"HAND AND RING,"

By AJWA Katitkrine Ghki:\", Author ol "Tho Lcavenworth Jim-dor," "Tho Sword of IJamodcs," "Tho Defence. of tlio Prudo," etc,

CHAPTER XXIV. A TRUE Bir.L, Como to mo friend, or foe, And tell mo who ij victor, York or Warwick. —IIEN'HY VI. Tm town of Siblcy was in ft stato of excito iiient. About the court-houso especially tho crowd wan jrre;U and tlio interest mani fested intense The Grand Jury was in session, and tho c.i*e of the Widow Clcm mons was boforo it. As all the proceedings of this body are private, the suspenso of those interested in tho issuo was naturally very great. The naino cf tho man lastly suspected of tho crimo had transpired, and both Hlldroth and Mansell had their partisans, though the mystery surrounding tho latter mado his friends loss forward in asserting his inno cence than those of the more thoroughly understood Hildreth. Indeed, the ignor ance felt on all sides as to the express reasons for associating tho name of Mrs Clemmcns's nephew with his aunt's murder added much to the significance of the hour. Conjectures wove plenty and the wonder groat, but the causes why this man, or any other, should lie under a. suspicion equal to that raised against Hildreth at tho inquest, was a mystery that none could solve. But what is tlio curiosity of tho rabble to us? Our inte:vst is in a little room far re moved from this scone of oxcitoment, whero tho young daughter of Professor Darling knools by thesidoof Imogcno Dare, striving by caress and entreaty to win a word from her lips or a glance from her hoavy eyes. "Imogeno," she pleaded,—"lmogono, what is this torriblo grief ? Why did you have to go to tho court-houso this morning with papa, and why havo you been almost dead with terror and misery evor since you got back ! Tell mo, or I shull porish of moro fright. For weoks now, cvor since you woro bo good as to help mo with my wedding elothos, I have scon that something dread ful was weighing upon your mind, but this which you aro suffering now ia awful; this I cannot bear. Cannot you speak, dear ? Words will do you good." "Words!"

Oh, the despair, the bitterness of that single exolamation! Miss Darling drew back in dismay. As if released, Imogene rose to her feot and surveyed tho sweet and ingenuous countenance uplifted to hor own, with a look of faint recognition pf tho womanly sympathy it conveyed. "Helen," she resumed, " you aro happy. Don't stay hero with me, but go whore tnero aro cheorfulness and hope." > "But I cannot whilo you suffer so. I' love you, Imogono. Would you drive me] away from your side when you are so un-l bappy ? You don't caro for me as I do for you or you could not do it."

" Helen !" Tho deep tone made tho sym pathetic little bride-elect quiver. "Helen, some griefs aro best borne alone. Only a few hours now and I shall know tho worst. Lioave me."

But tho gentle little croature was not to be driven away. She only clung tho closer and pleaded the more earnestly : " Tell me, tell mo !"

Tha reiteration of this request was too much fo.- the pallid woman before. Laying her two hands on the shoulders of this child, she drew back and looked her earnestly in the face.

" Helen," she cried, " what do you know of earthly anguish ? A petted child, the favourite of happy fortune, you have been kept from evil as from a blight. Nono of the annoyances of lifo have been allowed to enter your path, much less its griefs and ems. Terror with you is but a name, re morse an unknown sensation. Even your l«vo has no depths in it such fia suffering gives. Yet, since you do love, and love well, perhaps you can understsnd some thing of what a human soul can endure who Bees its only hope and only love tottering above a gulf too horrible for words to de scribe—a gulf, too, which her own hand But no, I cannot toll you. I ovor rated my strength. I " She sank back, but the next moment started again to her feet: a sorvant had opened the door. "What is it!" she exclaimed ; "speak, tell me." " Only a gentleman to see you, miss." "Only a " But she stopped in that vain repetition of the girl's simplo words, and lookedjat her aa if she would forco from her lips tho name sho had not tho courage to demand ; but failing to obtain it turned away to the glass, where she quietly smoothed her hair and adjusted the lace at her throat, and then catching sight of the tear-stained face of Helen, stooped and gave her a kiss, after which she moved mechanically to the door and went down those broad flights, one after one, till she came to the parlour, when she went in and encountered —Mr Orcutt. A glance at his face told her all ehe wanted to know. "Ah !" she gasped, "it ia then " " Manse!! .'" It wa? five minutes later. Imogene loaned against the window where she had withdrawn herself at the utterance of that one word. Mr Oreutt stood a couple of paces behind her. " Imogene," said he, " thore is a question I would like to have you answer." The feverish agitation expressed in his tone made her look around. "Put it," she mechanically replied. But he did not find it easy to do this, while her eyes rested upon him in such despair. He folt, however, that the doubt £n his mind must be satisfied at all hazards ; So choking down an emotion that was al most as boundless aa her own, he Tentured to ask :

"Is it among the possibilities that you Conld ever again contemplate giving yourself in marriage to Craik Mansell, no matter what the issuo of the coming trial may be?" A shudder quick and powerful as that whioh follows the withdrawal of a dart from on agonizing wound shook her whole frame for a moment, but she answered steadily : "No ; how can you ask, Mr Orcutt?" A gleam of relief shot across his some what haggard features. "Then," said he, "it will be no treason in me to assure you that never, has my love been greater for you than to-day. That to save you from the pain which you are now suffering, I would sacrifice everything, even my pride. If, therefore, there is any kind ness I can show you, any deed I can per form for your sake, I am ready to attempt it, Imogene." , "Would you—" she hesitated, but gathered courago as she met his eye— •' would you bo willing to go to him with a messago from me ?" His glance fell and his lips took a line that startled Imogene, but his answer, though given with bitterness, was encourag ing. " Yes," he returned ; " even that. "Then," she cried, " tell him that to save the innocent, I had to betray the guilty, but in doing this I did not spare myself.; that whatever his doom may be, I shall share it, even though it be that of death. "Imogene I" " Will you tell him ?" she asked. But ho would not have been a man, much less a lover, if he could answer that ques tion now. Seizing her by the arm, he looked her wildly in the face. "Do you mean to kill yourself?" he de manded. , "I feel I shall no* live," she gasped, while her Sand went involuntarily to her heart. He gazed at her in horror. "And if he i 3 cleared?" he hoarsely ejaculated. " I—l shall try to endure my fate. He cravo her another long, long look. "So this is the alternative you give me? he bitterly exclaimed. "In™* either save this man or see you perish. Well, he declared, after a few minutes further con templation of her face, "I will save this man—that is, If he will allow me to do so. A flash of joy such as he had not per ceived on her countenance for weeks trans formed its marble-like severity into some thins of its pristine beauty. ■•And you will take him my message also ?" she cried". But to this he shook his head. " If I am to approach him as a lawyer willing to undertake his cause, don't you see I can give him no such message as that ? ■ "Ah, yes, yes. But you can tell him Imogene Dare has risked her own life and happiness to save the innocent." " I will tell him whatever I can to show your pity and your misery." • And she had to content herself with this. In the light of the new hope that was thus unexpectedly held out to her, it did not Beem so difficult. Giving Mr Orcutt her. hand, she endeavoured to thank him, but the reaction from her long suspense was toe

much, and for the first timo in her bravo young life, Imogono lost consciousness and fainted quite away.

CHAPTER XXV. AMONO TELESCOPES AND GHAUTS. Tarry a little-thero Is something else. —Merchant ov Venice. GoovBRNKUIt Hildmtk was discharged and Craik Mansoll committed to prison to await his trial. Horace Byrd, who no longer had any motivo for remaining in Sibloy, had com pleted all his preparations to return to New York. Ilis valise was packed, his adieus i made, and nothing was left for him to do but to step around to tho station, when ho bethought him of a certain question ho had not put to Hickory. Seeking him out. ho propounded it. " Hickory," said ho, " have you ever dis covered in the course of your inquiries whero Miss Dare was on tho morning of tho murder ?" Tho stalwart detective, who was in a very contented frame of mind, answered up with great eheoriness: "Haven't I, though ! It was one of tho very first things I made sure of. Sho wos at Professor Darling's lioiiso on Summer Avenue." "At Professor Darling's house?" Mr Byrd felt a sensation of dismay. Professor Darling's house was, as you remember, in almost direct communication with Mrs L'lommens's cottage by means of a path through tho woods. As M> Byrd recalled his first experience in threading those woods, and romombored with what sudden ness he hud emerged from them only to tind limself in'full view of the West Sido and Professor Darling's spacious villa, he stared uneasily at hit) colleague and said : "It is train time, Hickory, but I cannot lelp that. Before I leave this town I must <now just what sho wns doing on that morning, and whom sho was with. Can you find out ?" " Cart I find out f" The haidy detective was out of the door beforo the last word of this scornful ro petition had loft his lips. Ho was gone an hour. When ho roturned ho looked vory much oxeitcd. " Woll I" ho ejaculated, breathlessly, " I havo had an oxperionee."

