THE STAR SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT.

AUCKLAND, N,Z., JANUARY 20, 1883

THE HOUSE OF White Shadows.

By B. L. FARJEON.

AUTHOR OF "Blades- o' • Grass." "Joshua Marvel," "Bread and Cheese and Kisses," " Grif," " London's Heart," die., do., tfce.

Continued,

"Mnßalcomba bowed as ho would have done to a strange lady, and said, ' I thank you, There is before us a plain duty. We are bound to each other irrevocably, and we cannot part without disgrace. Our grief we have brought npon ourselves, and must bew in silence. These gates will never again be open to friends. We have done with friendship as we have done with love. Once more I ask you what it is you propose " ' You will givo me these rooms to live in,'said my lady. * „...,, " • They aro yours, 1 he replied; • unless 1 am compelled by duty or by circumstance! which Ido not at pre«ont foresee, I will never enter them during your lifetime.' "It is in accordance with my wish,' she said. 'In daylight I will never leave them; only at nightfall will I walk in the grounds. Outside tho gates I will never moreb" teen. People's tongues cannot be stoppod, and your acts this day have brought shame upon me. Bui I repeat, no direct sin lies at my door. I have been misled and betrayed; my lifo has been blighted; I can bear it and will, nor shall you hear me complain. Will you give me Denise lo wait upon me ?' . " , "'Sheis your servant, and yours only, from this moment.' "' Denise,1 sbo said to me, ' are you will-

ing?' " 'Ye?, my lady,11 answered; I was al most choked with sob?, while they out wardly, wero calm and unmoved. "'Then all that is necessary has been said. Farewell;' and she looked towards the door. "He did not linger a moment. He bowed to her ceremoniously, and left the room.

•< w hen ha was gone I felt as if some sudden and fearful shock must take place, as if a thunderbolt were about to fall and destroy us, or as if my lady would fall dead at my feet. Bat nothing occurred, and when I had courage to look up I saw my lady seated iv her chair, white and still, with a resigned and determined expression on her face. It would have been a great re lief to me if sho had cried, but there was not a tear in her eyes. "' Do you believe mo guilty, Denlse ?' she asked. •'■' The saint 9 forbid,' I said, ' that such a thought should ever cross my mind. I know you to be an innoce.nt, suffering lady.1 11' You will do as you have been bidden to do, Denise. While my husband and I are alive you will not speak of what has passed within this room/ " • Never, my lady,' I said.

" And never again was the subject spoken of between us. She did not refer to it and I did not dare to do so, although it seldom left my mind. " Well, a new life now commenced for us —a new and dreadful life. Mr Balcombe denied himself to visitors, and until yon came, my lady, no friend of the family ever entered the gates.* Mr Balcombe lived most of Ills lime in bis study, writing and reading and pacing to and fro as he used to do in timca gone by. He never made auy inquiries abont my lady, uor she about bim, Sbe Jived in these rooms, and in my remem brance did not stir out of them during the day. Master Arthur slept in the inner room, and was free to run about as he pleased. His was not a happy childhood, lor. when he began to speak and think, the estrangement between his parents of course had an effect upon him, and he could obtain no satisfactory replies to his questions. When he wus with my lady it was, ' Mama, why do you not go and speak to papa ?' And when he was with his father it was, • Papa, come to mama; she wants you to epeak to her.' Which was all imagination on his part. What news they had of each other's health and doings came through him; they oould not put a padlock on the child* tongue. 'Papa, mama has a bad headache.' 'Papa mama was ill in the night.' 'Mann, papa has been writing and writing all day long. I peeped in through the door, and he looked iso tired.' 'Mama, see what papa gave me.' ' Papa, I have ran away with this picture mama has painted. Is it not beautiful?' And so it went on, bnt the child's eager, auxions love brought them no nearer to each other! In the dark nights, when the weather allowed, my lady would walk in the grounds—always alone, and it got to be said, as the moonlight shone on her white dress, 'Khe looks like a white ghost,' or ' she is like a white shadow, moving in the moon's light.' Her husband was careful to keep out of her sight when she indulged in her lonely walks; they never made the slightest ad vance to each other.

" i mast not forget to tell you what oc curred a few months after this estrange ment. The nipht was very dark, p,nd I had seen lay lady in bed and as I thought asleep. Master Arthur, also, was asleep, as I myself was a few minutes after I had wished my.lady good night. There was a ight in Mr Balcombe's study as I pulled my bliids down; ho often tat up till late in the morning I weka up with the sound of the clock strikiog in my ears. I counted the strokes, from one to twelve. It was midnight. I was such a sound sleeper that after counting twelve o'clock I was sur prised at finding myself awake, and I caught myself wondering whether it was the strrking of the hour that had aroused me. Gusls of wind wore sweeping round the walls of the villa. It must have been the wind that disturbed me, I thought, and I was on the point of falling asleep again, when another sound—an uuusual one made me jump up in btd, widerawake. It wa3 like a heavy object falling from a height within the grounds. ' Can it be robbers,1 I thought, 'climbing the gate arid missing their footing? I was not afraid, but I thought it as well to wake my husband, who was in the soundest of sleeps. I told him what I had heard, and said there was nothing to be seen but a light in our master's study, 'He is up and awake,' said my [husband; what you heard waa the wind." Bobbers 1 There has not been a robbery in the neighborhood for thirty years. I pity the robber that will try to pass our dogs. There ! let me go to sleep and don't disturb me again with your fancies. And get to sleep yourself as quick as you can ; now your head is_ stir ring, you'll be fancying all sorts of things.' In another moment he was snoring. But I found it waa not an easy matter getting to sleep again myself. I lay thinldrjp, half awake and half asleep I wag glad my hus band had mentioned the dogs, lie was quite rigi>.t. Any tiyiog to pass them would have been torn to pieces. Well, but there wasj somebody walking on the gravelled (paths; I heard the soft footsteps crunching the stone, not hur riedly, but softly and ■with caution, as though fearful of disturbing the people in the house. _ These sounds came between the gusts of wind, which were growing stronger and strongfr. Then it occuired to me tbat it must be my master who, unable to {sleep, and disturbed in his mind, was walking about the ground?. Contented with this explanation, I waa soon asleep, For how long I did not know, for suddenly I found myself sitting up in my bed again, listening to the wind, and with a confused impression thut a gun had been fired. I .was trembling all over, but my hu-baod was sleeping peacefully. I listened, and hearing nothing more, reasoned myself ont of my fears; the rest of the night passed without further disturbance,

" But it was not entirely fancy, for in the morning a strange discovery was made, Our two dogs wore dead—poisoned. None of the servants , could furnish the informa tion ; not one had been disturbed but my self. Mr Balcombe was as calm as usual, and the only explanation we could think of was that a robbery had boeu planned, and that the robbers had poisoned tuo dogs, but being hurt by a fall from the wall had gone away without carrying out their designs. There was nothing missiug from the homo. When 1 spoke to Mr Bal combe about my waking up ia tho night and the sound 1 had heard, he said, 'It must have been chieily imagination ou your part, Denise. I was up and awake till four o'clock, and should know more about the matter thau you. Keep your fears to yoursolf, aud the next time you are disturbed by such fanciei and see a light in my window, rest satisfied that all ia well. I would not speak much of it If I'wore in your place.1 I took his advico, and after a little while the ufLiir was forgotten.

