy to you, you would waut no other recomuicudation. He'll recommoud you light and left, and the whole Dillon class ure disgustingly rich. And all inherit asthma or bronchitis. Fact."

1 began to expross my thanks, for iv spite of his hand-oil' manner, 1 fflt sure Jones had taken some trouble about me, but ho only laughed at my gratitude. i " Don't mention it. Besides oil Dillou may take a dislike to you. However, he mustn't hud me here : perhaps ho wouldn't bi-lievi! 1 had come to consult you, though 1 did tell him you were tlio cleverest fellow in LoD'l'in. And so you are in my opinion —I wouldn't mind telling the Queen 113 nucli, if I had the chance." And then he was gone. But no, he turned back. " 1 say, Merrifield, old Dillon's daughter is sure to come with hiru ; he never goes out without her ; a perfect slave he makes of tbat girl!" It was towards 4 o'clock on a winter's afternoon tbat a carriage and pair dashed up t« my door; tbeu a grand footman jumped down from the box and gave mo correct amiouucement of my first patient, I bad just timn to eicapo to my den before the front door was opened. I heard voices then a loud cough, then doors being closed. Yes—my first patient had come. In another moment his card was handed to me, and on it was written : "Mr Jonathan Dillon." 11. I entered the room in ray most profess ional manner, ond looking straight before me at once saw what was unmistakably "old Dillon," but so much wrapped up that very little more than a quarter of his face was visible. I can honestly say I uever noticed Miss Dillon till her father waved a Email fat band in her diiection, anyißg : "My duughter, Dr, Merrifield; she always comes with mo wherever I go, for , lam so infirm I don't think it safe to be ' left alone—but she enjoys excellent health." , Thia last remark was said in a most deplorable tone, and as 1 turned, I almost started with surprise, for old Dillon's daushter was a small, deli cately msdo girl, who could not bo much more than 17 years oH. Her forehead wan encircled by the most golden hair I bad eve; seen, and her face, though nit what could be called extremely beautiful, was yet one of the sweetest I had ever gazed at The expression was so simple, the large blue eyes were so innocent nnd shy, thai; for a moment I was completely lost in wondering how such a man .-.a the one before me had any right to possess such a daughter. Miss Dillon was evidently very retiring, and at this moment also feeling dc trop. " I dare say, Dr Merrifield," she said, hurriedly, blushing up to the roots of her hair, " that there is a room I might sit in wbilo you hold your conbultation. Papa never likes me to leave him alone a minute for fear anything should happen. Any where will do." I bowed, aud rang the beU. saying, in as calm a tone as possible : '"Show Miss Dillon into the study." The vision of fair hair having disappeared, I gave myself up to the examination of my patient. After a careful inquiry I came to a conclusion which made me certain that this was the la't time I should see Mr bil lon. The truth being that there was no. thing much the matter with him, that the old man was a regular hypochondriac - in f«cf, that all his ailments were imaginary. But yet, come what might, I must speak the truth ; even for tho sake ot further fees, I must not give a dishonest opinion. I would not be the first of the tbittccn to act a lie.

Mr Dillon now began to give me a minute account of hia ailments, and to repeat the advice of various doctor".

" And now, Dr Merrifield, I feol sure you will agieo with me in thinking it absolutely imperative that I should leave England at once, 'o cure this troublesome couch." If cnly I could have agreed with him; but no.

''Quite the contraty," I said, calmly, "I think you should say in England, the finest and most healthy climate for a con stitutiou like yours." " Bless me ! Bless me i" ejaculated Mr L)illon, looking diatres-ed. "Do you really think so?"

"Without a shadow.ohdout)t,'isii\''>ti- •:."•

i ■'.'. But- about.«xorcise ? ,-s I^bu^ht -to lake very littlCj-of.oeurp&ZVi^ii'j ti.vi ',v nuu -i " Not at all; the more you walk the bet^T ter itwill.be for youU!»i ,ia"<J ■' i l jii«i"i'i'i