Mr Byrd gave him a look, saw somo tiling ho did not liko in his face, and moved uneasily in his chair. " You havo Vho retorted. " What in it ? Spoak." "Do you know," tho othor resumed, "that the hardest thing lever had to do was to keep my hoad down in tho hut the othor day, and deny myself a look at the woman who could bear herself so bravely in the midst of a scene so torriblo. Well," ho went on, " I havo to-day boon rewarded for my self-control. I havo scon Miss Dare."

Horace Byrd could scarcely restrain his irapationco. " Whoro?" ho domanded. "How? Toll a fellow, can't you I"

"I am going to," protested Hickory. " Cannot you wait a minute ? / had to wait forty. Woll," ho continued inoro plcnaantly as ho saw tho other frown, " I went to Pro fessor Darling's. There is a girl there I have talked to before, and I had no dilliciilty in seeing her or getting a five minutes chat with her at tho baok-gato. Odd how mich girls will talk ! Sho told mo in three min utes all I wanted tc know. Not that it was so much only— " "Do get on," interrupted Mr Byrd. " When did Miss Dare come to tho hou»o on the morning Mrs Clemmena was murtloreil, and what did she do while there?"

" Sho came early ; by ten o'clock or so, I believe, and sho sat, If sho did sit, in an obsorvatory they have at tho top of tho house ; a placo where she often used to go I am told to study astronomy with Pro fessor Darling's oldest daughter." "And was Miss Darling with hor that morning ? Did thoy study together all the tiiuo she was in the house !"

"No; that is, the girl said no ono wont up to tho obsorvatory with Alias Daro ; that Miss Darling did not happen to be at homo that day, and Miss baro had to etudy alone. Hearing this," puriuod Hickory, answering tho look of impatience in the other's face, "I had a curiosity to interview tho ob servatory, and being—woll, not a clumsy fellow at softaoaping a girl—l at last suc ceeding in prevailing upon hor to tako mo up. Byrd,"will you believe mo when I tell you that wo did it without going into the house!" "What?" " I mean," corrected the othor, " without entering the main part of tho building. I Tho professor's house has a tower, you know, at the upper antjlo toward tho woads, and it is in the top of that tower ho keops his telescopes and all that kind of thing. The tower has a special staircase of its own. It is a spiral one, and opens on a door below that connects directly with the garden. Wo went up these stairs." "You dared to?" "Yes ; the girl assured ma evoryono was out of tho house but the servants, and I believed her. We went up the stairs, enterod the observatory " " It is not kept locked, then ?' "It was not locked to-day—saw the room, which is a curious one—glanced out over tho view, which is well worth seeing, and then " "Well, what?" "I believe I stood still and asked the . girl a question or two more. I inquired," ' he went on, deprecating tho other's im patience by a wave of his nervous hand, "when Miss Dare came down from this I place on the morning you remember. She answered that sho couldn't quite toll ; that sho wouldn't havo remembered anything about it at all, only that Miss Tremaine came to the house that morning, and want ing to see Miss Daro, ordered nor to go up to the observatory and tell that lady to ( come down, and that she went, but to her surprise did not find Miss Dare there, ; though she was sure she had not gone home, or, at least, hadn't taken any of the cars ; that start from the front of the house, for she had looked at them every ono as they went by the basement window whero she was at work."

" The girl said this'" "Yes, standing in the door of this Bmall room, and looking me straight in the eye." "And did you ask her nothing more? Say nothing about the time, Hickory, or— or inquire where she supposed Miss Dare to have gone ?" "Yes, I asked her all this. I am not without curiosity any more than you are, Mrßyrd." " And she replied I" "Oh, as to the time, that it was some where before noon. Her reason for,being sure of this was that Miss Tremaino de clined to wait till another effort had been made to find Miss Dare, saying she had an engagement at twelve which she did not wish to break."

"And the girl's notions about where Miss Dare had gone ?" "Such as you expect, Byrd. She said she did not know anything about it, but that Miss Daro ofton went strolling in tho garden, or even in the woods, when she came to Professor Darling's house, and that she supposed she had gone off on gome such walk at this time, for, at one o'clock or thereabouts, she saw her pass in the horse car on her way back to tho town." "Hickory, I wish you had not told me this just as I am going back to the city." " Wish I had not told it, or wish I had not gone to Professor Darling's house as you requested ?" " Wish you had not told it. I dare not wish the other. But you spoke of seeing Miss Dare; how was that ? where did you runacrosSjher?" " Do you want to hear ? "Of course, of course." " But I thought " "Oh, never mind, old boy; tell me tne whole now, as long as you have told me any. Was she in the house ?" " I will tell you. I had asked the" girl all the questions, as I have said, and was about to leave the observatory and go below when I thought I would' cast another glance around the curious old place, and in doing so caught a glimpse of a huge portfolio of charts, as I supposed, standing upright in a rack that stretched across the further portion of the room. Somehow my heart misgave me when I saw this rack, and, scarcely conscious that it was I feared, I crossed the floor and looked behind the portfolio. Byrd, there was a woman Crouched there—a woman whose pallid cheeks and burning eyes lifted to meet my own, .told me only too plainly that it was Miss Dare. I have had many experiences," Hickory allowed, after a moment, "and some of them anything but pleasant to my self, but 1 don't think I ever felt just as I did at that instant. I believe I attempted a bow I don't remember; or, at least, tried to murmur some exouse, but the look that came into her face paralysed me, and I stopped before I had gotten very far, and waited to hear what she would say. But she did not ?ay much; she merely rose, and, turning toward me, exclaimed: 'No apologia.-; you are a detective, I suppose ?' And when I nodded, or made some other token that she bad guessed correctly, she,

merely remarked, flashing upon me, how ever, in a way I do not yet understand: ' Well, you have got what you desired, and now can go.' And I wont, Byrd, went; and I felt puzzled, I don't know why, and a littlo bit sore abouttho heart, too, as if Well, I can't even tell what I moan by that if. Tho only thing I am suro of is, that Mansoll's cause hasn't been helped by this day's job, and that if this lady is askod on tho witness Btand whero sho was during tho hour evory ono believed her to bo safoly shut up with the tolescopos and charts, wo shall hear- " "What?" " Well, that she was shut up with them, most likoly. Women like her aro not to bo oasily disconcerted even on tho witness stand."

CHAPTER XXVI. "HE SHALL lIBAR MB !" Thoro's Bomo ill plnnot reigns; I must be putiont till tho heavens look With an aspect more favourablo. —Winteu's Tale. Thk timo is midnight, the day tho same as that which saw this irruption of Hickory into Professor Darling's obsorvatory ; the scene that of Miss Daro's own room in tho north-east tower. Sho is standing beforo a table with a letter in her hand and a look upon her face that, if seen, would havo added much to tho puzzlement of tho dotoc tives. Tho letter was from Mr Orcutt, and ran thus: "I hare seenM'rMangell,andhaveongaged myself to undertake his defence. When I tell you that out of the hundreds of cases I have tried in my still short lifo I havo lost but a small percentage, you will understand what this means. "In pursuance to your wishes, I mentioned your name to the prisoner with an intima tion that I had a message from you to do lirer. But ho stopped m« before I could uttor a word. ' I receive no communica tion from Miss Dwa !' ho declared, and, anxious us ] really was to do your bidding, 1 wt>s compelled to refrain ; for his tone was ono of hatred, and his look that of in eliable scorn," This was all, but it was onongh. Imo gone had rend those words over three times, and now was ready to plunge tho letter into the flame of a candle to destroy it. As it burned, her griof and indignation took words:

" Ho is alionatod, complotoly alienated," sho gasped; "and I do not wonder. But," and hero tho full majesty of her nature broke forth in one grand gesture, "Ho shall hear me yet! As thore is a God above, he shall hoar me yet, ovon if it has to bo in the open court and in tho presonce of judgo and jury I"

BOOK 111.

Tho Soalos of Justtoe.