" So the years went by ia the lontly villa without any changes. My lady grew iuto the habit of taking her walks later in the night, and never a word was exchanged be tween her husband and herself. So op pressive was this state of things that the servants left one by one, and I daresay I myself Bhould have asked to be reliorod from the service had it not been for my affection for my mistress To live with her, as I did, for years without growing to love her was not possible. Her contlcnsss, her resignation, her retolution, were almost b> yond belief with thoie who wero not a daily witn«ss of hor lonely, blameless, suffering life. She nevot wrote or received a letter; sho cut herself away from the world, and these rooms were her livin" grave. She loved her child, but she held her love in control and did not give way to any violent demoastration of feeling. I could see that, as the lad grew up, he was bswildcred-by the relations which existed between his parents. Had one or tho other bean unkind to him ho might havo been able to put some construction upon tho estrangement, but thoy were equally kind to him. It came at lust to entreaties. ' Mams, maytl bnng papa in to your room ? Why does he not come to teo you V 'Papa, mama is really very ili; I do so wish you would let mo bring you to her 1 Do pupi, do 1' It was haarc-aching to hoar tho lad, who loved both, who receivad lovo from both. Then he bejjin to study other chil dren and tholr parents, and when ha saw one walking between mother and father, who smiled npon each other and upon their little onb, his eyes would overflow with tears. He would peep through cottage windows, nay, he wsuld go iuto the cot tages, where ho was always welcomo, and would see for himself proofs of domestic happiness which never gladdened his eyas in his own home, ' I wish my mama and papa had been poor,' he aaid to me; ' then they would have livid together uud has'e loved each other, i'eniae, you tell mo what it all means,'

" 'Hush, Master Arthur,' I auswored, I am only a servant, and 1 know nothing. When you are a man you will under stand.

" 'I want to understand now, I want to understand now,' he ciied. ' .Chore is some thing very wicked about this place. I hate it—l hate it!' And he would stamp his little foot, and break into a lit of crjiug so fall of real sorrow, that I could not help crying with hiai, Sumething o£ this must have reached their cars, for I havo v? doubt ho mado his appeals to them, but it made n« alteration in their lives. How they suffered only themselves could have known My master grew thin and wan; dark circles were round his eyes which somotimss had a wild look In thorn which nude me fear ha was losing his souses. And my lady drooped and drooped, like a flower ; paler and qnister every day; sweeter aad more resigned, if that were possible, with every setting of the sua ; so weak at hut that sho could not tike her walk in the pvounds. Sitting by this window, looking up at the beautiful sky- she said to me one peaceful evening, "1 shall soon be there, Denise. When my mother sees my coming, sho will be flightened to rneec me. Does she know now that she has poisoned my whole life ?' 'o,'madame,' I said, and so saint-liko was her appearance that I could have knelt to her, 'let ,me go to my master an] be^ him to come to you.' '' He would not come," eha said. "Believing that this waj a sign of re lenting on her part, I saiil, 'He will, madame, he will, if I say you sent for him,'

" ' And I would not havo him come,' she said. • When I send for him he will not refuse me.'

"Yoa will send me far him one day ?' 1 asked.

"Yen, Donise, unless I dlo in my sleep which I have often prayed lo do. But this bletsing may be d«Diod to me.'

•Ab, how sad were the days ! It saddens me now to speak of thorn. All kinds of Btrange notions entered my head during that time. I iised to think it would be a mercy if a groat flood were to come, or if someone would sec fire to the villa—it would bring them together for a few minu tes at least. And then, as I gazed at her, I would think that the coald not live through another summer, so w»ak wa« she growing. She was fading away befor* my eyes. The end came at last, whoa ivla»ter Arthur was eight years old.'

"It was a, spring evening, and Master Arthurwaa telling .her that the trees were full of beautiful buds. He had gathered a quantity of spring flowers; his fa'hor and ne bad been walking in th« woods, and he told his mother of -the grand and wise leisoas his father had given him.

"'Mama,' said the child, 'papa is a good man. I love him more than any other man—and I love you, numa, mure than other womin. Papa is a good man, is he not?1

" ' Ho is my child,' she answered, ' and a just man. "My heart leapt into my throat as I heard her 'speak these words of her hu« b>nd. Wat it possiblt that this dreadful life was coming to an end, and that thej would at length be reconciled, att«r all these weary, fweary years ? My lady was lying back in her chair, gazing now at her boy, now at the setting sun. The tops of the trees were touched with red light which played and flicks] ci iv the brandies as if it werjalie. Ah, my lay? if we were but to follow Go.i's teaching and levn the lessoni he send? us every day und overj hour, how much uuhappinesu we should be spared ! There was an angelio expression oa my lady's face ; sho spilio but little, but encouraged her child ti talk pf his father. They had been in the woids nearly the whole of the day, and the father had let light into his child's souls with his discourses upon this and that.

" ' And do you know, mama,' said the child, ' papa is not strong; ho soon grows tired, but I cun run about all day. Ec often has to stop aud rest, and once he threw himself upon the moss and fell fast asleep. I sat by his side and lhteued to the birds, who were all so happy, while papa's face was filled with pain But when he woke and saw me all t the pain disap peared, and he smiled and folded me in his arms. O, mama ! mama ! why will you not see papa, and love him as I do ?' "'My child, said my lady, 'I will see papa to-morrow.' "'You will—you will?1 cried the lad. ' 0 mama, you ha'-e made me so happy. —so happy !. " ' You are tired. Arthur,' said my lady ; 'go to bed aud sleep. Sleep well, my child. I pray that Go 1 will Bt nd happiness into jour lite.'

" ' Good mama ! beautiful mama !' said the lad, caressing his mother and stroking her face. 'I am happy now. I shall dream all night Ions; of to-moirow.'

" She never kissed her child with greater tenderness than she did on this night; he knelt at her Isnees, and said his prayers, and of kin own accord ended with the words, ' And make my papa and mama love each other to-motrow I' "Goodnight, dear child.' " Good night, dear mama 1 I want to morrow to come quick. Good-night. Denise.' "Good night, master Arthur.' " And in a very few minutes he was; asleep. Then my mistress called to her' side, and spoke gratefully of my service to her, .

11 You have beea gond and faithful to me,' she said ; ' it has beou a lurd duty, and you have performed it well.'

" ' 0, my lady, I said sobbing ; I could not help ie, she spoke so graciously and tenderly; 'it will be the happiest duty a servant over performed if what you have just said to Master Arthur comes true. Can it bo that you will send for my master to-moirow?'