"You are. quite; uniqu^l air," in "ybttPl opinion-iiemarkablo J ii^But^aboat 4i!pre« scriptiou,Doctor, , iettppobc yott> will Avrite on&,i<ir. |ive,.-tox allay tbla, iiough;- for in stance f" .U'^'Tl iiji :j AS Bf.Oj'aal P «,os > w«reai:>''fiaiiy i OTiinary lozenge will BufTice."-ol knew; no\VJJt"had sigDejl/ißj' death 'wMriurt>jiior,orMher;''l thought I kjiawi;ito'w.hat"was'i»y'Mifprise'' WheaMr Dillon/exclaimed': ,«i'UimiiurJ I 'iJHy.deataiE,you acoithe^Sratiphysieian' who has given me no prescription IA"IJ be^ l|oye,.,you .understand my<'>oa£fe. .niLihope-I may coTne.andjoonsnltiyou tho»need oiiit 4> which meed,"li giiew t»'stfy*, cjccurs frequeutlv, .u"Ti t'lin \Ju---y i J ,was ,arnaKed;j ..Curiously .caoU«h',; ibi once the truth had pleos*d> 'the; old; «I»d^ hutinow Lwas!oWigcd'to anawerl:I'l i»Vii'J 1 | i l|,l\«miiurayoiiiwiU''fin<l'iti%Mttß'wiinedi>' , tjssary to come agaiD, unless sume"UnI fbpci' aeen-ri" hm !*iui\»il-i ,'fj.il vii-'ii«r.ii•' t-'ti , j "Tut,ituiy.DriMerHfieldv not'ono of'm^ Tpapy.medical'advißerg'cver toid'TOeinot'to ,dopia> again., L assurei.you I,shall opmel .again, whatever you may say, andomai/y' . timep, too ;: jind'jl io^c to■ sen4~'otherß:JV>f family here, Wb:>all>'havo |iwielabcw'' ' constitutions.;. all except Lucia ;il'vtf olteu wanted her .to see a doctor, butifano'good^ the. girl never complainsj not ovea'of'hread-; ache. ,iu\*i ;■';■■■•■ • ■■•<■"■

KJIW ,1-111 {l.r..i(.i«j i'-.r- J*HU-»li!. ,V_."l«».«._ I Js &v a'ili iWJiUiJ__tl_ . i- »'■■• «' *>• ««»_.! ,

This time I really smiled. "I am suio we doctors are only two glad to seen lady in perfect health. The present excited life which many of thotn lead " but Mr. l lillon was not Hstcng to me, for he sud denly turned round (tor he had riaeu to leave), coughed violently, and tlien after a nervous fumbling among tlic potskcts of bis great coat, he said : "Bless me! 1 had nearly forgotten an important little matter. Believe me, fir, I never gave a fuo with greater pleasure or more gratitude." He pressed his> fat hand into mine, and I telt « small round thing slipped dexterously into my palm, I then \veut to release the vision of fair hair from my den, aud at once hoped that if Mr. Dillon did conio again Miss Lucia would always accompany him. I escorted the pair to the fiout door, and just as Mr, Dillon had entered the carriago his daughter made a pretence to run hack for a glove. "Please forgive me, Dr. Merrifiold," she said, looking right up into my facu with a most auxious expression on her sweet coun tenance. " Please forgive me, but what do you raaliy thiiik of papa?' " In excellent health, Miss Dillon ; pray dou't be anxious." tint before she could say any more her father called her im patiently, aud she was gone with just one sweet smile and a "Thank you so much," for all the world as if I had just cured her father of some obstinate disease. And now, clasping my tirat fee, I returned to my room. There I unclasped my haad, and in the middle of my palm lay a bright, hard, yellow, ginger lozenge ! The expectation had been great, and the realization was so small that I buot out laughing at my own bad luck and my dis comliture. >et nut for a moment did it enter my head to acquaint my patient with his mistake. 1 felt sure if I did to the vision of golden hair would blush with confusion, ev< n though 1 did not sec her, aud the blue, truthful eyes would look troubled. No, my first feo was not worth a guinea, but such as it was, 1 did not hate it, because -ah, well, I miglit well call mysulf a fool for dvou fancying that I, Arthur Merriheld, penniless nud unknown, should lor n moment dream that I had fallen in love at first sight with my rich patient's only daughter. I put tho lozenge away in a box, and that night I again slept tho sleop o£ a fceless physician. 111. Tho next day I found inyielf thinking of. a vision of fair hair, instead of taking in the cense oE a clever treatise on the anatomy of tho hand, which certainly oould in no way be connected with the events of tho day be tore Curiously enough however, about 11 o'clock, a cab drove up to tho door, and what was my astonishment—l need hardly say pleasure—when Miss Dillon, followed by an elderly maid, made her appearance. There she stood, as fair and soft and beauti ful as tho day before, but, if possible, more shy and erubai rased. The little hand sho held out to me trembled visibly, as jaid : "oh, Dr. Merrifield, can you forgive me for disturbing you this morning? I don't know how I made up my mind to come, but I felt I must, even if, if " She paused, and tears almost came iuto her blue eyes, while I could think of no words suitable enough to set bor mind at rest, being igno rant of what she wanted to say. "Indeed, Miss Dillon, if there is any thing 1 can do for you I shall bo delighted ; so I beg you will not apoligizo for troubling me." "It isn't that exactly," she answered, once more looking at me in a most dis tressed manner.