CHAPTER XXVII,

TIIK KKBAT TRIAL,

Othello.— What float thou think? latio.— Think, my lord i Othella—liy heav'n, ho ochoes tno, Aa if thoro was some monster lv his thought Too hideous to bo nhown —Othki.i.o. Siiilky was in a stir. Siblov was the central point of interest for tho wholo country. Tho groat trial was in progress, and the curiosity of tho popuiaco know no bounds. In a room of tho hotel sat our two dotoc tived. Thoy had just como from tho court house Both seemed inclined to talk, though botli showed an indisposition to open the conversation. A hesitation lay between them ; a certain thin veil of ombarraasraont that either one would havo found it hard to explain, and yet which KUtliced to make their intercourso a trillo uncgrtain in ita character, though Hickory's look had lost nono of ita rude good-humour, and Byrd's timiiner was tho same mixture of easy non chulnnoo nnd quiet sclf-possossion it had al ways boon. It was Hickory who spoke at last. " Well, Byrd !" was his suggestive ex clamation. " Well. Hickory ?" was the quiet reply. " What do you think of tho cuso so far?" "I think"—the words enmo somowhak slowly—"I think that it lookH bad. Bad for the prisoner, I mean," he explained tho noxt moment with a quick flush. " Your sympathies are evidently with Mansoll," Hickory quiotly remarked.

"Yes," was the slow reply. "Not that I think him innocent, or would turn a hair'i breadtli from tho truth to servo him."

" He is a manly fellow," Hickory bluntly admitted, after a moments puff at tho pipo ho was smoking. "Do you remomber the peculiar straightforwardness of his look when ho uttered his plea of'Notguilty," and the tone ho used too, so quiot, yot bo emphatic ? You could havo heard ft pin drop."

" Yes," returned Mr Byrd, with a quick contraction of his usually smooth brow.

"Havo you noticed," the other broko forth, after another puff, "a certain curious air of disdain that he wears ?'

" Yes," was again the short roply. "I wonder what it means?" queried Hickory, carelessly, knocking tho ashes out of his pipe. Mr Byrd flashed a quick askance look at his colleague from under his half-fallon lids, but made no answer.

"It is not prido alone," resumed tho rough-and-ready detective, hali-musingly ; "though ho's as proud as the best of 'em. Neither is it any sort of mako-beliovo, or / wouldn't bo caught by it. 'Tis—'tie— what?" And Hickory rubbed his nose with his thoughtful forefinger, and looked inquiringly at Mr Byrd.

"How should I know!" remarked the other, tossing his stump of a cigar Into the firo. '' Mr Mansoll is too deop a problem for me."

" And Miss Dare toe ?" "And Miss Dare."

Silence followed this admission, which Hickory broke nt last by observing: "The day that see? her on the witnow stand will by interesting, eh ?" " It is not far off,'1 declared Mr Byrd. "No?" "I think she will bo called as a witness to-morrow."

" Have you noticed," betran Hickory again, after anothor short interval of quiot contemplation, " that it Is only when Miss Daro is present that Mansell wears the look of scorn I have just mentioned."l " Hickory," said Mr Byrd, wheeling di rectly about in his chair and for the first time eurveying his colleague squarely, "I have noticed this. That ever since the day die made her first appearance in the court room, sho has sat with her eyes fixed earnestly upon the prisoner, and that he has never answered her look by so much as a glance in her direction. This has but one explanation as I take it. He never forgets that it is through her he has been brought to trial for his life."

Mr Byrd uttered this very distinctly, and with a decided emphasis. But the im pervious Hickory only settled himsejf farther back in his chair, and stretching his feet out toward the fire, remarked dryly: "Perhaps I am not much of a judge of human nature, but I should have said now that this Mansell was not a man to treat her contemptuously for that. Rago he might show or hatred, but this quiet ignor ing of her presence se^ms a little too digni fied fora criminal facing a person he lias every reason to believe is convinced of his guilt." " Ordinary rules don't apply to this man. Neither you nor I can sound his nature. If he displays contempt it is because he is of the sort to feel it for the woman who has betrayed him."

" You make him out mean-spirited, then, as well as wicked ?"

"I make him out human. More than that, " Mr Byrd resumed after a moment's thought, "Imakehimoutconsistent. Amat who lets his passions sway him to the ex tent of committing a murder for the pur pose of satisfying his lore or his ambition, is not of the unselfish cast that would ap preciate such a sacrifice as Miss Dare has made. This under the supposition that our reasons for believing him guilty are well founded. If our suppositions are false, and the crime was not committed by him, his contempt needs no explanation." "Just so !" The peculiar tone in which this was uttered caused Mr Byrd to flash another quick look at his colleague. Hickory did not soem to observe it. "What makes you think Miss Dare will be called to the witness stand to-morrow ?" he aßked.

"Well, I will tell you," returned Byrd, with the sudden vivacity of one glad to turn the current of conversation into a fresh channel. "If you have followed the method of the prosecution as I have done, you will have noticed that it has advanced to its point by definite stages. First, wit nesses were produced to prove the existence of motive on the part of the accused. Mr Goodman was called to the witness stand, and, after him, other business men of Buffalo, all of whom united in unqualified assertions of the prisoner's frequently-es;

pressed desire for a sum of money sufficient to put. his invention into practical use. Next, tho amount considered necessary for this purposo was ascertained and found to bo just covered by the legacy bequeathed him by his aunt; after which, ample evi denco was produced to show that ho knew the extent of her small fortuno, and tho fact that she had by lior will made him her heir. Motivo for tho crime boing thus established, they now proceeded to prove that he was not without actual opportunity for perpotrating it. He was shown to have' boon in Sibloy at tho timo of tho murder. The station-master at Monteith was con fronted with tho prisoner, also old Sally Porkinß. Thon you and I came bofore the court with our testimony, and whatevor doubt may havo remained as to his having been in a position to ofl'oct his aunt's death, and aftorward escape unnoticed by moans of the path leading over tho hills to Mon teith Qjarry station, was swept away. What remains? To connect him with the murder itself, by some strong link of circum stancial ovidenco, such us tho ring provides. And who is it that can give testimony re garding tho ring ?—Miss Dare."

"Hem! Well, she will do it," was the dry remark of Hickory. "She will bo obliged to do it," was tho emphatic responso of Byrd.

And again their glances crossed in a fur tivo way both seemed ready to ignore. "What do you think of Orcutt?" Hickory noxt inquired. " Ho is very quiet." " Too quiet, oil '!"

" Perhaps. Folks that know him well declare they never beforo saw him conduct a case in so tumpcrato a manner. Ho has ■scarcely made an effort at cross-examina tion, and, in fact, has thus far won nothing for tho dofonco oxcopt that astonishing tribute to tho prisoner's character given by Mr Goodman."

" Mr Goodman is Mnnsell'x friend."

"I know it; but hiai short, docisivo statements told upon tho jury. Such a man as ho made Jlansoll out to bo is just tho sort to croato an impression on a body of men liko them."

" Orcutt understands a jury."

" Orcutt understands hie caso. lie knows ho can make nothing by attempting to shako tho evidonco which has beou pre sented by tho prosecution \ tho facto aro too clear, and tho witnossoa which huvo boon called to toetify are of too reliablo a charac ter. Whatever dofonce he contemplates, it will rest upon a denial of any of tho facta brought to light through our ofTbrte, or the ovidonco of such porsona as Messrs Good mnn and Harrison." "No." " Tho question in, thon, in what will it lie ? Some strong point, I warrant you, or ho would not hold himself and his plauß bo completely in reserve. But what strong point? I acknowledge the uncertainty troubles mo." "I don't wonder," rejoined Hiokory. " So it does me." And a constraint again fell botween thorn that lasted till Hickory put his pipo In his poekot und signified his intention of return ing to his own apartmontri. (To ha Continued.)

On the Peg.

1 [audio it ten derly, undo dear; keep it safoly until next year. I'ut it In camphor us well aa "hook." Add it to tin- bwoUliir stock. Give me tho ticket, likewise the ciish ; it has made me many v mash. Though often wot, ne'or before in «oak, it nniet no now, for I'm doad broke. Bud memories clinK to the K»r inent dear, enpeoiiilly to llio tailor neiir. who t'M>k my measure ami nlso my note, for n suit of clothes und this ovorcoat. He mild he could wait, so 1 let him. you cci-: waiting, still wait- Inpr, he still ia for me. Like the grave, it covered ma ny a fault, of shiny suits and Old Time's assault. Worn-out bindings and many a creuse, many lost buttons and si)o t a of grease. Its lengthy tails, with graceful eaao, covered the pant", with buggy knees. Spring's gontlo zep- hyOrswOill soon be here; take tho Newiiiurlc- 01, unclu dear. See on thin left lapol a slnglo goldon hair. Twas th ero was won'ttorratj iho head of Annie fu ir. In tho beautiful moonlight at the gii rden gate, Oft would, wn lit until tho hour was lute. And once' when col-larod by hor stornold dad, 1 thought a 11 was up with this young lad, Sco what a rent the old wat c h dog nuido. thro' horo the old man'a foot, was played. And, aa ho swu n g his number four teen boot, it was over 80 far away I had to Bcoot. Han dle it tendorly keep it with caro from tho mothbsecretrav iiKes.fromwcarnnd tear. Keep it till next winter's llrat (snowy llnko. and I hit tho bank and niukeastako. Then will T turn my footst ops liero and redeem the Newmarket, the Newmarket dear, —Providence Telegram.