" 'It will bo so, Danise, unless God takes mo to-night. Wb are ia His hands. His will be done. Give me thoae ilowois, you faithful woman.'

" JJo not think me vain or proud for re peating thosejwords she spoko to me; they were very, very precious to me, and the sweetness has nor, yet didd out of them, though sho who uttered them is dust. " I yavo her the flowers, aud she a?ked mo to sit by her later than usual. Two or three times she asked me to go to Master Arthur's bed, and when I told hor he looked liko an angel in his sleop, aho smiled and thanked me. Then sho asked mo if tbera was a Jight in her husband's sludy, and going out into tho balcony to look, I said thire was, and said moreover that scarcely a night pasted that ho did not sit up till two or three in tho morning. " ' Ho was always a student,' she said. ' How shall one be forgiven for broak ing up his life ?' '"Ah, my lady,'l said, 'if I dared to spoak 1' "'Spsak freely, Doniso.' " And then I told her how ho loved her, how ho used to worship her, aud watch every movement she made. Thesa dims were plain to a woman a ejoa, I said, and that novor did woman have a more faithful and devoted lover than my mastor was to her, nor a nobler heart, uor ono who stood more highly ia the world's esteem, She listened and did not chide mo, and prasently said aho would retire to rest, but sho could Bcarculy riso from her chair, she was so weak.

" ' I had best remain with you te-night, my lady,11 said. " ' It is not nocassaoy,' sho laid ; ' I shall no«d nothing iv tho night, and I ahull be bettor to-morrow.'

" i thought it was my duty to mak* my mastor acquainted with his wife's condi tion ; I did net tell him tbat it was her in tention to ask him to co'ao t» hor to-morrow, for fear slw should alter her mind, and cause him to think ill of hor. There had beon duappointment and vexation eaougu in tho house. I could ntt rest, thinking of my lady, and during tha n^ght I went twico to her room ; the was slooping calmly, but her breathing was so soft that I had to put my ear clc-H* to heir it. In the morning sba awok«, aad I helped to d>o<s her to her favourite seat by «his window. Mastur Arthur \va? already up and about, and shortly aftir his mother was dressed ho came in loaded with flower*, to uulcc the room look beaut'ful, In said, on this happy day. It was a diy ho wae never to forgot. "The morning passed, and my lady nude no sign ; Mastor Arthur, Hitting in and oat like a bird, waited impatioutl? for Irs mother's instructions to bring her husbinil to her, but sho spoke noi a word, I offered her food, but she did not t mch it. 1 did not know whas to no. On tbc prcvi«us day the doctor who regularly attended her had •aid tint his sotvicas wore required at tome distance from the villa, and that it was not nccotsary ho should sea my lady on the morrow. She hadropliod, 'Donot trouble, doctor ; you can do nothing for iae.' And indeed his skill was of no avail, So thu we did not expect him on this day. There appeared to ba no special necessity for his prasoncc. My lady was in no pain ; she looked happy and contented ; but s.he was so quiet, so very, very quiet. Not a word, not a moan, no; a sigh. It made me frightened to look at her,

"At length Mss'cr Arthur csuld no longer coitrol his impatience. '■' Mama, you promised to send for papa, Yoa do not forget, rto yon ? Why don't yon speak? Aa, but yon aro tired. It is to-day you know, aud you and paps ware to love each other. Sha'l Igo for him? Say yea, or lo>k it mana.'

'She turued her eyes to her boy, and hs saw tliat she was willing ha ihould. go for his father. ll* kissel her quickly, anil ran out of the mom, crying, Papi 1 Papa ! "I stepped softly into this little room, and closed tho door. It was not right that a servant's eyes shou'd witnos-i so sicred a rnseting; but though I denied myself tk» priviligj oi being present, my heat was in my ca rs, It was proper that 1 should be within call; in my lady's weak ttato my ser<rico3 might be required. " 1 hoard tho door of my lady's room opeu and close. I hoard my {master's foot step?, I heard Master Arthur say — " 'Mama, hero is papal Speak to him and lova him as Ido Papa pnt your mama's neck, and kiss her!'

" Then all \va> quiet, so quiet, so quiet! Not a s*und, not a word, not a sob. Ah, Holy Mother I I can hear the silenco now—l can feel it abont me! It was in this very room, and my lady wai sitting in tho very chair in which you are seated.

" Suddenly the silence was broken. My matter was calling. "■'Denisa! Danite! Whore ara you ? Come quickly !' "Before he had finished calling for mo' I was in my lady's room. My master wa3 looking wildly from his wife to his child, from his child to hia wife. The lad, with bis arms absut hi* motbe-, was'lrissing tier and crjing over her. I gently unwound his arms from his mothers neck; I took her hands in mine, and pressed it. Her finger* were cold and motionless. " ' What is it Denise ?' my muster whis pered, hoarsely. ' The troth ! the truth ?' "Ho [read the answer ia my eyes. Wo were gazing on the face ot a dead woman 1 " lies, slto wss dead, and no word hid baen exchanged between them. How tras, bow prophetic were the words she had spoken to her husband in their last inter view on this spot, seven years beforo 1 11 After to-night I will novor open my lips to you 1 " From that time to this he nad never heard the s«und of her voice, and now that, after her long agony, she had summoned him to he', yho was dead 1 Ah, if she had only llred to say, ' It was not only I who was betrayed 1 Lot there be peaco between us!'

" Thoro were those in tho villa who de clared that tho white fchadow of my lady was scan that night gliding round about the ground?, and from that night the place was supposed to ba hauutod. Tho impres sion was strengthened by Mr Balcombp'a proceedings. The funcnl was a very quiet one, and in accodaucc with my master's desire, nil who b'.-longed to the house, and attendod my lady's remains to the grave, were dressed in while. Then the gissips averred that on cerfcaiu nights the grounds were occupied by white shadows, mourn fully following each other in a long funeral line. That is how tho villa grew to be called the House of White Shadows.

"Soon after my lady'a death Master Arthur was sont to school, and then came the end. One morning my master was not seen about; tho day passed on, and still he was not seen ; and when, alarmed, we went to his study'to quiet our fears concerning him, we found him lyiug on' the floor stone dead. That is all I have to tell, my lady,?'

CHAPTER XVIII. ARTHUR BALCOMBE ARRIVES AT THE . lIOOSS OF WHITE SHADOWS, " and you have really tdd it very well, Mother Denise." ggid the a dvocate's wife. •' Why, ia some pa;tayou actually gava me the creeps. And here is Dione.ta, as whitu as a lily. What a comfort it must have been to the poor lady to have had a good soul like you about her I If such a misfor tune happened to me I should like to have such a sevvant as you were to her." '• Heaven forbid, my ludy," said Mother Lionise, raising her hands, "that such an unhappy lot should be yours." " Well, to tell you the ttutb," said the Advocate's wife*, wiih a bright smile, "i do not thiuk it very likely. I should not submit to it co tamely—nor, in my opinion, did the lady whose story you have bo well related."