" Perhaps you require further particulars as to your father's heaith. I must repeat what I taid yesterday——" •' Oh, thank you, it was so kind of you ; he was much better last night; 1 know you will do him good ; but that was not what I wanted to ask you—oh, dear ! you will think me so rude, or else an impostor, or— or "

"Impossikle," I said, more Yehetnently than the case required. " I don't know how to begin ; I mean, pcrhnp* you don't know the peculiar way papa keeps bis accounts."

I was startled at this question. Reuiom bering the yellow lozenge in a box. I thought I could say I did know one of Mr. Dillon's peculiar ways of paying fees, but not for the world would I tell this blushiug, shy, bewitching girl before me the truth.

" I don't presume '

■" I began

"Üb, no, lam sure you don't—l was going to tell you about it. Papa always makes his confidential man, Baker, put the same change every morning into his pockets and in the evening, when Uaker turns out tna packets, he just puts down a bnok what is missing, and makes up thcnutnberDf the coins the next mornincr. Ho does it just the fame every morning."

l \va9 gettinf» rather puzzled myself now, and could think of nothing more original to say than : " Indeed!"

"Yes, it's quite true, or you see I shouldn't havo Known about it." (Here the fair vision btuflhed still more.) '' Baker puts in a sovereign, a hnlf-soyerois«i a crown piece— he nods these' rath'W' dijtichlf' to-getedrrißtimeI:!—lialf..a-'(!{'oVb u,"il i ia STrxcSriceI,' albttrVtoh'y'pt^A'a'fli'rpepeow' piece-, >a peW^,l|Sl 3bIdK.peliHy, ap'd:"a faith-' ,f ng ;!.>. fc..>JuAfiJv.i.o» ■?-.-. i ; «"A'-vdry"6bmplfcat!edl V4v"i'f')ibepn^' onte^indrittyisn't it?''ir fittnaps iSfeptiolit'ea1 .foe'BakerV'!' Yl'saia,"ftclTt]i'iil it perfectly fm tfdSsrbW"tb v:fdt»rfeW"i"^tulls 1 ' "tn'oiigh' Wis^' .Dlttotvii "^Vfebr, ■'fe>a'rh'c^' i 'lfu6^U J', kiipf 'so graY(!.J'-ll'i">"''.""' ;i" '•>■•'■"■'[ • '"t VJ '"' "'.' ' i VNbj'lt'is'pitenirn'pVe When 'one' lSndct'-1' stan'd rs."be'(;au t»e Biikef Kn'W^s 'iftSfctiy" Hy^at" • a JbvKJreigri;''^ tfalf;W^erelan-a'hld' all W' rest^'c'orriM.tri—i JißrgSt'what'lffs -1uV,"611,' 'Dh'-MWrindld'? "BaKer'kdew'ye 'liad; teeo" yestevday uth( tbnauft' a' "n^.W tihysician, '.ii'n'd' 'inth4"dVeWlbg tbe're'was;fa'fily a"thf6'(!penn'y' -bit'and'^f.'i'HWtfgiiii^fril Sin'd'sb^aria 'so j; knew-'l'rabitn'Bakef"kiWW-linahe 'tpfd' tmi tbaVpapiv-mueti Uflye'giYeti lydii'sonio' tjhiag.by'Ujintoke' "It waab't'th©l fiirthiitfcj i I eaniacceuni-forittm'ly'aml— bnt'was.ittho threppenny piece or'^^?" 1 ' j1 >n>uio > »vu | JtPja», deaf Miss I)iH<m,'idon-'t'distffe.«s Jourself about such a little matter," I feald'. i&astiiji'x'jii Aoy'«inieJwill"^i- »'•"' J."•' x'/ " i j "Ob, no, but pupa thinkshe 'pakl-ysuji beoau^eilw.ejiid bo> oK("Haitoevef snvo'a-'fee 'with so much pleasure, 'W'notin'J' beginll>6' think beii)US(>'h»ve'^given-yoB-:'-t-" <Miss 'BUloaiquitO'^aspod.'ifouthait'l'liaßtened'tbl i fill inpb.ee pause,'Jthis-time'f(!<illnß quite dis treesedpfchortroublesl v,.---wi>-»* muudt l trfi1