Petroleum and Its Uses.

Althouoh so mticli has been written on this ns to its value in horticulture, there nro many, says a writer in the Journal of }lor ticuUure, who havo not commonccd using it, and, on tho other hand, thoro nro others ■who havo long sinco discarded it und tuken tip other more expensive and loss effectual insecticides, simply through accidents occa sioned by tho paraffin being injudiciously applied. Groat caro is necessary in tho preparation provious to its buing used on tender plants, as without this huccoss is very uncurtain. I have used it now for several years successfully on many stovo and greonhouso plants, such as crotons, draccunas, gardenias, stophanotis, azaleas, nnd camellias, and therefore I am in a posi tion to say it is a safe and offbctual remedy against mealy bug, scale of all kinds, und thrips, I cannot assert it is destructive to red spider, and it is of but littlo value for aphides, at loaat such is my oxporienco; but there aro other very simplo moaus for tho destruction of these pests.

In tho first place, wator boated to 110°, or as hot as tho operator can boar it, should bo used, as at this temporaturo tho oil mixes bettor, and it will also ho moro oflbctunl. Two ounces to a gallon is considered suffi cient for most of tho insects above men tioned ; and in mo&suring, for want of something better, wo have nn ordinary aix otinco rncdicino bottlo, using this filled for four gallons of wator. Two syringos are sot to work, and after tho wholo has been thoroughly mixed by forcibly discharging tho contents of the syringe into the vessel used for tho purpose several times, ono man then commences to syringe tho affected plants with tho mixture, whilo tho other continues stirring the contents of the pot with all force possible, othorwiso tho oil floats on tho surface Whero ono syringe only is available- every third syringoful should bo applied to tho plants. Some use soft-soap with the oil, but, after trying both ways, I fail to sco any advantage from using tho former substance when tho latter is au£ ficient by itself. Dull weather should be solected for applying petroloum, or in the evoning when the sun is off the house, as I have found tho sun affects the oil in such a way as to bo very injurious to plant life. It is the safest plan to wash tho oil off with clear water some timo after, although in dull weather wo have frequently left this on them without any apparent harm. In mild weather we carry our plants outdoors and lay them on their sides to clear them, as in this way any insects that fall off uninjured can be loft outside.

As a winter dressing for peaches the trees here have recoivod nothing more than this for several years, and we aro never troubled with either scale or bug now. Care is taken to wet every part of the tree, and this is carried out in the same manner as in tho case of plants. Tho time taken in applying this on peach trees is very little compared with the old system of brushing all the main stems of trees with various other mixtures, not to mention the fact of its being bo much more effectual, while several of the latter are equally as dangerous if not applied care fully. Climbers, such as stephanotis, thun bergias, tacsonias, and passiflora, when affected with mealy bug, we look over fre quently, applying a mixture of water and paraffin in about equal parts with a feather ; a touch from the tip of the latter dipped in this proves instant death to this pest, and by adopting this plan we can keep free from this much-dreaded insect. For sponging, too, paraffin is in request, this leaving more easily the desirable and beautiful gloss on the leaves, and also causes the dirt to sepa rate more easily; but in this case soap is used with it, the former in the proportion of about a teaspoonful to a gallon of water, care being exercised to stir it well, bo as to avoid taking tho oil from the surface in the sponge. If petroleum of good quality is obtained, and strict measures taken in its preparation, no one will have occasion to abuse it, as on these two points success depends. We use it here for cleaning the glass and woodwork of the houses, and find it more speedy in its action than soap alone.

In the fruit garden petroleum is indis pensable, many gardeners using this for soaking various kinds of seeds to protect them from the attacks of birds and mice ; but we find it is not proof against the latter by itself, but if a little red lead is shaken over the seeds when wet they will not suit their tastes so well. It is thought by some that the celery and onion flies can be par tially checked by syringing this over the plants occasionally in the evening, ond for American blight on apple trees it is a well known remedy, as well as for the scale that infests Pear trees.

THE FRENCH REVOLUTION.

Lecture Delivered by Sir. Milllgr.n Hogg, Barrister, in St. Sepulchre's School-room.

The subject I have choson for this paper is the French Revolution. I have selected it because it stands conspicuous as tho last and most striking landmark in the path of human development. If you take a bird's eyo view of the field of history you will per ceivo that there is no human society which is actually at a standstill. All are either growing or declining. In each institutions arc either expanding or contracting. But among societies which are expanding pro gress is not by any means regular; some are ahead of others, and ono takos yoars to work out what another will violently accomplish in a few months. At tho pre sont time we sco mankind, led by a vanguard of Europeans, travelling along certain linos to an unknown end called Civilisation. Nobody can tell exactly what civilisation is, but every Europeanly descended person thinks he has it, and stigmatises those who are not as ho is barbarous. I believe that civilisation con sists in bringing people togothor into donso societies so as to soouro tho greatest happi ness of tho grcatost number; in other words, it if the constant intensifying of sympathy and tho persistent suppression of ideas of solfishnoss, isolation, and retribu tion. Until tho Fronoh Revolution tho object of Governments was to provont man kind flying apart into petty isolated cities, states, and tribes, and to wold thorn into tho nationH wo at present know. But with tho Fronch Revolution commenced a now ora of social politics. Honceforth tho busi noHH of Govornuionts will bo rather to swoop and garnish tho nation within than to pro tect it from foes without and maintain its own integrity.

You will think it Btrango in iho face of tho atrocities and odious passions begotten by tho French Involution to hear mo declare that ita mission was a high and holy ono, and that it was tho natural outcome of the Gospel of Christ. It was civil battle, ' in which two parties grappled at one another's throats, striving to decide which of them should givo the law to men's minds. Tho king and aristocracy wished to mono polise the swoota of civilisation, tho bulk of tho nation strove to assort, and did assert, its right to participate in tho fruits of a civilisation which they had been mainly instrumental in rearing. Tho old watch word was " Inequality," the new ono "Less Inequality" in thoeo things which mako this complex life we aro all holping to por petuate oujoyablo. Inasmuoh as you owe no small portion of your present happiness to tho efforts of the French Revolutionists, you should understand tho nature of the bloody drama in which they played their parta. More In Auckland you do not know what it is to cringo to a so-called " superior," you do not know what it is to bo hungry, you do not kuow what it is to bo cold and miserable. Conditions are tolerably equal, nature is genial, and land is plentiful in proportion to population. But nowhere in Europo do all thoce conditions coexist, and Htill lons did thoy co-exist thoro before the French Revolution. Insomo parts of Europe people often encounter cold, and must do so for n'l agoH, but millions aro onduring miner}1 owing to false social arrangements ; and even in England thoro aro relics of that servility with which tho loss fortunate oncountorod tho moro fortunate bofore the French and American Revolutions brought it into discredit. The most superficial evidence ot this sorvility remains in the practico of touching the hat by inforiora (ao callod) to suporiore, who perhaps barely nod in roturn, In my boyhood, poor worn-out old peasantH would do this in country lanos to woll-drcssed passers-by, whoso only posaiblo claim to estimation in tho mind of tho devotee must havo boon their fino clothes. What Provoked tho Revolution. I will now read you a pioco of Thackoray, showing what European society was liko boforo tho French Revolution :—" As one viows Europo through contemporary books of travel during the early part of last century tho landgcapo is awful. Wrotched wastes, beggared and plundored, half-burnod cot tages, and wrotched peasants gathoring pitoouK harvest*!. Gangs of such tramping ' .ilong, with bayonets behind them, and cor porals with canes and cat-o'-nino-tails to llog thorn to barracks. Hard by, but far away from tho voico and brawling of the citizens and burgors, is the king's or prince's palaco, shut in by woods from the beegarod country—tho enormous, hideous, gilded, monstrous marble palace, whoro tho princo is, and the Court, and the trim gar ilons, and huge fountains, and tho forest whoro tho ragged peasants aro boating in tho game." Ho then describes how within thoao sacred proclncts tho elect hunt during tho day and gamble, ilirt, or drink at night. "Chen ho goes on :—" Beyond tho trim-cut forest vistas misery ia lying outside, hunger U stalking about tho bare villages, listlessly following precarious husbandry, ploughing I stony fioldß with starved cattle, or fear i fully taking in Bcanty harvests. Thon tho ' princo, his mintrossog, and his satellites— ! can Court be moro splendid, nobles and . knights moro gallant and auperb, ladies moro lovely ? A grander monarch or a moro miserable, starved wrotch than the peasant, his subjoct, you cannot look upon. Lot us boar both those types in mind if we •vish to estimate the old society properly. Remember tho glory and tho chivalry? Vo.s ! remember tho grace and the beauty, tho splendour and the lofty politonosß. But round all that royal splendour lies a nation enslaved and ruined. Tho people nro robbed of thoir rights, communities laid waste, faith, justico, commerce, trampled upon and well nigh destroyed. Nay, in the very centre of royalty itself what horrible stains and meanness. In the first half of last century this was going on all Europe 1 over."