" Everything happened," "said Mother Denise, .stiffly, "exactly as I have des cribed it."

" With here and there a chapter left out," said tho Advocate's wife, archly; "Come, you must admit that."

" No, my lady, I have omitted nothing. I am inclined to be angry with myself for having told bo much. I doubt whether I have uot done wrong."

"Mr Arthur Balcombe, whom I expect every minute," and Iho Advocate's wife looked at her tiny watch, "would have been angry with you if you had not satis fied my curiosity. Where is the harm ? to be living hore with such an interesting tale untold would have been inexcusable. But I am cortaiu that you have omitted more than one chapter, and it reflects credit upon you." "Mother Denise whs silent; she was voxedatthe levity of the lady's speech. "Indeed, and indeed, it is highly to your credit uot to have told although no one could be hurt at this distance of time. Why, when Mrs Balcoinba died-what a strange, quiet death 1 -I could scarcely have beou birn. Hovv wonderful it all is when one th nks of things!"

" What do you suppose I have con cealed, my lady ?" askd Mother Denito. "Tlioro was a certain M. Gabriel," Baid tho Advocate's wife, "who really played a most important part in the story. If ie had not boou for hiw thoro would have been no uuarrol between husband and wifo, and the foolish young lady -tor-really, though of course I pity hor very much, sho did act in the most simple tnaunor; you must agree with me there, you good old creature-the foolish young lady would not have died, and I should not bo here listening to her story, and ready to cry my eyos out in pity for hor. Why, who knows, ovon whother Mr Arthur Balcombo and I would have beon friends ? Now, all at onco, this in toresting M. Gabriel, whopaintodsobsauti fully, aud who must have, buoti a vary hand some young follow, or there would not havo bean such a fuss made over him . Thora, now, I declare you have never even given me a description of hisa, Of course he was handsome?

fcho was full of vivacity, Hying off at tangents, novor completing the thread of hor rwnnrks, aud yet never losing sight of it; and as sine least forward towards the old housekeeper it applied as if in her cstimatien nothing in what iho had heard w»» of so much important:* as this qutstion, which sho anxiously repeated, " Was he handsome ?"

"He was exceedingly good looking," Mothor Doniso was constrained to reply, " but not so distinguished in his bearing as my unhappy master." "TaU!' f " Y«s, tall, my lady." "Dark or fair? But I think you guv* me the impressiou that ho wag dark."

"Yes, my lady, ho was dark," replied Mothtr Doniso, ooldly; she was »ur priiod at tho frivolousnoss of these ques tions.

" And youDg, of course— much youug^fe'r than Mr Bilcombe ?"

" Yes, my lady, much younger."

"There woald bo no «ense in the matter otherwise; anyone might have known that ho was young, aud handsome, and fasci nating. Well, an I waa saying—l hopo you will forgive in« for Hying of! as I do — all at ones this AI. Uabriul drops clean out of tic Rtory, aid we hoar noshing more of him, If there is one thing more incxplic abl j than another in tho utl'iir, it it tint nothing more should bj heard of M. Gabriel."

" IVO live out of the gay world, my lady ; wo aro far removed from it, I am happy to think, It is not at all strange lhat in thii quiet little village wo should not know what became oi Al. Gabriel."

" But, you dcarlold|soul," said tha advo cate's wife, her mood becomiug more ani mated ai Motuer Dcuisa's became more frigid, "Yon dear old soul, thy always como back !"

" I hope you will not bo offended, my lady, at my saying that I do not understand you." " How can I be offended at anything you say? Of course you don't understand me. How should you 1 Hut wscu lovers are dh missed, as M. Gabriol waa, they always come back. They think they nevor will— they vow they never will—bat tiny c mnot help themsclvos. It is tbo moth nnd the candle over again,'• " You mean, my lady," said Mother Dmiss, very gravely, " that M. Gabriel r<3 turued to the villa."

"That is my nieuoißg exactly. As she did not go to him, ho cam-3 to her. What else could ho do t"

" I do not know whether I onj{ht to say 1 am sorry or glad to disappoint you, my lady, but M. Gabriel, nfier tho summer house wjs burnt down, nover mado his ap pearance a^nin in tao villag*." "Bat ha wrote, and s:nt hia latter by a confidential messenger; ho did that, at least."

" I havo told y»u. my lady, that while my poor mistreai lived in those rooms sho nover receired or wrote a letter."

Tho Advocato's wifog«zcd admiringly at Madsms Denise.

"Wonderful!" she exclaimod. "You are discretion itself, Dionetta; nover be tempted tojbetray y»ur miitross's secrets ; take pattern by your grandmother," "Shomieht do worse, ray lady," said Mother Dcniso, still unbending.

(To be Continued )

The Cost of Electric Lighting.

It will cost £14,000,000 to hy down the reqlaito plant to tupply the whole of London with the electric light. If all the t«wns in Great Brit inn and Ireland wero to demand to be supplied with the now illuminant, the capital outlay required would bo £64,000,000, not including £16,000,000 for lamps and internal fitting;, lifter this ex penditure had been incurred, the relative cost of olectricity of gas of tho same illumi nating power would bo as 29 is to 22. The-e figures arc taken from the calculations which Dr Siemens laid before the meeting of the Society of Arts The eiormom initial outlay, to say nothing of the hazard ous nature of the mtsrprhe and tha extreme uncertainty concerning tho ultimate dova lopement of electric lightning ought to pro ; vent any muncipality from applying for powers to light the whole or eves any part of their area, says the " Pull Mall Gazstta." It Is tho money of speculator*, not that of ratepayers, that should be squandered ob such experiments. Notwithstanding all warning*, however, some unfortunate cor pora'ion will probably have to be ruined beforo the othors learn tha f. they should no more undertake the responsibility of intro ducing the electric light than they should spend the corporate fund 3 in buying the Turks or Mexicans—a much less hazaard ous investment.

The Beer of the Future.