! jVSMoDr'ifAther )ga/te'i <ntbi a -Very 'aood ginger.lozonge; ■MissHi'illon'j'one of tbos© little^..mistakes that'will wour now= and then. fPtay don't .make yourself .tho'least uneasy aboutit."' >: —>■■•■">• • '■

".■iu.t'-iA .iic.ii.oiii.. w«,*.i -

"How very kind you ate," she said, again holding out her hand, which I took, and forgot to let go until she had done speaking, " I felt sure it must bo that.and then I thought perhaps you might think us impostors, and 1 knew you would be ton much of a gentleman to mention it, and so —do you think 1 was wrong?-I came oil with Mia Brown this morning, and made up my mind I would explain the mistake, only it was so dreadful But i don't mind now that you look so kiud about it. And then you would do me a great favour Dr. Merri field » Would you mind not appearing to know anything ahout it, or that I camo, or anything, because papa doesn't know I am out; lie h not down yet ; and he would be so distressed, he might never come again, and I should be so sorry, as you tuit him exactly." " Pray don't call this a favour," I said as gravely as I could. " I tbiak you will be lieve me when I say that, without oven knowing your wishes on the subject, 1 should never have mentioned the—the lozeoge."

" I dou't know how to thank you i JVow I must go." Aud then Miss Dillon put that small gloved liana in her mull and drei" it out again, holding it out toward me once more, and this time I felt a little bit of square paper in my hand. Jsomehow our eyes met, and in -pile of the gravity of the occasion we both laughed, feeling 1 am pure, we should never again be afraid ot each other, as she said : "Please, Dr. Mernlield, don't laugh at me. Is this the right way to give a fee, be cause 1 tfcll you this is the liret time in my life I have had logive one. l suppose some day 1 sball be ill und want a doctor, but 1 never, never have wautcd to go to one be fore. And it wasn't for myself this time, was it ? you will bear witucss—l mean, I hope you won'c ever mention it; good by. Now, Brown, I am ready." And just as a ray of sunshine sometimes comes into one's room, glimmers ilauce?, and illuminates the place for a time, and theu suddenly disappears, so Lucia Dillon bad come and gone, aud that noisy four wheeler took oil' ray viiiou of fair hair, leaving mo with a goldou sovereign and a new shilling wrapped in a small half-sheet of papir, ou tho top of which was stamped the address of their London house. I folded that niece of paper and put it away in a pocket-book among my treasures, such as my dear mother's first letter to me at school, and tho (lower that a little girl of 7 years old had dropped when I, v nine-year old urchin, bad fallen desperately in love with her. Thero was nothing there un. worthy to lie next to the paper which Lucia Dillon's fingers had touched. Lator in the day I received a note from Mr Dillon, begging me, if I were not too much engaged, to come aud see him. as he felt very unwell. And if I would do him the great favour of diuiog and spending tho evening with bim he would be vi-ry grate ful, for ho i-aw so fow people on accouut of his wretched constitution.

Well, I went, and spent a very happy evening. It was only the first of many more, at least during tliis first season. But Mr Dillon was as good as his word; from the day of his first visit my practice slowly but surely increased, and though there w.ero years of uphill work, yet it is per fectly true that " Cc u'est quo la premier pas gui coutc." I had at last got a chance, and I seized it. 1 worked with double energy, because at tue bottom of my soul I had another object besidts the one of making the five girls at home proud of me; and I wanted a small, fair, blue-eyid Lucia to be proud of me; and 1 wanted to be able to lay at her feet all that is best and grandest in this life. But she was a rich man's daughter, and 1 was a struggling physician. It was not till I had freed myself of all debt-and though still a poor man I was comparatively rich, for I had a good and increasing practice—that at last I made up my ruiud to aslr Lucia to be my wife. I should not have had the face to do it even then, only a young good-foi-notbing aris tocrat was perpetually coming to the houso, and I knew that if Lucia, so young, simple, and innocent, became the wife of tbat man. her life would be misorable. The fear of thi9 and some amount of jealousy, perhaps, made me speak out one day. I shall never forget Lucia's face when t had said some strong, earnest, passionate words, She put her little hand onco more into mine, and looked up with her beautiful truthful eye», as she half sobbed: Oh—do you really mean it? Because, somehow, I think I bava—loved you ever since " * "Ever since you gave mo my iirst fee, my darling," I said, as I drew her beautiful head on my 3houlder and— well, never mind the rest. " Well, Lucia." I added, " I loved you tbo first moment I saw you. So you see I loved you long betore you cared for mo." But Lucia, who is just a little matter-of-fact, shook her head de cidedly, and said that that was all nou eenso.