Things are better now, most so In France, lets so in England, and etill less so in Ger many and Russia. Tho fact is that a hundred years ago every considerable European country was dominated by a king, a nobility, and a clerical hierarchy, who ate up all the good things for the privilege of misgoverning the peoplo. Those had no voico in governing thomsolves, and got nothing but labour and wounds as their heritage in the fortunes of tho nation. France was the first people to riso and pro tost against this injustice. It had kings who professod to govern, but in reality did nothing but lead lazy, dissoluto lives, build palaces, wage ruinous and useless wars, and scandalise respectable pooplo. It had noblos who gathered at the royal palaces to toady tho king's ministers for licenses to bleed tho public, who squandered the revenues of their country estates in frivolity and licentiousness, and who believed their sole mission was to enjoy themselves when they were not cutting one another's throats or the throats of tho king's enemies.

In novels you read a great doal about these follows. They were profuso, gorgeous in dress, courageous, alternately superb or brutal in their manners. They walked about with an arrogant assumption of superiority towards all but tho monarch, and behaved as wo should now consider like tyrants and like cads. Their notion of fun was to dig their elbows into the ribs of respeotable citizens or knock their hats over their eyes, because by law the citizen could not retaliate with impunity. Even the imperfeot records of daily occurences in those times show us that they had far less humanity for a peasant than an American planter had for his slave, and that to take a pop shot at a man shingling a roof or run a Darber through for ifi-shaving you, or drive wantonly over a common person who couldn't get out of the way, were ordinary incidents of aristocratic life, for which a pardon could easily be procured. Such creaj tures aro not now to be met with in France. England suffers from a much milder type, but in Russia something similar can still be found. They were grandiose and varnished barbarians, and the only power capable of keeping them in order was that of a money lender or a mortgagee. The king or prince and his nobles were not, however, the only classes who lived at the expense of tho nation without, as law yers Bay ( affording valuable consideration in return. There was also the clorgy of the established religion. As were the noblesse who plundered the people and cringed before their ruler, so were the clergy. There were poor clergy as there were poor nobles, who lived pinched and self-denying lives, and many of whom tried to do good in their own feeble way; but this type had no influence at Court or in the misgovern ment of the country. It was the prelates, who paid no taxes, and had in their disposal the revenues of rich rural and town proper ties bequeathed to tho Church by pious founders. They were just as much Court loafers, debauchees, suckers of the nation's heart-blood as the nobles, without posses sing the nobles' readiness to fight their country's battles. So in France, a hundred years ago, these three privileged classes of ruler, nobles, and prelates lived upon the public, and held moat of the land, Out of exactions called

{ tailles, droits do seigneur, gabelles, corvdes, they reared costly buildings. These, like the Pyramids anrl tho Colosseum, soothe and awe the ignorant, tourist, wh j knows not that they are dumb witnesses of past oppression, Tho stonos remain, but the agonies of those whose poverty was wantonly aggravated to erect these wondcra have found no such lasting monument. If tho cruelty, tho ox tortion, and the silent extermination of their follows which were perpetrated by the feudal classes in Europe could bo expressed in statistics, tho elaughtorings and confisca tions visited upon tho Froncli section of them cannot be deemed more than a meet atone ment for their selfishness. In days when there was no daily press and irrepressible reporting to lay tho rod of publicity upon their backs, they smote tho people in a hole and-corner manner. If the peoplo rose and retaliated, they stamped them down with a cruel and an iron heel, and thon hired Court historians to chronicle a distorted account of theuprising. TheFrotich Revolutionists were not more ruthless than tho king, nobles, and clergy had boon in their hey-day ; but the blaze of modorn journalism shone upon tho Revolutionists, while the atrocities of the feudal classes wero moro remote, and the truth about them moro difficult to ascer tain. It is defective records, and not tho absence of defects, which makes classical and feudal times look so rosy and romantic and modorn times so prosy and out of joint, Growth of the Revolution. Forty years before tho French Rovolutiou took place Lord Chesterfield, an Eng lish poor with tho characteristic vices of the Froncli nobility, visited France and predicted what was coming. The pro digal, profligate, and irresponsible rule of king, nobles, and prelates, had bogun to grow distatoful to tho pooplo. It was not because the yoko bore heavier than for merly, but because tho printing press was bringing the minds of men together, and showing them the cruelty and injustice of the system under which they had so long boon content to groan. It is a curious fact, which venemtus abusers of tho French Revolution nover explain, that, whereas the peasantry wcro ragged and starving for a century before it, no such misery is to be seen in Franco nowadays, though the popula tion is greater by ten millions. Hear what Lady Wortley Montague tells of them 70 years bofore tho Revolution : —" I think nothing so'terriblo as objeots of misery . . . and all the country villages of France show nothing else. While the post horses are changed tho whole town comes out to beg with such miserable starved faces and thin tatterod clothos, they neod no other eloquenco to persuade one of the wretched ness of their condition. This is all tho French magnificence until you como to Fontainblcuu, whore you are showed 1,500 rooms in the King's hunting palace." So ovon an aristocrat like Lady Montague accustomod to over-bear and exact respect from tho peasant ciaso in her own country is shocked at tho condition to which Franco had been roduced. Tho blood of these poor peasants had been poured out like water on tho fields of Blenheim, Kamilliea, Ouden ardo, and Malplaquot hy Louis XIV. in his cruel attempts to aggrandize himself at tho oxnonso of his neighbours. but tho pamphleteer, the journalist, the sciontkt, and1 tho author wero rising to put an end to this tyranny. Voltaire, Didortit, D'A!«mbert, Rouleau, and others were creat ing n public conscienco through tho medium of the press. Could tho princes, tho nobles, or tho prelates have isafuly crushed eodio of these men, they would have done so in tho beginning: but England, Holland, Switzer land, and I'rupviaafforded them secure van tage points from which to conduct their operations. Men in France and eleewhor* be^aii to look one another in the face and ask each other if such things as these writers reprobated could bo. A wider field for comparison was laid open to the human mind, which it was clearly evident tho old dictates of authority could not cover. Tho cloctricr.l thrill of reason and of fooling began to pass from person to person, and men took courago to think and judge for thomsolvcs. Louis XIV. died 73 years bofore the KovoUition. Ho left France oxhausted by wanton wars and profitless enterprises. His Huccegsor, Louis XV., did nothing but cat, drink, and loud the life of a man of pleasure, leaving his favourites and mistresses to misgovern tho country. Ho died just 110 years ago, cursed by the rising spirit of public discontent. His successor was that Louis XVI, of unfortunate memory, who, with his wife, Mario Antoinette, were discrowned and decapitated in tho con- Ilict provoked by tho oppressive system ot which they wero the soul. Thoy wore not vicious; thoy wero not cruel: they wore perfectly willing to lot other people be comfortable, and wopt at tho sufferings of their subjects : but thoy formed part of a system and a class, and without oncroaching upon this system and destroying the privi leges of this class, it was impossible to purge tho realm of Franco of tho accumulated evil of centuries. The nobles, knowingthatany re form meant a curtailment of their unearned prerogatives, insisted in putting forward the monarchy as a stalking horso where with ti) stem tho currant of change, and this current, on being continuously ob structed, swelled up into an angry whirlpool of revolution, which tossed or tore to pieces thosowho came within its influence. Forty yoars later tho English aristocracy, warned by tho fate of thoir French brethren, escaped a similar fate by yielding with very bad grace to tho passage of the Keform Bill of 1532.

Louis XVI. and Mario Antoinette reigned fifteen years before their position began to bo assailed. During these years tho Go vernmont of tho country was growing ever moro needy and more incapable. Tho Go vernment had been absoluto for centuries. No representatives of the people were ever collected to lay before tho throno the wants and wishes of tho nation. The only deliberative body was tho Assembly of tho Notables, which represented the interests of the privileged classes, and which acted moro selfishly and tyrannically than even tho Kings Minister's in any matters affecting tho wolfaro of "tho people. It was a matter of hard cash which brought tho old absolute regimo into difficulties, and compelled it to call representatives of the Commons to gether to help in the Government. Tho exchequer was empty, and by none of tho old timo - honoured methods could the tar: - gatherers of tho king replenish it. The nobles and clergy, although they had large estates, ware more locusts and drones. They paid no thing, and, jn addition to spending their own rents and revenues, wished to lwe upon tho rovenues which the King drew from bis pooplo. This was too heavy a price to givo for maintaining a lpt of idle persons to help tho King misgovorn tho country.