A teio of Mincing Lane brokers have writ tc"n to the London " Times " on this subject. They say : —'"lt may be interesting to yonr leaders to learn that, owing to the partial failure of this seasons Engiish hops, toge ther with a large demand to supply the American marko t, values have advanced to such an extent that substitutes are eagerly sought after in the Mincing-lane market, and druga which can, on account of their bitter qualities be used in the manufacture of beer, hive boon in speculative demand to such an extent that in somo ca;cs tbo values have advanced 300 to 400 per cent. It has generally been supposed that beer could only be made ' bitter' through the medium.of theliop plant; but this innocent delusion must le given up, the laws of supply and demand having taught us that thero are other plants, uot familiar to Kent or Surrey, which can be used for the same purpose. Colombo root, well ktiowii for its tonio qualities, has advanced in value from 225., at which it was obtainable a month since, to 95a per cwfc; camomiles from 405., to 120s; quassia from £8 to £40 per ton; Guinea grain?, which have al ways beon more: or less in use for brewing purpose?, from S2s. to 80s. per cwr,; and ttie most turprisiug of all, Cheretta, a drug which a month since was almost unsalea ble at 3d per lb. has actually been sold at 3s. to 3s. fid. per lb. Most of tbese are very harmless bitter?, but what a fine open ing this must be for the Blue Kibbon Army advocates to set before their disciples, the composition of the horrid fmixture called •bitter beer,'"

FEMININE BREVITIES.

The Countesse de C , who rejrets her yifnng days, (conceals her age as much as possible. Not only does she have recourse all the contrivances of art, but each winter she calls herself one year younger than the preceding year, She betrayed herself, how ever, at the opera the other evening by one of those expressions which aro so common, Mooting Madame 8., the Countesse said to her: "Ah, how are you: It is a century since I havo seen you." "You see,' said one of her fiiends to another in a low tone. " She acknowledges ncr age now."

The Springfield " jsepublican " tells how a gentleman took from his pocket a pair of solitaires and passed thorn to his wife. "Humph," she said, " iirizo packages, I suppose?" and passed them to her son, "Dollarstore, eh?" commented the youth, Papa smiled and silently replaced the card, iv his pocket. A few days later mamma Baid . " Wuere did you get those earriugs you showed us?" "" Well, a man submftted them to ruo at the store. Thoy were only §900, ;but you are such a poor judge of gems that I thought it wasn't worth while to givo them to you." 11 Why, John, where have you been all night I" was the greoting, is lie stumbled up-staire, "Comet party, my dear, tbats all.' "Comet party? Why, it ought not to take all night to see the comet," "If you zee as many comets ash I did, t'would take you, poor, weak woman, a whole week Yesh it wouid."

A oung widow to the marble cutter— " Tell me mutt I put on the tomb of my hnsband the words. ' Ktornal Regrets,' or Birnply ' Regrets V " " Ab, madamp," re plied the marblo worker, with -his most charming smile, " that is for you to decide, Does raadume think of marrying again soon ?"

Why la it that a young man and a young woman will sit for hours and hours together in a parlour without saying a word, and then, when it is timp tor him to leave, stand an hour talking carneatly oa the front stoop in the still, pntumonic air?" A very pretty girl ia Missouri prevented a collision by waving her aproa. Had she remalnid out of sight the mult vt onld have been the tame, however, as then the engineer would have bten watching the track instead of looking at tho pretty girL " Julia, my little dumb, when does your «istor Emma return?" Julia—" I don't know." " Didn't she say anythiog before sho went away ?" Julia—" She said, If you aamo to boo her, tbat she'd be gone till doomsday."

11 What kind of a picture would v«u pre fer, miss?" inquired a photographer of a young l»dy enstomor. " Well." was the reply, " t»ke mo with an expression as If I were writing a poom on love." " Have you any mulls ?'' asked a AVestern girl to aclok in a metropolitan fur store, Tho polite counter jumper presented several of tho latest fashionable sizo. "Havoyou noii3 bigjjer?" "They ain't miking them bigger tbis season," ho explained. "I'm sorry," she added, gravely, ■' I wantnd one at lua«t largo enough to hold three bands, and th««e won't hold two," and she walked out mentally guessing thnt Charlie would have to do all his squeezing this Winter under her shawl,

"Kotnancer:" How ihnll you know whether a youns» lady aud gentleman of your acquaintance are really engaged, even if they deny the charge? Ea»y enough. Just notice if ho stnokoa a cigar while walking with her on the street. If he does It ia all fixed.

Slang is a dangerous language. Recently, when a handsome young wifo wont to a hardware store to get one of those wooden contrivances to mash potatoos, and said, "I want a masher," every man in tho shop, from tho toss to the oflica-boy, started to wait on her.

Scsnc in Court: " Now, Mr Blank, you say that on that day, at hood, you saw a woman rido past your hou-o at a furious pace, and yon have given us a detailed des cription ot her costume. Please tell us what was tho colour of the horse ?" "I do not remember." " Wei, was the woman white or black ?" "'ldid not uotics ; she went so fa>t lhat I only had time to sec ho w she was dicssed "

An ancieat maidea lady in passing the Continental hotel was suddenly stopped andtooderly embraced by a young gentle mau who called her Mrs Blank. It wa* soon explained that the gentleman had mis taken her for a relative, and the spinster paised on sonified. While tolling the in cidfut a fri<nd oxe'airaed sympithizing: "Doarmo, how cmbarraskiug," ''Not at all," was tha uii'xpeoted reply, " I found it very refreshing."

Irish "Suspects" in Clover.

Tub Onrrospondont of tho New York "Sun " writes na follows: —

a friend of mino has been down in the west of Ireland trying to cellfcia few rent*, Be brought back some money with him, but ho go 1 it out of the porsocal good will that he enjnys of his tenants, and because it was gonerally understood in his neigh bourhood that he had returned as poor as whon he came. His tenants dare not pay him openly. While he was down there he mot the custodian of the local reformatory ins'itution, iv wh«se care were a lot of the so-cnllod " suspects. %> This good soul was b'jrdoned with care, aid canflded to him the story ot his tioubloa. "Thoro's no objection," ho said, "to their havin' a glass o1 spirits regular, an' begorra they're all able to pay for it: but about two weeks ago it sthruek mo that thoro wm more of an iuthcrtninment in thim cells whin thoy got their dinner than I cud undberstand. The first I noticed of it was Keilly singin' the ' Shan-van.voght' every afthcrnoon, an' ho an ugly dirvle any how, Ho sos I to myself, there's nothia' short of tho crajthur 'ud make the raufic risa In that blaggard, an' 1 wint np to his cell Divvle a word he had to say whin I lome to the dure. " ' Rellly I'sea I. "Korra tho word oat of him. "'Come hero to the dure,' ses I; 'I want to Bpake wid y»u 1' " Wid that ho kern over to tho gntln', his face fur all the world like a full moon, " ' Yo'r dhruiik 1' eos I. " 'Ye lie 1' to he. " ' Yri breath 'ud give tho D. T.s to a cow, this minit,' tes I. '"Sotra a can I care," sc3 he, an'goes an lies down on the bed. " I knew it'd be the ruin of mo if it was found out, so I got the boyH and sarched all the cells, but the divvle recavo the dhrap we touud!

"Begorra, the next day the whole of thim was siußin' cboruases all the evening, eve:y one of thim as dhrunk as fiddlers !

