A STRANDED SHIP: A STORY OF SEA AND SHORE.

By L. OLARKK DAVIS.

PART 111. (Coktinwsd.)

Thk life boats were hurriedly run down to the shore, ns quickly manned, and a down brawny fishermen stood by, ready to launch them when tho littlo craft struck tho bar. But she did not strike at all. She was sud denly put hard to windward, the gale caught tho few yards of the mainsail still unfurled about the peak, she obeyed the hand at the helm, and whllo the eager Crowd looked On and held their breath while a hundred seconds might be t jld off, tho yacht lifted up hor bow again, struck fcho crest of tho last defeated broakor, plunged and roso and plunged and rose, lind tho next instant sailed quietly into the Unruffled surfaco of tho river. Without 4ny scorning hasto or 'excite ment she was battened down ; after some trunks and b'&ggago woro brought up from below, her shattered sails were furled, her ™ggl«R cut away, hor decks cleared, her ■yawl was launched, tho luggage stowed into it, and then tho crow and tho blua-coatcd ekxlpr landed. ( Ho was mot by tho wrecking-master, who extonded his brawny hand in token of welcome and fellowship, for the old follow had been a sailor bofore the other was born.

' Thanks for your timely signal, Cap tain. Tho littlo Argo would scarcoly havo brought ua safely to shoro without it; and in that caae tho golden fleece would liavo been altogether lost to mo, I am afraid." "I dunno about that Qeoce, Cap'en, but I do know you've just saved your bacon, and although I say it to your face, which I shouldn't, you'ro a bravo fellow, and I'd like to shake hands agen if you don't mind it; also, while you're hero, I'd like it mightily if you'd mako my house your own, just to stay at or come and go to, as you like; a bed's better nor a hammock any time, and similarly, dry land better nor Watorj but," said the Captain, "why in tnuttdbt did you, a peart enough sailor as 1 vo seen today, run onto a lco-shor'o fn a not-easier?"

it,'! T1''c last tliing first, then, Captain, aneyAchthas sottled six inches since she crossed that last breaker; that strained and hammered her to death ; but sho wna sinking boforo the galo came on, and I ran on a lcoshoro, thinking only of benching hor as a desperate clianco for life; just then I saw your inlet horo, niado for it, got lay course by your signal, and hero I nm, and there's my hand, and I will take your bed, and again a thousand thanks to you for my safety."

"You ought to thank God for it, young man ; for whon tho soa roso up to swallow you alive, it was His hand, not mine, that parted the waters and delivered you." • "I do thank God," the sailor said, " with all my heart, my friend, and " Something just then blanched tho bravo young fellow's faco whiter than tho threatened death out there had done. What was it? What had stopped the ready current of his talk, cutting short his speech ? What was it that made his hand tremble up to his mouth in that weak, un certain way? Not anything in the old Captain's manner; not the soft, brown eyes of the girl, timidly bent upon him, not the quiet, controlled eyes of the man on \Vhose arm she lamed. Yot, for a hurried moment, ho -was cowed, as no more physical danger could have done; he seemed to the girl to have suddenly lost his height of stature and bravery of bearing ; to shrink and tremble before the man at her -Me. She looked alternately into thoir faces for an answer to hU curious be haviour ; but when she turned to the Pro fessor, the usual grave, reticent smile was on his lips, and if the two mon had ever mot before, there was no sign of it in the I'ro fessoi's eyea, which looted dully into the eyes of tho sailor, absent of moaning or re> cognition, _ When, still perplexed at the unsolved riddle, she turned again to the other man, he was shaking hands gayly enough with the old Wrecking-master; then he gave some directions quietly and coolly to the crew about his luggago and the sinking yacht. HU face was turned fully toward her, and she noticed that the pallor and fright Were gone from it; that his manner was easy and possessed* that, as he looked toward her, there was a bright, boyish (imilO il» bu ayaa ; -<i<ul n'kan Pji.t«i„ H--—•• f resented Mr Luke Connor to her and the rofessor, the two men gravely saluted each' other after the fashion of gentlemen, and she noticed the bits of talk succeeding had nothing different in them from other bits of talk likely to chance between two intelligent persons whon introduced to each other.

"We must congratulate you on your escape," the Profosaor said. "Tt our vessel is sinking, I think jou told tho Captain." "Yos, she leaked badly before, but that last thumping she got in the inlet was too much for her. She will be gone in an hour, if she is not already aground." " Theu," said Margaret, her rare, sweet snile mocking tho gravely spoken words, "I aii afraid the modem Jason will have all the dangers of the voyage and pursuit, without finding the treasure he seeks." Luke Connor looked far out to sea as the jtirl stopped speaking, as if he weighed the dangers he had passed, before ho answered her.