Commencement of tho Revolution. Tho Rovolution began by the King calling the noblos together and asking them to tax themselves. This proposal they rejected as an atrocious novelty ; little thinking that by thus acting they were preparing other noveltios for themselves, such as the loss of their fortunes and thoir lives. It is clear that the onus of having provoked the angry passions of the people lios upon tho nobles, who persistently hampered the King's Ministers in thoir mildest attempts at re form. Hence, instead of reform thoy got revolution. When tho King found that ho could do nsthing with tho privileged classes, ho in structed his Ministers to call tho States General. This was tho Old Fronch Legisla ture which had boon suppressed for 170 year" Tho people were to elect GOO mem bers, the noblos 300, tho clergy 300. The King summoned the States General to meet in May, 1789, ai Versailles, near Paris, and for six months boforehand, during the oloc tions, France was on the tiptoe of expecta tion. Although there was great poverty, dearth, anddistressamongthepeasantry.and thoroads were crowded with boggars, still the hearts of the people bounded with hope at tho proßpoct of having a voice in the venti lation of their grievances. To a people who have been long abused and oppressed by those who have got upon the top of them, tho prospect of having their say out upon the subject of their grievances must be pleasurable to an extent wo are incapable of appreciating. We "arc so satiated with lOKislativo action that we would almost pay our representatives to stay away. Now this shows tho difference between our happy lot and that of the French before the Revolution.

In May, 95 years ago, tho nobles, clorgy, and commons, came to the King's Palace at Versailles, near Paris. The eyes of all France were on their representatives to see how they would behave. The first movo of the nobles and clergy was to insist upon each body sitting separately. By this method tho two votes of the house of nobles and the house of clergy would over power the single vote of the house of commons. But the commons would not have this; they requested that the whole twelve hundred of them should deliberate together. In that caso the commons would have 600 votes to the 600 votes of the nobles and the clergy. As the nobles and clergy held aloof, matters were at » dead lock! The King thereupon entered, and after politely ordering the Commons toget to business/shut them out ofdoors. The Commons retaliated by meeting m a tennis court, and in the presence of an enthusi astic crowd of spectators voted themselves the Constiuent Assembly of the people, whose business it was to redress grievances, declaring at the same time, that, their sit tings should fee perpetual until this object

was secured. The Bang was cowed, and tho clergy, accompanied by a few of the j nobles, came over to deliberate in one body , with tho Commons. Thug the people of Franco threw down tho gauntlet to their former oppressors, and proceeded to call them to account. The leaders of the majority in this Constituent Assembly were not extreme Kovolulionists or even Re publicans. Somo of them were young nobles ; their captain, Mirabeau, a man of strong intellect, mas3ive will, and pas sionate eloquence, was himself a noble's son, and had an elder brother among the partisans of the nobles. Their beau ideal of Government was a constitutional monarchy like that of their English neighbours. But the Queen, Mario Antoinette, more active and more jealous of her royal pririleges than her husband, hated tho encroaching measures of tho Assembly, entertained the most vindictive feelings for their advo cates, and encouraged the nobles, clergy, and household officers to throw every possible impediment in the path of re form. Instead of judiciously and loyally coinciding with tho inevitab.'e changes; in stead of calling up the royal troops to carry them out, and to protect the Assembly from tho Parisian mob who infested the galleries and often threatened the members, they did all they could to make matters worse. Thus did the Queen and the courtiers uncon sciously provoke tho storm which destroyed thorn, and not only themsolves, but also many others who merely wished to lighten tho burdens of tho people without hurting tho monarchy or depriving the r obles of their property. Through tne folly of tho Court and the nobility, the passions of the peoplo woro fanned to that point where compromise became impossible, and nought was left but to tear ono another to pieces.

Tho Constituent Assembly sat for two years and a-half, It took away hereditary titles from tho nobles, but loft them their property. It suppressed all abbeys, monas teries, and convents, and transferred their proporty to the Stato. It abolished all tho old foudal exactions made by the nobles and clergy upon tho peoplo, and instituted a general system of taxation instead. Thus, in a few months, it did more to abolish privilege than the English people havo done sinco tho roign of Henry VIII. In England the hereditary peerage still exists, and certain light feudal dues are yet owing. The Constituent Assembly also de clared that their King should not bo called tho King of France, but the King of the French, to signify ho was elected by the peoplo, and not entitled to rule as of divine right. But the privileged classes took alarm, and their disinclination to accept tho nsw conditions irritated the people. Before their representatives had sat four month." tho Parisian populace stormed the Bastile. It was the prison of the French monarchs— tho embodiment of their tyranny. Within its gloomy walls many an innocent person had pined away — guilty, perhaps, of nothing more than having offended Borne great noble who had influence enough to procure a leltrc dt cachet consign ing the victim to everlasting oblivion. In tho country districts tho peasantry' whom Lady Mary Montague described, began, like the townspeople, to show vin dictive feelingetowards those whohad preyed upon thorn so long. Some of tho nobles' chateaux were stormed and gutted—the owners, in cases, not escaping with their lives. This alarmed the rest, and many emigrated ovor the French frontier into Germany, from whence they fomented dis satisfaction at tho capital, and plotted to get foreign utatos to stifle tho growing liberties of their follow country people. Hy thus forsaking their poets and conspiring against their native land, they rendered the ma.se. of the Fronch nation rancorous and desperate. Even the moderate constitutionalists know that were themonarchy andnobility restored by foreign arms to their old superiority, many of them would be imprisoned for life or executed. At all events, the royalists threatened them with this, and they had no reason to suppose that tho promise would not be punctually performed, did the tide of revolution roll back. You see, therefore, that it was not in the power of any single person to draw up when the instinct of self-preserva tion was dragging multitudes in such op posito directions. The blame lay not so much with thoso who were reaping tho whirlwind as with those who had been sow ing tho wind for centuries before.

(To be Continued.)

HUMOROUS CLIPPINGS.

When they can't make an Albany baby quit crying in any other way, they let him crawl under a bed and make him believe that they think he is lost and they are looking for him, and he will keep quiet fcr two hours.

Too Honest to be Thdsted.—A gentle man stopped his horse at a toll-gate, and not seeing the gate-keeper went into the house. Finding no ono he began to search, and finally discovered the gate-keeper out in tho field at work. Although the old man was quite a distance away, tho gentleman went into the field, approached the old man, and said : "You are the toll-gate-keeper, I be lieve ?" " Yes, sir," the old man replied, turning and leaning upon his hoe handle. 1 " Well, I want to go through the gate." " Ain't tho gate open ? " " Yes." " Well, why don't you go through ? It's my business to be here." " Because I want to pay you." " And you came all the way out here to pay me five cents ?" " Yes, sir," said the gentleman, proudly looking tho old man in the eye. "Couldn't you have left the money on tho table t" " Yes, but I wanted you to know that I had paid you." " You are an honest man." "Yes, sir," replied the gentleman, while a pleased expression spread over his face. " You would have walked three times as far to have paid me that five cents, wouldn't you ? "