"Be me sow! but I was put to me wits' end to know what the matter was, an' we snrched all the cells, turned over matthres ses, an' evry blessed thiDg, but ha.porth cud we find but the smell, which was powerful an1 good. Divvle such a hilarious set o' boys I ever had in the place before ! What wid the singiu' an' the language of thim, ye'd swear ye were in Judge s 1 " The next day I tuk a look at the din ner goin' in, an' a mighty good-lukin' din ner it was, all sarved on dishe3 kept warm ba hot wather. There was as nice a dish o' herrins as ever ye seen, smokin' hot, an' a jinfc runnin' gravy all over a big dish, an' an illigant bit o' bacon sittin' in a taste o' greens, an' as fine a dish o' potates as I hope ever to have before me, but divvle a dhrap lo dhrink!

11 Well, sir, as I'm a sinner, it wasn't half an hour baforo every one of thim blaggards was blind dhrunk, singin' an' raisin' the the divvle I Up I wint an'expostulayted with thim. They wasn't amaynable to ray son, but all at once I seen Beilly rowl the remains of the leg o' mutton off the dish, whip out the plug where ye put in the hot wattaer, and tnrn the end of the dish up to his nose 1 'Ihat was enough for me Div vle another word I said, but when the din ner came in next day 1 dhrained out every one of thim dishes ; an' a screechiner, hot ter, nor stronger punch than was warmin' thim never crossed the lips of a parish priestl "Holy mother, but it was fine ! An' be tween you an' me an' the wall, I have a sthrong suspicion that the jail locked itself up that same night. . Sorra much 1 knew about it till I woke up in the mornin' wid Mary batins me over the head wid a sug gawn 1" From all which it would appear that life has its compensations in Ireland as well as elsewhere.

CHOICE EXTRACTS.

I believe that we cannot live better than in seeking to become better, nor mnre agree able than having a clear conscience.—So crates,

JJmy is a power which vises with us in the morning ami goes to lied with v.) at night. It is co-ex.onsive with the action of our inteMguice.

He only is advancing in liie whose heart is gutting totter, whose blood warmer, whoso brain quicker, whoae spirit is enter ing into living peace.— Buskin.

Fokty-fivs,—A ridiculous story is told concerning Mr Charles Keade'a dramatisa tion of Tennyson's poem "Dora." At a performance of "Dora," when Mary Mor rison made her exit to bring on her little Willie of four year*, she was ihocked to see a lubberly boy of at least fourteen, and as he was tho only Willie at hand he must go, though ho was well-nigh as big as his mother. The Farmer Allen of the play, being equal to the emorgeacy, instead of inquiring, "How old aro you, my little man!" endeavoured to rctnody tho matter by *»ying, " How old ore you, my strapping boy ?" But ho failed, for the boy, who was instructed to say from " four to five," said it in cuch a cosine, sepulchral tone as to drive tho good-natured grandfather to ex claim, "Forty.fivij 1 You look it, my boy, you look it."

Anecdote of the Chevalier Bayaed. —It was at tho retreat of Rebec, so disas trons for France, that Bayard was killed, shot by an harquebuso in the back while protecting the retreat. He had been helped to dismount, and was lying under a tent, which the courtesy of Pescaro, the general on tho Spanish sld«, had ordered to be placed over him while he died. And as he thus lay, the remgade Constable Bourbon, who was fighting iv the ranks of the enemy, passed by and said—" Ab, M, de Bayard, in truth I am sorry for you." To which the dying hero replied, " For the lovo of heaven, monsieur, do not be sorry for me. 1 am dying for my king and for my taith, Be sorry for yourself; you ■ are fighting against your faith and against your king. Bourbon hung his head and passed on without another word.

X Fable fob LA\vyeb».—■A wolf who had a dispute with a hjena determined to destroy him, and therefore went to a lion for advice. " Set a trap for him," was the reply, "and when you have caught him, eat him." Tb.9 wolf went away and laid a enar* beside the path often travenod by his enemy, but just as he was cackling with satisfaction ha blundered into the trap him self, and was hild fast. In this emergency along c*raethe lion, who called out, "By Georgo, but what's all this!" " I'm f;wt in my own trap," humbly replied the wolf. " i!o I seo. I camo oat hero expecting to help you eat the hyena; but, as the ca'o nowstands.lshallhelp tho hyena to eat you." " But I set this trap by your advice," pro testod the wolf. '• True, you did, and I advised your onomy to set one for you as well. What is the diflbroncß to mo whether I eat wolf or hyena." Moral—Tho lawyer gets his pay, no matter how the suit goes.

Only time can givo relief To tho weary, lonesome griuf; God's sweet minister of pain Then shall sing of loes and gain. Nora Perry.

T'jc world is a theatre; mankind the performers. Chance disposes tho play, for tune distributes the parts, fools move the machinery, and philosophers are tho !spec tators, The boxes are for tho rich, tho pit for tha powerful, and the gallery for the people, .beauty bean about the refresh ments, tyrants sit at the pay places, folly makes the concert, those who arc abandoned by fortune snuff tho candles, timo draws the cuitain, and the drama is called the "perpetual sameness!"

A WONDERFOL tfjlAT. — Jn the great, Dutch war, in the reign of Charles If., the English fleet and tbat of Holland fought in the Channel ioi three days successfully, engaged in the day and lyiog-to at niglu, advice came off that an armistice was concluded, and the hostilo parties he^nn to exchange mutual civilities. On board a Dutch man-of-war, which lay alongside an Engliih first-rate, was a sailor so remarkably active us to run to the mast head, and stand upright upon the truck, after which ho would cut sevoral capers, and conclude with standing upoa Ma head, to the great astonishment of ttie spectators. On coming down from (his exploit all his countrymen expressed their joy by huzza ing, and thereby signifying their triump over the English. One of the bold British tors, piqued for the honour of his country, ran up to the top like a cat, and essayed with all his might to throw up his heels like the Dutchman, but not having the skill, he missed his poise, and came down rather faster than ho' went up. The rig ging, however, broke his fall, and he lighted on his foot unhurt. As toon as he had re covered his speech, he ran to the side, and exultingly cried out to the Dutchman : " Thoro, you lubber, do that if you can !"

A gentleman was complaining of the weather. His servant, a newly-enlisted rustic from the country, happened to be within hearing. "Please, sir," he said, as ho approached in an apologetic manner, "I'm very sorry, but I'm afraid it.is my fault." " What do you mean, you block head?" asked the master. "Why, sir," replied the man, with a deprecatoiy smile, " I broke the barometor about a week ngo, and tho weather has had it ill its own way fince then."

A Tramp's Maxims.—" Honesty is the beat policy, but somo folks ate satisfied with second best. It is hard to be" honest on an empty stomach." "Pay as yon go. If you h»vf n"t anything to pay with don't go. If you are forced to go, record every indebtedness, and let your heirs settle the bills," "Politoaeis coits nothing, but it is not expected that >ou will wake a man at miduijiht to askpermis»ion to go through his hen-house. It is more courteous to let him enjoy his needed repose.