"I am not so suns of tbat," he said pro ."Mitly. " The gods of to-day, I fancy, a-re a3 vigilant aud strong as those elder ones j indeed, I am not sure they are not the sime, and who knows that they did not ssnd the new Argo there, to this shore, knowing that here the modern Jason might find what lie sought? Adventurer? are silling to-day over every eea in search of it; one is 'hunting it in the mines of California or Australia, another in India or Japan, but everybody 13 hunting it some where. I think the golden fleece of to clay hoply another name for happiness, and I am as likely to find it here aa elsewhere." The man's voice had grown low and solemn «nd prophetic, and the girl, noticing his changed manner, looked at him curiously. If then he bad given one bold glance into the pure brown eyes before him, or had dared to cast a single admiring look at her, or at the bright masses of the golden hair waving so luxuriantly about her neck and face, she would have caught the hidden sense of his meaning, and if she had, she would have avoided him for ever after. But hie eyeß did not once meet hers, they being still bent far out at sea; aad the girl, too simple and true to bo sus picious or to take alarm, only-simply wondered where, among the melancholy groves of that grim shore, the golden prize might hang. , But the Professor, quicker of thought than she, *nd more suspicious too, knew that Margaret had curiously attracted Luke Connor, and that the tawny hair floating about her form typified to the reckless sailor Jason's fabled fleece. The Argo had settled at flood tide, but her deck still showed above the surface of the shallow river. "She lies safe enough there." Luke said. "If you think her traps worth the trouble, she is yours to dis mantle, Captain Brown, but her hull is sprained and thumped to pieces." He looked back regretfully at the sunken wreck. They hai been . gooi frisnds to gether, the man and bis boat. If, as he said, the golden fleece was only another name for happiness, he had sought that in many places in his yacht. They had shared a good many dangers, lived true, brave lives together, struggling and wrestling with tempest and eea, aud now the old Argo lay thero in that hole of a river, suuk and worthless. It had been a bettor life than any he knew on shore. That was a fever of dissipation, a round of pleasure that was unwholesome and vile. The 'only love he knew there was the love- that.he hud bought. The lips <hat khsed tlie p re brow of Psyche had kissed r,o pure lips since ; the hand made bloody on thatlong a»o commencement right had never been cftan again, he morbidly fancied Yet in every hour of (his man's pluogts into vice and wretchedness, his; true, noblir self cii°d out for tom;thing better—for the sweet, manly life be had once known-for friendship and love. But he knew that men looked coldly on him ; that fathers of pure girls never asked him to their houses ; that mixed' with the sincerest interest men ever'showedhim, there was. more than one half morbid curiosity. He knew, when he met his former friends fare to iac.n that jf they, noticed him at all, which few did, they we quietly, wondering, us they pa=sed on their opposite way, how a murderer must feel; what must be the daily life of a man who has escaped hang it'g, or what distempered fancies oi the murdered victim tortured him by nurht. If he could have answered them at all,te would have said that no thought of being hanged that no ghost of the dead man who had wronged his sister, overcame to him by day or night. But while no glioat over haunted him, sleeping or waking, the awful crime of which his soul stood guilty was like a second self, clinging close as hia

Bkin, urging him forever into the Lethe of riot and dissipation. He only lived to for get, to get rid for awhile of himself; and the pity of it all was, that under the crust of vice that was on it, there was a true, manly, noble self, tull ef generous impulses, capablo of heroic achievements, worthy of good men's honour and affectionate regard ; but indoed it was true, he had buried it all very deop, so that men went on remember ing hia crime, after they should have for given and forgotten tho actors in it. While tho men whom he had known in that old, happier time placed a gulf, im* possible to bridge over, bjtween him and them, it was curious that women and little children, with their pure, unerring in stincts', came close to and loved the man. It might have been partly hiti genuine, hearty manner, or his superb beauty, alive and magnetic with health and strength, or his free thought and free speech that be guiled them and won their hearts ; but Whatever it was, women and childron had been vory tender of his faults and loving of Luke Connor. As ho walked beside Margaret Daunton from the beach to tho farm-house, his in stincts telling him how pure and gentle a woman shs was, his senses showing him how beautiful and intelligent she was he felt as he had never dono bofore; his crime weighed heavily upon him, and he knew with deadly certainty that tho once sweet wattw of life that he had muddied ho must drink to the end ; that a puro woman, saintly in thought and deed, was not for him to gather to his breast. Other nion, with clean hands and unsullied name, might strive to win, mid some one to marry her : but ho alono was shut out and under the ban.