"Yes, sir, I would." " Here, John," called the old man to a boy that lay in the shade, "call the dog and go along and watch this fellow till he gets away. Bet a hundred dollars he steals aomettiing 'fore he leaves the place." Setting a Hen.—Mr Verns: I see dob most efferpoty wrides someding for de shicken bapers nowadays, and 1 tought p'raps moppo I can do dot too, as I wnde all apout vat dook place mit me lnsht summer. You know—oder of you don't know, den I tolls you—dot Katrina (dot ish mine vrow) und me, vo keops some shickens for a long dime ago, und yon -toy she suit to me : " Sockery " (dot ish mine name), " vy dond you put some of the aigs under dot olt plue hen shicken, I tink she vants to sate?" " Veil," I sait, " meb-be I guess I vill." So I bick-id oud some of the best aigs und dook urn oud do to barn vere de olt hen make her nesht in de site of de hay mow, poud six feet up. Now you see I nefer was fery pig up ant town, but I vas J)ooty pig all de vay arount in te mittle, so koodirt reach up dill I vent and git a parrel do shtand on; veil, I klimet me on te parrel, and vcn my hot rise up by de nesht, dot old plue hen she gif me such a peck dot my nose runs all ofer my face mit plood, and vcn I tudgo pack, dot plasted olt parrel he preaks, und I vent town ker shlain! I didn't tink I kood go insite a parrel before, but dere I vas, and I fit so dite dot I koodn't git out effervay. My vosht was bushed vay up unter my arm holes. Yen I fount dot I vas dite sthuck, I holler, " Katrina! Katrina!" und yen she koom and see me sthuck in te parrel up to my arm-holes, mit my face all plood and aigs. she shust lait town on de hay and laft and laft till I got so mad I sait, " Vot you lay there and laf like a olt fool, eh? Vy dond you koom bull me oud?" und she set up and sait, " Oh, wipe off your chin, und pull your vesht down j" den she lait pack und laft like she vood sphlit herself more as effer. Mat as I vas, I tought to myself, Katrina, she shpeak English pooty goot, but I only sait, with my greatest dignitudo, " Katrina, vill you bull me oud dis parrel?" und she see dot I look pooty red, so she sait, " Ob courso I vill, Sockery;" den she lait me und de parrel on our site, und I dook hold de door sill, and Katrina she bull on de parrel; but de first bull she mate I yellet, " Donder ami blitzen! shtop dot; dere is nails m de parrel!" You see de nails bent down yen I vent in, but yen I koom oud dey sthicked in me all de vay rount. Veil, to make a short sthory long, I told Katrina to go und dell naypor Hausman to pring a saw und saw me dis parrel off. Veil, he koom, und he like to sphlit himself with laf too, but he roll me ofer und saw de parrel all de vay rount off, und I git up mit half a parrel aroend my vaist. Den Katrina she say, " Sockery, vait a little till I git a tat tern of dat new overskirt you haf on; but 1 didn't sait a vort. I shust got a knife und vittle de hoops off und sling dot olt parrel in de woodpile. Pimeby, yen Igoin de house, Katrina she sait, so soft-like,'' Sockery, don t you going to but some aigs unter dat olt plue hen?" Den I sait in my deepest woice, " Katrina, if you efer say dot to me again, I'll get a pill from you, help me cluminy cracious," und I dell you she didn't say dot any more. Veil, Mr. Verris, when I shtep on a parrel now, I don't shtep on it—l get •a pos, Worry drooly yourse, Sockery Kadsuat.— Poultry Monthly.

Training and Pruning.

[From "North Nbw Zealand SErrmn."]

Apart from cutting away any broken, dead, or diseased portions of a tree, tho knife is used as a part of training, and under tlas head pruning is practiced with two different motives. The first is to shape or form the young tree, and lay, as it were, a frame work for the future production of fruit, and the second and the most important, cer tainly the most difficult, is to regulate the supply of blossoming wood, and conse quently of fruit. It will be perceived that the shape of a tree, the position and direction of its branches, and their number and dis tance from each other, are matters to be arranged chiefly whilst the tree is young and growing, for after it has attained a certain age it will in a great measure be beyond the control oi the pruner as far as its general formation goes. There are four leading classes of trees: the dwarf standard, the free standard, the espalier, and the wall trained trees. The system of dwarfing fruit trees originated "probably with the Dutch, and was introduced into England during the reign of the Prince of Orange. It possesses some advantages; the trees occupy less room, come into tearing earlier, remain, owing to their nature, more under the control of the trainer, and in cases of blight, scale, and other diseases which re quire constant attention, are far more easily attended to. From the fruit-bearing branches being nearer the ground, it is more easy to shelter them, aud the situa tion is warmer. On the other hand they re quite more attention than largertrees in pro portion to the quantity of fruit produced, and are every way more "finical." The climate in North New Zealand is such that all the ordinary fruits grown in England and the Continent of Europe can be culti vuted to great advantage in sheltered posi tions in tho open air as large standards, and this mode will therefore be found to be the best for the ordinary settler, choosing, of course, the more hardy varieties for his purpose. However, it will be found advan tageous to grow also a few dwarf trees even in his case, particularly some of the more delicate kinds of French and Flemish pears, early cherries, and delicate apples, particu larly .the latter, varieties from the southern parts of Europe and warm countries, sweet dessert apples which are too good to be abandoned on account of the blight which is sure to attack them sooner or later. Many kinds of vines will also pay well to grow as dwarf standards. The peach, nec tarine, most ordinary plums, do bo well as large tree? that they do not require to be dwarfed, and the fig is not very suitable for that mode of culture. Whatever trees you make up your mind to grow, in this way, you mußt be careful not to fall into the common error of sticking them in be tween the larger trees to fill up your space, unless they are planted at the same time and intended to remain there only until the larger trees are grown. Give them the best exposure you have, plenty of shelter and sun, and plant them in rows to them selves in front-that is to say, on the north Hide of the rows of big trees. The distance apart will depend on the size of the tree. Many gardeners, particularly the Dutch and French, do not allow them to grow much higher than gooseberry buehes. In this country, and for all ordinary purposes, I would let them attain a height such as to be easily reached by standing on a stool for the purpose of dressing, say, certainly not anything over 7. or 8 feet, and in that case the distance might be about 10 feet, or even 8 feet will do. The pears would of course be on quince .stocks; the apples would do better on spy than Magettin stocks, and the cherries on the Mahaleb ; peaches, nectarines, apricots, and almonds, if you grow any, on the plum stocks. The stocks must be grafted very low down, near the ground, but not under it, as the scion, particularly in the case of tha pear and many varieties of the apple, will throw out roots; and in planting you must be careful to remove any tap roots. If you huve such a thing handy, a thin, flat stone placed under the tree to prevent tapping is good; if not you will have to watch your tree, and, if you find it growing too luxuri antly, you will have to check it by pruning back the roots, and see that they do not tap, for ivery often a second tap root will grow after you have removed the first. When you choose the shape of your dwarf, I should recommend you to give up any idea of following the Dutch fashion of fanciful shapes, such, for instance, as their "cup and ball," allowing tho lower branches to form the cup ; then a straight stem and a round head at the end of it for the ball. Such grotesque forms are no more ornamental than their fanciful Dutch gardens, nor what I have seen in Holland, their wooden flower pots with a painted wooden flower in them. Nor do I much like the old English plan of allowing them to grow " en buisson " (like a gooseberry bush). If they are not spread out east and west on espalier rails, I would prefer the French favourite styles "en pyra mide" or "en quenouille." The first is suit able to trees of straight growing habit, and the second to those of a wavey, diooping habit. It is difficult to describe these methods without plates, but I* will make it as plain as I can. Your object is to grow one straight perpendicular stem, and rows of branches all round it, at intervals of, say, 9 or 10 inches, the lower branches to be the longest, and those above to gradually shorten till a pyramid form is attained. These branches should be pretty close to gether, but not by any means to touch or rub, and with sufficient room to allow of twigs growing from them without inter fering, as it is on those-twigs the fruit will be produced. Here you must be guided by the individual habit of the variety, some trees being much more "twiggy" than others. If there are four or five woodbuds around the stem of the tree near the ground, 60 much the better; if not, you will have to cut back your leading shoot in winter to produce latteral branches. And if your tree is of luxurious growth, you can also pinch off the leading shoot in summer, which will have the same effect. When ever you have obtained the four or fiva latteral branches in this way, you must be careful to train one of them upright as a leading stem. Sometimes you will find it necessary to insert a bud where it is wanted, and you will have to pinch off all buds grow ing where they are not required. When the tree has attained the form and size you desire, you must keep it there by continued nipping off the green ends of the shoots, using only the nail, and aa much as possible avoiding the knife, and you must be care ful to avoid forming what the French call «'at<ste de saule," or bushy head at the ends of the branches. When your tree is of a drooping habit and you adopt the second mode of training, the " quenouille," you ■will cultivate your straight leading stem. You will let the naked stem grow higher from the ground, height according to the droop of tho branch. Instead of four or five branches all round the stem, you will grow three branches around the stem, not in a ring, but at equal distances from each other all the way up the tree in a spiral form. When those branches grow, you will reduce them, the lower ones, say, to 18 inches, and the upper ones.gradually to less, from the stem, and allow three or four drooping or wavy branchets to spread out from them. To do this you can cut the branches with one or more forks if neces ; sixry. These prunings need not be done simultaneously, but as the growth of the tree admits. You will find that the straight growing varieties will have a tendency to grow too upright and close in on the stem. This you will easily correct by stretching the branches out with thin sticks into their required positions. Some of your trees will give you a little trouble, but as they are small, and you can easily reach any portion of them on foot, it will not be much, and many of them will train very easily. _ Of course you can follow these precise direc tions only as nearly as you can. If you find some branches grow too fast for the others, nip off the ends of them or cut away a por tion of the bark. The very superior flavour of the fruit, its abundance in proportion to the size of the tree, and tihe ease with which yon can reach the branches for all purposes, will, I think, amply repay your trouble; but do not neglect your larger trees, for the dwarfs, particularly in quinces, do not last for ever.