A notorious sca,mp, much affected in a revival, once went to Jonathan Edwards and said to him, in the religious parlance of the time : " I realise that I am the chief of sinners." "Glad to hear it,,'replied the dominie ; " your neighbours have long re alised it.' "I feel," persisted the whining penitent, " that I am willing to be damned for the glory of God." " Well," replied the hard-htatted proachor, "I don't know anybody around h> re that v> ould have the slightest objection."

"You say that you were present when my son was killed," said an Arkansas gentlemen to a man who had just arrived from Colorado. "Yes, sir, I was present." " How did the fight occur ?'' " Wei), you see, your eon and a fellow got into a dis pute, and the Fellow struck your son with a quart bottle of whiskey, fracturing his skull and killiDg him instantly." "Struck him with a battle of whiskey. Well, since the poor boy had to die, I'm glad that he died a natural death."

, A little Kock newspaper man, while out in the country, stopp3d at a rude farm house for dinner, Thinking that his pro fession would insure extra attention, he re marked to the farmer: " Necd'nt put your self to extra trouble for me, for I am an editor." "A what?" asked the farmer, re garding the visitor with newly awakened interest. " A newspaperman." "Wall,) reckotf you can git euthin' to eat, anyhow. Some folks mout not giff you nothin' on tbis account, but I never was very particu lar, But bold on. Editor, did I under stand you to say?" "Yes, sir, t am an editor, and, however unfavourable it may strike you, I muet say tbat I am proud of my calling," "I'll bet lOOdols. that yon are one of the fellows that helped to take hell onten the Bible. Beckon you'd better travel. Never mind that corn bread and buttermilk, Jnle."

Money and fame are two things that men work hardest for, and after death one is worth to them just about as much as the other,

SELECTED POETRY.

A WEDDING DAY.

Glad with the perfect light of sea and sky, And sweet June blossoms trembling on their

stalks, And roses tangled near fair garden walks, And tuneful wild birds, singing as they fly; Glad, too, with each fair promised hopa that

dwells Within the fruitful bosom of the year- Bo dawns tlia golden day on which wo hear The happy music o£ thy wedding bells. 0 friend, whoao steps so lightly turn aside To enter on the new and chosen way, May each glad type that Heaven hath strewn

to-day Of joy and lovo before the whlto-robed bride, Bloom in tho fuller sunshine of thy life, And crown with bliss the future of the wifo. Mrs. Mary Blake.

THE WILLOW AND THE STREAM.

It was tho Earl's fair-haired daughter. Walking, when the day was done, By the streamlet's ruahins wator, Golden in the setting sun. Oh! tne willow and the stream. Heard a bird that sung above her. Soft and gently in her ear, "Maiden, there's a gallant lover Long hath waited for thoe hero. Death, they say, is but a dream. 'Neath the willow tree he's lying, With liie face so palo and wan, And the branohos o'er him sighing i3adly for the soul that's gono— Oh! tho willow and the stream. Mute tho ling which could not move her, Nought the staring eyes can see; Cruol maiden I claim thy lovor, For ho died for lovo of thco— Death, they say, is but a dream.

AFTER A WHILE.

There is a Btrange, sweet solaco in the thought That all tho woes we suffer here below May, as a dark and hideous garment wrought For us to wear, whether wo will or no. Bo oast asido, with a relieving smile. After a little while. No mortal roaming but hath certain end; Though far unto the ocean spaoes gray We Fail and sail, without a chart for friend, Abcive tho sky-line, faint and far away. There looms at last the one enchanted isle. Alter a little while. Oh, when our cares come thronging thick and fast, With moro of anguish than the heart can bear, Though friends desert, and. as tho heedless blast, Even lovo pass by us with a stony stare, Let us withdraw into some ruined pile, Or lonely forest aisle, And contemplate the neTer-coaalng change, Whereby the processes of God are wrought, And Irom our petty lives our sonls estrange, Till, bathed in ourrents of exalted thought. Wo fool tho rest that must our cares beguile After a little while! —Natiian D. Übner.

TOO LATE !

The bridal knot ia tied for aye, The falt'ring words are said: And thou, who once wcrt mine, to-day

Art to another wed. I may not mourn at Fate's decree, Nor claim a broken vow, Nor breathe a word of blamo to th cc, For thou art happy now. My lovo! For thou art happy now.

I do not crave to bo forgot. Nor yet remembered well, But when thou wilt, may holy thought Within thy mem'ry dwoll. Whilst I, unpltiod clown of fate, Must bend tho will, and bow To know I prized thy lovo too late! But thou art happy now, My love! But thou art happy now.

I blocs theo as another's wife, Whoso lovo and caro are thino, And may thy peaceful futuro lif o Bo happier than mine. And nmy'st thou never know a caro To cloud thy shining brow, But ail thy dayß be calm and fair As thou art happy now, My lore! But thou art happy now. DUGALD MAOFADYEN.

LOVE.

Love is for ever and divinely, new— As young as when tho first hoart learned to beat, As strong, as tender, and as wildly sweet. The immortal part of us, the crown of fow t Out of tho savago lust of life it grew, ' As a soft flower groweth out of light and neat, A Bpirit of flre that time could not defeat, Which mado tho antiquo world it ovorthrew. Geo. K. Montgomery.

THE REVIVAL.

And'when, one night, the parson come Hia piety friends to greet. Ho found a crowd o' the bummer gang AD. sot on tho hopeful seat He soomod for to take their meanin' in ™ But nover a mite he stirred, An' tho prayer he raised to the Lord that night Whs tho poworf 'lost over heard. He prayed for all mankind that's vllo A Jivin' on earth below, And ho axed a special prayer for them As sot on that thar front row. The gang they stood it as best they could Till it got too drefful hot, And thon the eggs begun for to fly From where them hummers sort. Tho parson allowed a quick amen An* stepped squar up to the crowd— " Show me the feller as flung them eggs 1" He inquiry made aloud. "Waal, what do you purpoßO for to doT One on 'em axed in reply. But Eiforo he knowod it he calmly drapt, With a balcony onto his eye. Them fellers fell and chawed the floor. But the parßOu never stopt Till he'd cleaned the crowd completely out, And the last durned ouss hed dropt. Thon lookin' around on the womon folks In a calm and peaceful way, He sez, "Now sence this eplsodo Has concluded, let us pray." From that thar moment the grace o'tho Lord Pervaded our little town. And them folks got it the wust who'd swore Thoy'd got thet thar preaoher down. That's why I hoy said and still maintain Revivals is doubtless right- But whar would ha' been the grace o' God, Ef that proaoher'd been licked that night!

A Canine Heroine at Tel-el- Kebir.