There was still the question as to what Mr Dillon would say about it, but our true love, which bad had to wait so long, this time run smoothly. Mr Dillon, who still suffered from his wretched, xjoastitutioniu wa;ud,e!ishkQ&. .ohoioe, .andi said all !yndg,,of .coniDiimentaryiiiinga,. about, raji jisjn~K,,fninft,and.i ray.. othfirtiqDalities.i i Aft^ sp we,Kcis,niarrjed, andithejiye &ii\a. frqni,liosjft I .wcrj9'iWWesroflidß l ,thqugh tbey soon after manied from our hous« undeii JCiVjciA'a. Wts. ~,A,Dd> » tbon3h.i l-.often..Yell i lu.Qia tfia(i.OJe Uatjparfon.tlie.Bhould. liave/ . mai-^fidOTOs, a. popular, physician, oonsidet ipg she's never,jll,, yob, sho fllw»yß.»skakos J ,lier l p,i;ettvYgftl<J.(su>Uei»A and AiyspcraValy'/ •• i "But, perhaps, Arthur, some of...the. clvJ4?en.may,Jiwlicj;itjpapa'Si.wrptoliedv£(sn' a'ti^ticn,",., ,ij*v/ ,m>v ai-u» »iu»ii:i. ! fts.-tp, %e-,Btors..oi.«Vß iozeneiv Li^^'a'and I.ikept, thatift secret ,uotil:.Mr. tii,Ufia l di§.<l' j ho,leftlincia.iillWs moneyn,, Hn^so^pds^tliifljtrucatory s>% ,my.'£rjßt^fee... ■—The Argosif. Vk I .'. .i .■■■■• ■• - ; - ■' '-■ -: '* "

Thc Latchke y.

Hft fithifr gave hitii a .'latciiliey'-fof the BrStftimb'"' Herma'daV^ ;Ma&tjia. n Ee diflnVWarn Him a'eainsVnis latOjHours','evil, qompaoiops, and drink,^ut.sirhpty.j'pid-''.'r knitW't'can'trust my son to'De.a.j.'enti'emaji altyaW, 11"; l^b'fe V l* W^?' 1 rV?.?) **$' ¥lM6^»i *ell, ■'Afid' 'liiccoiighei^nft 'w.iiy'lionje .aliotit' fjour'in theriio'n'ifi2.''A littje'dff£e.ren'ceSvitfi'' thestairs led f 6 ( >is. 'falling ieaviVj Qp^licj', lsifidih" iuatouts't'deliis fajtner's3ppr. .'*TEie 4 did g6ntiemW'opened'tti^tfoOr^ipd gazecT dn tlVe pr'6st'rate for'nVof'l'ijs.o^Jsprin'^,/ Can tjliT? De''n'i'y'sbri f'hi'fliied'; '' this abiect,' degraaetl bleitfg^'C'ijn f&\s djj 't^e ihgaY'otj my eyeS?" Spealc, 'sir';" explain.' yourself.''.' Anil tlib son imllnd fii'maelt tfijjetjßer.' mild,,' on all fours, ejsculatetl'witli'solemn'dignity, ' Sutill—a gentleman,'" ','" ' \' t ' .'', '; rl .

..,(.' fJVO'J UV'l iu»ji ijijjii ij'uV *uil-

FOR THE LADIES.

Kissing as a Cure For Freckles.

One fine eveniug recently Mr 8., a Go vernment employ^ in the town of Brunn, was taking a walk in the castle grounds when, oq reachiog a le?s frequented portiou of the park, he saw a yoimg lady comiug in the opposite direetioa. <• c they were about to pass each other the lady suddenly turned towards Mr 8., thrdw her arms around his neck and kissed him j then, as if ashamed of what she had done, she covered her face with her hands and ran off as fast as she could, The gentle man, unable to account tor this agreeable surprise, followed the young lady, and, takinp'her by the arm, asked for an ex planation of her strange procedure. "I bog a thousand pardons," was the response of the blushiDg damsel; " you must be greatly shocked at my behaviour. 1 had been to consult a ' wise woman' as to the best moans ot charming away the freckles on my face, and she advised me to kiss tho first geatleman I met, when they would be sure 10 disappear." Tne couple continued their walk together, aud though we are not told whether the singular remedy proved cllicacious or not, it may interest the reader to learn that, not many days afterwards, the two were joined together for better or foe worse.