With regard to the_ pruning, or, I should rather say, the shaping of large standard trees, trees differ so much in their habit that ono course of training would not be applicable to all varieties. In point of fact, to deal properly with the subject, this branch ought to be explained whilst treat ing of each kind of tree separately, which it is not very easy to do in a work of this kind and the limited space allotted for the purpose. Taking the ordinary run of trees, the apple, the pear, the peach, the nec tarine, the plum, the apricot, the quince, the cherry, the medlar, the mulberry, &c, although many people grow all these trees much as they happen to form themselves, merely thinning them out to a certain ex tent, and grow abundance of fruit too, I should prefer seeing my trees with some thing like a reasonable shape and form. On the Continent, nurserymen are very careful how they train young trees ; and when you go to a nurseryman and purchase a tree, he asks you for what purpose you want it. He has them trained, as far as they go, for special uses. Here you ask for a Cox's orange pippin or a black-heart cherry, and if the variety is correct it 13 as much as you can expect. Some nursery men cf coarse are more careful than others, and last year I saw some apples in Mason's

nicely trained for standards. To my way oi thinking all the trees mentioned ought to stand, luce a hen roosting, on one leg For fin ordinary orchard I would let them have another stem of four, five, or six feet, tha smaller varieties and the most sensitive to the wind the shorter the stem. The shape of the tree nhould be, habit admittiiigi something like that of a cabbage, the main branches growing first outwards, and then curving upwards. A line drawn from the tip of a branch to its insertion at the stem should form an angle of 45 degrees from the perpendicular. All the shape pruning that an orchardist can do with this class of trees is to provide main branches or boughs of thisdeseription at distances to prevent any rubbing; to thin out where there are too many, and where there is a paucity or a tendency of the main stem to run up branchless, to cut it back in winter, or nip it back in summer, to make branch buds sprout. In addition to this you must be careful to keep the head open, and leave room for the fruit-bearing twigs, and the penetration of the sun to ripen the fruit. Large standards soon get beyond your control; you must thorefore be careful to lay a good foundation whilst they are young. You will find the uso of spreading sticks exceedingly beneficial even more so than the knife, and when young branch buds appear where they are not wanted, do not let them remain for the knife, but nip them off whilst green. Do as much finger and thumb pruning as you can j it is far less injurious than cutting formed wood in many respects, for reasons I need not go into here. I have included the mulberry in the above-mentioned tices, but the mulberry does not stand knife-pruning so well as some of the others, and the cut branches arc very liable to be attacked by the canker worm. The vino and the fig are also pecu liar as to pruning, and bleed very freely; indeed there have been instances of tho vino difference of opinion as to the distance above the bud. Some people prefer cutting down close to the bud, but most gardeners prefer cutting immediately under the last bud removed, and at a future period, when the wood has shrivelled, paring it away close to the new branch. This means more trouble, but is a safer plan. You will easily know a wood bud from a floral one, as the former has only one head and the latter three. The best time for pruning is after the fall of the leaf when the tree ib torpid- but never prune in frosty weather. Do not put it off till the buds are swelling and sap rising, and further, neither prune nor disbud during fructification. Let your summer pruning or pinching be done with before the fruit is formed. Before closing this part of pruning I would wish to say that the knife in the hands of a skilful orchardist is a most useful implement, but its use is often overdone. Too severe print ing is bad, and it is altogether wrong to allow your trees to run riot in their youth and then to walk into them with a saw, You can no more manage them in that way than you can children: they must be trained from their youth up, in order that when they grow beyond your reach their habits vine bears a great variety of climate accord ing to the kinds. I have seen magnificent fields of standards in the warmest countries in the south of Europe, and again in the cold hill terraces of Germany, and the climate of North New Zealand ought to be one of the best in the world for it. Whether the climate of England has altered or not recently, It is certain that at one time . the south and south-west .of England used to be extensive unu-growing districts. The whito muscadine, white sweet Water, black Hamburgh, and some of the varieties of the Frontignac are quite hardy enough for the ' open air here. The Syrian is one of, if not the finest and most delicate. It is supposed to be the variety brought into the Israelitish camp by the two spies, who carried it on a pole to prevent injury to its extremely delicate fruit. The Verdelho, or Madeira grape, i» also a very fine grape, and pos sesses some good qualities. It thrives in shadier places than any other known variety would fruit in, and occupies less space for its roots —in fact can be grown with advan- , tage in small pots. When you prune, cut off above a wood bud, which points in the direction you wish the branch to grow. Cut with a slope, the point of which is on the side of the wood-bud, and there is a bleeding to death when pruned in the full flow of the sap upwards, and pruning the fig is open to many objections. The fig grows well here as a standard in the open air, and the fruit attains a much richer flavour than it does in the warmer parts of England, where it is not looked upon with much favour. The fruit is peculiar in many respects, and one of them is that, un less thoroughly ripe and sweet, it is fit for no purpose. To produce fruit worth grow ing it requires, even here, rich soil, and a warm sheltered position where it will grow, to a great size. I should never attempt to dwarf or prune it, but simply remove the suckers and nip off all superfluous green shoots. Give it plenty of room, say forty feet, and let it grow as large as it likes, Our worthy Editor has already furnished so much, and such full information on the subject of vine culture in the two last . numbers, that it would bo overdoing it for ; me to enter upon it, at all events just now. I will only say that vines would pay well here grown as dwarfed standards. The may be formed. Again when you find that every time you remove a branch, half a dozen are ready to sprout out, and the top shoots grow unreasonably quick and long, straight up, it would be well for you to look to the roots and shorten them. On the other hand never attempt to prune up a sickly, stunted tree. If a tree is in such a state, dig the ground, drain it, clear it, manure it, or move it to a drier and warmer place, if you think any of those things will cure it. It either arises from one of these causes, or from some physical defect—imperfectly taken graft, or other cause. If it does not assume a reasonable growth very soon, throw it away ; pruning will only make it worse. Espalier training" is a very good form in some cases. In that of an ordinary settler in the country I do not know that it answers much purpose. I should prefer a standard dwarfing. Isa walled garden of limited space in the suburbs of a town it is a very good and cheap substituteforthewallused in England , and cold countries. It has the advantages of saving space, spreading the branches in given directions, and keeping the tree under j control. The same kinds of trees as recom mended for dwarf standards are best adapted for this style for the same reasons. Suppose your garden is fenced with a wall for fruit trees, or even a high fence of any kind on the south-east and west sides, you can have rows of espaliers close to the fence and sheltered by it, and as they spread out to the sun they will not interfere much with your flower bordets, or if you go in for utility more than ornament, your vegetables; or if .you have a brick wall for trained fruit trees, as all our rich merchants with\ suburban villas most certainly ought to have, then your espaliers can occupy the I second border on the other side of the walk, and form highly ornamental as well as ■ useful additions to the garden. The form of the espalier is well known to most people; it may be more or less complete or costly; I have seen mere stakes driven into the ground, and connected at the top by a cross piece used with good effect, but neat sawn stuff, uprights and cross pieces, are much the best. They can be made any height and any distance apart; a good height would be from six to eight feet more or less according to what is behind them. They must not be high enough to injure the trees, if there are any on the wall behind them. Fifteen feet apart is a usual distance, but for robust growing varieties twenty is not too much. The training of these trees is so much like that of wall trees (which I intend to describe in next number) that I ' shall not go into it here, and the dwarfing must be done much in the same way as that of the dwarf standards. The advantage they have over the wall system of course w the saving of expense and, except with very delicate trees, which in colder countries require a hot wall, they answer very well. They arej not so cramped up and severely constrained, and yet the fruit is well ex posed to the sun. On the whole, for suburban gardens, where no great expenses are desired, and room is limited, I consider this mode of fruit culture by far the best, s I am constrained by the want of space to put off what is to be said as to training of wall fruit and the pruning which relates to fruit blossoms till next month. In the meantime, as the fruit tree planting is on, I would recommend a little more care than is generally given to this operation. The. delicate rootlets of trees, although dormant at present, are very easily injured, and a too long exposure to the air is apt to dry them up. You cannot be too careful of the roots when transplanting. If you have any distance to carry them, wrap them carefully up in damp soft material. See that they are not pruned too much, or broken and injured, and when you plant them spread them carefully out round the tree on fine mould; place .well pulverized mound on the top, touching them, and press it gently but firmly on them; Three or four inches is deep enough, and above all ';-, things put a stake to each tree and securd it, so that when the dry weather comes the tree will not be .shaken. Round the outside place some dung or mulching of some kind,' three or four inches thick, and a little wider than the roots underneath. By attending to these rules you will greatly forward the . growth and health of your trees, and ju all probability procuro your fruit at xieast V year sooner.

TfiE AUCKLAND EVENING STAR, SATURDAY, JULY 5, 1584.

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