"Lahd und Water "says :—" At Tel-el- Kebir, Juno, an old Irish setter, belonging to the lit Battalion Gordon Highlanders, bravely ' rushed' the entrenchments at the head of the Highlander*, and displayed a coolness inside and a courage which elicited universal applause, no more minding tbe rain of bullets than if she was ; out snipe shooting. Whether she tackled the enemy we do not know; the rest we can vouch for. But even if her teeth did not meet in any Egyptian leg, her appearance must have spread consternation* ia the rebel ranks. Here they thought no doubt, was one of the ' 2000 bloodhounds' which Sir Garnet Wol seley was credited with keeping in reserve, acd the dauntless pluck exhibited by June must have duly impressed upon their timid niinds the awful consequences which would befall them if they wailed for the arrival of her 1999 canine comrades. They did not wait, but bolted for their lives, with Private Juno has long boen a pet of the regiment. When the order came to proceed te Egypt, everyone said that Juno must go too, and fo too, and go she did, very much to the elight of the men."

The Salvation Army and Popular Tunes.

Tle quarrel between "General" Booth and his clerical critics Las assumed a new and ugly phase. It may not be a matter of great public importance what piona ribaldry is indulged m by the members of the Salvation Army among themselves, or what religious twaddle is published in the " War Cry;" but it is open scandal when such an eminent clergyman as Canon Girdleatone and the devout "general" him self give the lie to one another. The canon protests, and others endorse his statement, that the " War Cry" invites ita readers, when they are intoxicated with something different from wine, to parody a well-known convivial song, by proclaiming of Christ that " he's a jolly good Saviour j" and the "general" protests that" no such line has ever been presented in any publication of the movement." Which of the two is in the right, or whether the one [ia technically in the wronet and the other saves himself by i a quibble, we are not able to cay, but moan while there can be no doubt that all that is good in popular religion suffers by such unseemly squabbling.—" Weekly Dispatch Nov. 12."



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TTITCHENS'S BLOOD RESTORER/ FOR CLEANSING, PURIFVING,,A»D INVIGORATING THE BLuOD. Seven Years' Test in Auckland. rpHIS Medicine differs from ordinary pro- JL prielary preparations, inasmuch as it was the product of years of study and investigation by an eminent physician of the Army Medical Staff, with whom Mr Hltchens served during the New Zealand War, aa Assistant Dispenser to the Im perial Forces, On its introduction to the public as a specific for the cure of Rheumatism, Kheumatio uout, Scrofula, Skin Diseases, Bleod Impurities, and General Debility, ii quickly attained great celebrity, and soon was sought after from every part of New Zealand. •. Its curative and depurative properties have been fully testified by the numerous testimonials received by the proprietor from patients who had long snfiered from the above distressing maladies, who had ap plied in vain to physicians for relief, and m whose cases, Turkish Baths, Hot Springs, and other popular remedies had been re* sorted to without effect; - This celebrated medicine is compounded from products ,of the vegetable Kingdom, is palatable and easily taken, mild, but effec tual, in its action updh the animal econ omy. It is, in sooth, a veritable Blood Kestorbr, cleansing it, and thereby restor ing diminished vitality. It presents, un questionably, a purer, safer, better, and more reliable alterative medicine than any that has hitherto been available to the people. MORE TESTIMONY! Not a SURPRISING CURE To those who know what H ITCHENS' JOLOOD ]R,ESTOKER HAS DONF. In the Auckland Ev»HiNa STAB of the 27th April last, appeared the following local, which explains itself:— The brig Bella Mary, from Melbourne in ballast, bound for Kaipara, put into har bour yesterday morning to obtain medical aid for Captain Owens, master of the vessel, who has been very unwell during the latter part of the voyage. Captain Owens, who has followed the seafaring profession for many years, and had never until leaving Melbourne on April 10th last, suffered from illness of any severe nature, was suddenly seized on that date with violent pains in the bick. Since then he has been swung up in a hammock in the cabin quite helpless. The vessel was off Kaipara at noon on Thursday last, but the weather being thick and foggy, it was deemed advisable to come on to Auck land for medical assistance. The barque arrived early yesterday morning, and Dr. Moore having been sent for, visited Capt. Owens, and gave instructions to the mate of the vessel .regarding treatment. The invalid is suffering from a species of rheumatism of a severe nature, and the doctor considers it advisable to effect a partial recovery before attempting the re« moval of his patient ta more suitable quaiters on shore, Capt. Otvtns is well-, known ia Auckland, and many residents wilt ba sorry to learu of his affliction." % Referring to above, Captain Owen haa this day (Ist December), stated: "After being treated for'"about five weeks by two, medical men successively, with very little) alteration in my condition, except that the pain in my hands and back was made somewhat easier through the effect of the galvanic battery, I felt a gradual sinking that told me the dread cod was not far off, and one of my visiting friends suggested that I should try what Kitchen's Blood Restorer would do, as it was being so talked about far and wide. Without much faith in it, I consented to try it, but did not notice any good effect until I had taken about the third or fourth bottle, when my •: appetite decidedly quickened, and I felt thftt my strength was coming back to me.' I then ccaßfid to take the1 medicine, and. allowed' nature to take ils. course, but finding my appetite going, I stimulated it by email doses of the Restorer, using no other medicine, but applying the ointment freely. By degrees my whole system, seemed to be invigorated; and now, after a treatment of six months, I am able to re sume charge of my_ vessel, and am only. waiting her arrival in port to do fa. I can easily walk four miles a' day without the slightest inconvenience. I consider, my friend's suggestion saved, my life, and that it is a duty that I should publicly testify to the extraordinary power of Hitchena's Blood Restorer over the severest cases of rheumat ism," ■' ' W. M. OWEN. The agents will be happy to thew original manuscripts cf the several pub lished testimonials anent the Remedy,with scores of others not vet published. L. D. * A THAN & Co. »yE HAVE THIS CELEBRATED AND FAVOURITE! BUAND OF • BASB'S ALE & GUINNESS'S STOUT Always in Stock. L. D. NATHAN & CO. 1882-3 T g BJ s 1882-3. We have received onr SECOND SHIPMENT by the Kit g&roomA, from Sydney, troaehlpsed , ex Ganjea 314,8 PACKA.QBB, Constotlrtr o EXTKA CHOICE KAISOWS & CHOICE & MEDIUM CONGOU& Of neat twisted even leaf, and vory strong and rich flavour, AIM, 125 BOXES CHOICEST MANDARIR SCENTED UJUNGK PEKOE. .abovo.wtth about 2000 PACKAGES OF FINEST QUALITIES (Balance of Finst Parcel), •ad 300 PACKAGES OF ASSAM AND DARJEELINGS, jj KnaWo us to offer a vory Rare Selection buyer?. Our Foochow correspondent* Inform us tba Devon-tenths of but shipment wea secured a BXCEPTIOKALIiTr CHEAP RATES, And we ere determined to give oar clionts th FUMi BBHWTT OF THIS. L. D. tf ATHAN & C°