In that same hour, if tho old Argo, lying a sunken, worthless wreck in the river there, could have boon made seaworthy again, ho would have plunged once more into tho breakers with her, no mattor how the bar threatened, nor what storms pre vailed or winds blow. Better the sudden death out yondor than to live to bear this girl's reproach. It was not that aho had already become essential to him, but it waa natural that a man cut off from white

bread for many long years should loathe tho black loaf for ever held to his lips, and hunger for tho other) or that a barefooted beggar, passing the boundaries of a fair

domain) should pauso for awhile to behold how fair it was, and thon to wish that the title to it should be inado clear to him and his heirs forever ; especially natural would it scorn if tho beggar s tastes litted him to enjoy such an estate. He, Luke Connor, was the.man who had oaten only of tho black bread of bought, vicious ploasuros, whoso nature cried out hungrily for better food ; ho wna the barefooted beggar, garing ovor tho wall of a beautiful domain, whoso fruitful acres stretched away to the boh and sky lino-n wall which ho might nevor cross, lest tho ory of the keener be raiicd against him, and he bo hunted down.

He felt that ho was not a man while he could not say to this girl's mother, "Give mo your child, for 1 love her." Other mwi might go t> her, telling tho reverential love they felt, but ho never might. Ho could never do that; his hands were bloody ; and if it were right for tho State, or Justice, to take life at all, he had no right to his life oven. It had been saved, and the Stato, or Justico, cheated out of it by a quibblo, a lawyer's shrewd eloquence, or tho whim of a soft-heartod jury ; so he felt that he boro his lifo oven under a false pretence, and that it had been forfeit long ago. Yet no man loved life better than he loved h is. It was sweot and good to him from tho rising to the setting of tho sun ; and no man would have fought more desperately to preserve it, if a struggle came. But it oould never be a full man's life, he thought, unless he might love and marry as other men could. He knew the danger bo foro him when it was only an hour old, but ho did not flee from it. Let the surly keeper come, he said ; but he would first see the beautiful fields, the long, dim paths, the friendly shadows of the trees, smell tho fragrance of tho flowers and hear the songs of birds and plash of fountain.". Lot the keeper come; the beggar would have climbed tho wall and soon with his own eyes how broad and fair tho landscape was, ani as ho was turned out again to wander over the rough highways, eating his black bread, what he had scon and heard would be a

ploasant and happy memory to him for ever. So, Luke Connor resolved to linger for a day or two, with tho beautiful womani under tho old wrecking-master's roof, and then he would go back' to the love that could be bought and pleasures that bury self and bring forgetfufnoss. Bat he never would forget that he had 'seen Mar-, faret Daunton, and that for a day or two c had stood up before her, accounted worthy of her regard r.nd tiuu»— _ v - »>_A iv ° o - "-- - J-j ur wo, nor yet afte* many days. He too, after long, rough years, sat down by the Sweet waters and ats of the blissful lotus, which brought dreamful eaae and forget/illness of crime and trouble.

He sent to town to have his horses brought; down he discarded his sailor's suit, and robed himself bravely, as a, man does who wishes to appear at his best in the eyes of the woman he loves.

Tho story of that old farm-house was re peating itself at every watoring-placo, large and small, along tho whole Atlantic coast, and at every summer retreat in mountain or valley. The old, old story, for ever beautiful and new, of two people of opposite ccx coming directly to believe that " all for love, and the world well lost" i 3 tho only true religion. Margaret Daun ton -and Luke Connor had learned that faith on the eands, that day by the soa, I think ; but then they only saw as in a glass, darkly ; and now, after these many u-iys of rides and walks and sunset wander ings they would have died at the stako for it bravely as any bigot of the olden limo for hia higher creed. This was all very bad for the grave old Professor indeed. He had made a terrible mistake of it. If he had only, in those old days at home, been lees blind, less devoted to his etupid books, less interested in hU Greek poetry and College duties ; if he had only loved his Hellenic heroines less, and cared more for the beautiful, loving girl whom his stupid affection called sister !

But he had been so secure in his posses sion of the yellow-haired little girl that he had been in no hurry to fall in love with and marry her. There, at home, his dear old mother played house-dog, keeping watch and ward at the gate, driving all poachers away ; but here, in this summer holiday,-, came this barefooted beggar, Luke Connor, claiming the fair do main, aud making out a good title to it, too.