Costly L'ress.

The love of dress Keeps everybody on the strain. The poor strain to keep up with the well-to-do people ; the well-to-do strain to keep up with the rich ; and the lich strain terribly to keep up with one another. The only ones exempt from the pressure of the few wbo are too fully pauperised to have any social ambition, and thb very few who are too rich for <ivalry. We may add a third class, composed of sensible persons who abstain from this iosano competition on principle. Two questions absorb our women. The first is, What did she wear? The second is, What did it cost 2 It is not so much a matter of good taste and of true and (esthetic effect, but badly and coarsely a question of cost. Diamonds are prized liot so much for their beauty as for the money they rcpresont, It the husband and father should show signs of worry be cause the outgoings exceed the income, it couuot be helped - one cannot keep up with the neighbours. Put on the steam !itis a fast age, and it will not do to fall in*o the reur. Urive on. The crash may come, but let us have a good time first. We must keep up with the times. Broken fortuuc, debt, bankruptcies, are not the only and the worst fruits of this folly. There is something worse than squandering money, a. noble woman is of more value than a colossal fortune. This rage for costly dress takes the head ana hearts, the time and talent of a vast number of our women who were born for better things. They are ruled and absorbed by the jowellor and the milliner. They give their days and nights to dress. Thoy become mere bulletin boards of fashion, and their high and noble calling is forgotten.

Follow tho example of trees—keep somo things in the shade.

Keal glory springi from tho conquest of ourselves, and without that the conqueror is naught but tho first slave.

" Do you pretend to have as good a judg ment as I have ?', said an enraged wifo to her husband. "Well, no," he replied deliberately; " our choice of partners for life .shows that my judgment is not to be compared with yours."

An author was, not long ago, heard to remark in company: " A mariied woman is a letter delivered at its proper address ; a youDg woman i 3 a letter which has not yet beeu despatched ; and an old maid is a 'dead letter.'"

A young sea-nymph of Folkstone, whose father obiains a livelihood by ploughing the briuy deep, wa^ asked if she knew the names of the seasons of the year. The girl readily replied, "Ye?, there aro four—the mackerel stason, the wbitiug soason, the herring seaien, and the trawling soasoD,"

A Cincinnati girl spent all her leisure time for throe years learning to box, and then when she got married and wanted to fight her husband sbe went at hinijand pulled his hair and scratched the same as any other woman would. You can't get over human uature.

"If you would be truly happy, my dear," said one New York lady to another, " you will have neither eyes nor ears ■when your husband cornea home 1-ito from the club." "Yew, I know,, answered the other, wearily, " but what am I to do with my nose ?"

It is cenerally observed that persons of, about forty vcais, Jespecially 'lddifo'or'Jt'lutt' ago are tery fßrbttttil'bt'thbso'yUli wlrom' 'they' were acquainte'tf itt ujbj^dliraft. TrW rerriavkublo dinirfeßs''of"inei<i'6r'y tids<."I)Q6nJ. Jappr.ip. lately sW^ilij tla'AWs'i <ios midiile 4'ges."' ' ,'.','').,". ;"'",„' I'^'u'/' jii-1

1 Tf-ft'e ■'L'6naonJ^''(sueen''''saya u'|h'!i|i' r4'aj JRoiHtT6iVian -'fih'otfld'jiiSt'bfloVliU'lef^arm^ Jf6 ;'Tltd' u6nly :tT,nie rSvacfa^ala'd'y'iS1" 'pldttcd'du"'d 'gqp'tfemafiy; UK ia durto^, the 'mariiage servi6'6,". "'Wh'*ii""tha ''posijiofl' 'iodWlites" f s'iibjectidii: | '"' i -':'>''lncl]caSe^" ia, certainly"tt Very'll'add^.word tqliiCye jo^tta) fiimily. ii;i| . , ii[u . .'.JT, ..' ..o"^' ,»'"