He knew that he had only to utter one word into the girl's ear to roako her send the beggar all to sea again; to make fcer great, brown eyes dilate with horror; to make her Bbrinic appalled from his touch. But would he say it»that was the question. What was his duty? Was it the devil of selfishness that tempted him to go to the girl with Luke Connor's etory, or was ifc solely a real desire for her completest happi ness that prompted him to telLher the man was a murderer, a debauchee ? He knew the coarse delights, the vices and sloughs of vileeeas Connor had grovelled in for a good many years past. Was he fit to marry with such a woman as Margaret, a woman Bweet and saintly as few women were ? He might let the old crime go, and be silent about it. God knew there was sufficient provocation for that, the Professor thought. He csuld scarcely blame the man tor that; besides, the man was mad when he did it. But, outside of that, was Luke Connor not tit to be Margaret's husband I —and even if he could forget and forgive it, would others do so? If they ever married, would not the scorn and gibe follow Margaret as surely as it had followed him? And how could he save her at all, if he kept that old, foul tale of murder back ? He thought it over for a long time, weighing the matter coolly in his mind. If he told her—well ? Then the beggar, Luke Connor, with hie altogether wrecked, miser able life, would harry back to liis old ex istence of bought em, aud Margaret would Tjo glad that he had saved her from siii and ignominy of being a murdorer'a wife, of being the mother of a murderer's children. And for bimeelf ? Had he a right to think of himself at all, just then ? Ho had, for he, too, loved Margaret; and if ehe married with Luke Connor, where would he carry his wreck of life? Would his books, his college, his Hellenic heroines supply her place in his vacant home in all the coming Yet look at it as he would, the high toned gentleman and scholar shrank from the task of telling her. He could not help thinking that this young fellow's lines had fallen in lough places; that if he had dropped out of good men's graces, he had been sorely tempted to his fall; and now, just as Connor's fcot. had touched solid ground, and his soul tasted happiness, he was about to knock it all from under his feet and send him back into the slough again. Tho inoro the Pi-qfeseor looked at it, the more he did not like it. It waa a mean bit of business for any man to do, he eaid. He began to doubt if happiness would be worth the purchase at that price —but, then, her happihess, he asked him self. Might that not be worth paying much for to secure? lie Waa nut certain of that; women. were curious in their likea and dislikes. After all, what had Conner done to commend -himself to Margaret*

favour? He had simply stood up like a man in an ugly swaßh of sea, and successfully run his yacht into smooth water. Success counts so much with women, thought the Professor.

But what was it Margaret had eaid under her breath that day, while the tears wet her cheeks, as she caw Luke Connor guiding his sinking, battered boat through the breakers ? Only this: "It would be so easy, if the time had come, to die by the side of a brave man like that." Ah I Pro fessor, we old fellows, who have wives and daughters, and who have lost the fight, as our shabby coats and hair turned prema turely grey bear witness, know that success counts but little in a women's love—that her sublimest hero is the husband, lover, or son who has dared the battle, and when it was over has left the field, not victorious, but scarred and defeated.

The Professor's mother was not a quick old lady, and never hurried to conclusions by too rapid a course; yet even Bhe, who from the nour he took Margaret Daunton home, after her father's funeral, promising to be a mother to the girl, and sealing her promise to her, as she crossed the threshold of the vacant house, with a solemn, silent prayer to God, saying, " As I deal with her, Almighty Father, bo deal Thou with me, now and for ever"—even she, blind and old and simple as sho was, saw that Margaret and tho sailor of the Argo were a good deal together, and that Margaret showed sho liked to bo with him more than the had sver liked to be with the Professor. But she was not alarmed by it at all. She know that her son would marry Margaret in his own good time—he was tho sultan to command, and Margaret the hand maiden to picft up tho glove, whonevor ho cho.se to cast it to hor; and strangers might come and go, but Margaret would be still hor son's. Of that there could bo

no doubt—sho had settled that in hor own

mind, to her own intense satisfaction, long ago. Yet she was rather voxed that they had come to this public place at all; un doubtedly it was pleasant enough ! «ho liked the greon Holds, tho woods, tho cliffs, tho roar of the sea, tho danh of tho waves, and to watch the sun fado away into the crimson tide; and cortninly the poople were agreeable poople ; but it was the girl's first lobk at tap world, and young girls grew romsiitio by tho sea, and altogether it might distract her fancy for awhile. In deed tho old lady thought so long.about it as aha dozed in her chair on tho porch that sunny afternoon that she resolved she would talk to Albort about tho mattor.