■ "'^hydb'wbifteli 'sd! oFtenwan'der .i'lra1-', leaslj"W' th^ murky 'solitude of p tli£ £#>#.' 'past,'Ib'rb'bding nVe'r'days' forever fonafl^ asltsa AcorteS()Oiideßt,' alid jvc £§ojs ?s<', 'uQlbsS'it'bOthat ilie" hopog by .wnsaclsing^ Hhc dead past'tpTiDd'tliat'iii tlia .wardr.obß Of' tVS' afbr'e3aW'' Jtloa<r/ past! Bto^may^-fln^ 'somethiug to work up into ara^carpe'^^ .'.'

j " Wow',"'B'ir," said the enterprrsing 'Tm- t 'uistei-aM irbnhibiijaor oi Upper J?bauii«t;on to a geq^lWdian \vh"6'd Veeh' bu^ia^'phnafr' 'nid^preaatit^ for Ki's' family;,' ."swiethiog for yow &'6tti'cMn-la'fr—a ,nice \sgripg ;,nja.f;', 'tres?'. "No, no!" groauc'd the ;' cuSt'pnlfer' • "slid lies' tfuite' easily, eno'ngb, tis "itiß?1' "''•' ". , y/ V'--,;"■.'»•' • ';,;-•„

' ' A Sfluth End maa having tpre^ttb'n'iUi} 'cotn'Mnatfon' to hta safe, -wasted three ql^ya 'tryingto gU'lt open SWtll'outsflccess.^.Tlien1 • be)w'!is''h«:6'it:eUou6;b' 'to get'db'me.ljo'dy 'to 'hitft'fo' fttk'*'Sy!fy thas letberb'/.i'om'another ' wdiliiintb Kirt wore' in tiia't'sai'ej'andrin'len' ' miii'uib'S'alio rem&Vilb'e'reii lib,"v{nViiear'd',Mm 'metttiirti'ttfe'nunibfe'rS'6f rlio"c*ihit)t6atiQn' once, and had the safe open. , ~.'i ~1

j ...u.JJiC r.W i» JO'llj Jli.l l>.)UO>jl>/)U« \.l>A aiU I 1 .J'«.)'.'<»'T. UliJ O'JJjluUMa ;.'«•! ,UIWI

THE LITTLE ROUNDHEAD MAID.

(From "Songs in Sunshine" by Rev. F. £a»iff bridge, S.A.)

She sits within her window; Great London roars below; In surging tide its wealth, and pride For ever Hash and flow.

The Crophead stalks in sombre weed, Tho gallant cheeks his chafing stoed; The one turns up a furtive eye. The other laughs and'jinglea by. She thinks it sad and shocking; It makes her half afraid, ; She sighs and minds her stocking, The little Koundhead maid. She sits within her window j Great London roars below; In glittering gear, a Cavalier .Rides tow'rd her, proud and slow. He gazes upwards from the street- She knows not how—their glances meet; She drops her eyes, he rides away: And yet—and yet—his features stay. She knows 'tis sad and shocking; It makes her heart afraid;, She cannot mind her stocking, Tho little Roundhead maid, She Bit 3 within her window; Great London roars below; But what to her are sound and stir. And all the changing show ( For, lighting up the dingy room, Against her droops a jewelled plume, And, bending fondly at her side. The gallant woos her for his bride. It may be sad and shocking- It makes her half afraid: And yet sho leaves her stocking, Tho little Roundhead maid.

"ONLY A WOMAN'S HAIR."

Husband comos Homo at night, Get's a kiss— That's all right. Playful wife On his knee, • Sits and talks, Waiting tea. Hidden start, And a staro. On his coat Sees a hair. Colour red— Ilors is black- Sobs and tears. Fury, thwack! Husband goes Out at night. Won't como back Till he's tight.

A LOVE SONG.

Ah! Bwan of slender-ness, dovo of tenderness, Jewels of joys, arise! The littlo red lark, like a rosy spark Of song, to his sun-burst flies; But till you are risen, earth is a prison, Full oE my captive sighs. Then wake and discover to your fond lovor Tho morn of your matchless eyes.

The dawn is dark to me; hark, oh! hark to mo,

Pulse of my heart, I pray. And gontly gliding out of thy hiding, Dazzle me with thy day! And oh! I'll fly to thee, singing, and sigh to thee, Passion so BWeot and gay, Tho lark shall listen, and dowdrops glisten, Laughing on every spray. —Alfred Percival Graves,

"LET US PRAY."

There is a strange, sweet breath In prayer, A breeze o£ heaven's ambrosial air— A tranquil, soothing undertono O£ gentioat music, all its own:

" Let us pray!"

Though Spring - timo comes with chooring

shower. The Summer with its odorous flowora, Tho Autumn with its golden gifts, Aud Winter with its wliito snow-drifts "Let us pray!"

Though lovo and life o'er earth prevail, Seed-time and harvest never fail; Though on tho right, laborious way Our broad we gather, day by day:

"Lot us pray!"

Though eaoh true effort is a prayer, A certain antidoto to care. Which makes our onward footsteps Buro, And leads to thoughts and feelings pure:

"Lot us pray!"

Wo sometimes mourn o'er prospects drear. Which oft engender shadowy fear; Yot Ho who stills the stormy deep Will dry the tears of thoso who weep: "Let us pray!"

Oft wo betray a feeble trust. Yet God is ovor good and just; Within our hearts the failings Ho, Which dim the lustre of our sky: "Let us pray!"

Though prayer will ehango not God's decrees, And what is best for man He sees, His eyo beholds him when he strays. Ho kindly listens when he praya: " Let U3 pray!"

When Hfo its hoary aspect wears, And faltering ago its weakness shares, When outer scones aro dull and drear, Whon trembling by the spirit sphoro: "Let us pray!" John Blackman, ,

ALL THE RIVERS.

" AUtherlvorsranißto-the'SeaiT y-ii'i;'i ' ■ ij.:. Jjitoß.the.pulsinßflfariyQr,.! ■,« vM ,. ~.■ . ; ~,-i. The,motion o£a^qnar, , , Jnuna m'» *j :wind"the olden wifds'alon^' '>" J^' Thitorttious windings ofriy thought whenever Tsitibesidothe£ea.'il-.:'<i . .luoa uiiJ ." -. '

"4il the rivers run into Ihosea. . [ ■ il,!u»f}hon*ehbatliyour.broatH!') "• ['■>•• i»i<»vjh .Witlialieajtas depPiOSjd^jth,-.,. hunlj y >-/j«ini/ fiff S"]i«?Bh B^?',^ •rsrttmiiaptliesettV 1' Bl". """C )' i(" i'J'»».*"«; '> i ; .)■■•;' y,iii J" j'' i>iiii i> ,i''f« Jmu «>iuw ,"'AUtto.rivprsi;wniAlV}tJ}e^ija," lJ V ;, ; ,,, „„{ ■■ Why'tho striding oX a river, "• -•. ~ ■ Upon tho.eteniaLahaM..»Saro«wbe»»'wJ)at6Y/w\;i 3oeJsit ; flndM^03l? a-:\a -.- i. .it «../ yi,i I -

'•AUWe'hYers'rtin'.irttdtHe-ifoa:1'" V.'V ,-i- flat ,oh, thouboundinp;; Burmnff.rivM.-.-i im.,^ ~i i..,..., TokrioWlsoone.knowsiiiaaream),, , ■That in the waiting heart.ot God foretfdr '" '" Thbu.-too/eKalt'findtilOßett. -n-'V. -><c ..i! ! • i i Elizai'ei/i'Slnearll'Phdps.'^'i'

THE MAN WITH AN APPETITE.

'Amanlknow'sthchurtgiM^ono,,,-, (( ,i.; v/ i o L>Ho'>s'«ucli an-appebto.■ »i •• c^jm ...; " The story brought to mo.'you-fiote, \} „ * By little liat'ning birda, ' '\ r :,Wnatliat'a)day,'m<twologO''>»"-'i HW fn I ~aie flretly.-atelijs.wota*. i- i>i<i i«i siij n iiiv/ r i ■'Thw'koW^Hora^Vi^^^hblf' I;'^|'* i ! y« S«rw*«..i i oAnd there alooeiquit6T»yninlSßUTii<M;'«i Jii'H. : ;,, jaespomdemu»ed.tlie,PPflK..', J; vj u « ,-, ,; j; .-.-; - ' i'(iTlii9inogt'T*}raoiotlamale;'iiJ'i!f'"i''i>'» Mtur. i ; (tjTotanlyhedevflHreditlieteote >r,i;> >iiovor . I , ,< a ; fa I I .'Aiia'J<rtlhbloiteiatortiitt?etbeat,v'-:'"i-4 noV i •.■jiTe9iStiUhjiiciaved.{oivraDßa,v' .■ -n ,nidvif: . ~TjjnU.to,in"alfft^i3,nieal/:qiapleto.-,. i;) j ttar.

ll d v .MWtiilU ilju;i S/tiiL 'i .' '; IJl'aWVO*? iiivtuyjomid ii'Ait'uii I ,i"i/.w yiir liituotiirw;