Tho l'rofossor had been, out all tho after noon for a long, quiot walk on tho beach. He had wanted to be alone, whero ho could think over this matter of his duty to Mar garet nndisturbed, and settle it. When he came back to tho house, it was all sottled— the Professor had decided. But hia de cision was a difleront ono from that which

he had adopted on tho beach. In tho long dim path of tho woods, nonr the farm-houso, ho had come npon Margarot and Luke Connor walking siowly toward him, rapt in themsslvis, and unmindful of anything outside of their own belongings ; tho sod beneath his feet was soft and yielding, his step was noisoloss ; and thoy, unconscious of his prceonoo, had corao so near that, without hearing thoir words at all, ho had heard the low, sweet murmur of Maigaret's voice, and in her face he saw a light and glow of quiet happiness that he had never seen there before. Then the grave old Pro fesaer, soroly wounded, botook himself and the wreck of his lifo into tho deeper shadow of tho sombre pines, and, stealing silently away, he began again to think it over, growing suddonly conscious of some thing having been lost'out of his life, which could never come again, He eat there a long while, until the sun had gone down behind tho cliff*, leaving sea and Bky filled with its crimson splendor; then he settlod it all differently again, and, finally, wont slowly along to his mothor's chamber, where he fat down beside h«r, with an awful shadow on his honest old face, which she. dull and slow ac she was, quickly noted. But «he began a long way off, after the fashion of mothers whose tender fingers ore for ever prying down into the hurt, locked heitrte of children.

" You are tired, Albert," she said.

" Did you walk all tho way to the wreck, of tho Osprey ?" " All the way, mother—and back.' ho replied/ slowly and wearily; for he know what was coming, and .wanted time. "The old ship lies high and dry, half embedded in the sands, too strained, I thllikj ever to sail the seas again."

"And can an old ship, Albert, stranded and broken, make your face like that ? The shore lies thick with the whitening skeletons of noble ships, which you havoiaeen a hull* dred time*, and jested at."

wrecka"are"siß!n lbia fißhw^toW-utAMaej seem unreal as fables f but the Osproy came fin only yesterday, and at the station the wreckers showed me, lying under an old sail, the figures of the Captain and his young wife—a girl with fair hair and brown »yoa, not unlike our Margaret. When they wore last seen alive together upon the ship, the wreckers said they stood looking shore ward, watching the launching of the life boat, thinking, no doubt, that their deliver ance was near at hand; but before it left the shore, a wave swopt over the ship and hurled them into the sea. A momont be fore, sho had taken her littlo baby from her broast, and hold it up in her arms, as if, by that means, to plead with the wreckers on the shore to hasten to their rescue. When the two bodies came ashore this morning, thoy were found lying but a few feet apart, with their faces turned toward each other. I said sho wns like our Mar garet. Sho was; she had the came pure face, the same sunny hair,' the same dainty look of gentlo womanhood. It was a sad sight, mother." It had beon v. sad sight, sadder to tho man than he told ; for, eeeing this dead semblance of the woman ho loved lying under the coarse sail and thinking of the easy possibility of Margaret be coming Luke Connor's wife, bo could not bo ceitnin that this dead woman's fate would not be a better, kindlier fate for her; not quite sure that it would not be better for Mar garet to be washed upon the shore'dead at his feet, than to marry that man. Then he had gone up frOm the sea, and, from the dead it had early given up. re solved to tell Margaret the worst he know of Connor; but when ho saw them together in the woods, hearing the low, tender murmur of her voice, and seeing the bright, buoyant look in her eyes, that was there never before, he . had known that al ready ho was too late, tliat ehe already lovod him, and that, to have told her then, would only have made her cling the closer to the ruined man on whom the old, old curse had fallen. There was a long silence between the mother and son. Sho thought tenderly of the dead woman, who had taken her baby from her breast to inspire the wreckers, in her peril of death, lying now under the coarse sail, watched over by the grim coastmen at the station. He thought of the living girL whose life, he fancied, was more completely wrecked than if she were lying dead among the sands. Mrs Daun ton's next question startled him. !' ■ "Do you know this young sailor, Luke Connor ?" she asked. "Do I know Luke Connor?" Daunton was thrown off guard, and parried for time. " You mean the-man who came into the in-

let with his yacht?" . ■ "Yes Do you know him ?" There was a moment's pause, then the Professor looked fairly into his old mother a eyes, and did what he had never done be fore in all his life—he.lied to hor.

"No mother," he said, slowly and de liberately, as if weighing, the meaning of every word ; "no, mother, Ido not know "I wish you did, Albert; I wish you did. lam growing old faat now. I am Joeing memory and sight. I like the young man, and I would rather not. Sometimes I feel as if I had seen him before, and again his name sounds familiar to me ac tny own, and always connected with something bad. But I never can recall where I have Been his face, nor remember how that iiame is as?ociatcd with the record of some ugly crime in my mind. But it is, and I wish you knew him. He is a great deal with your Margaret." Without looking up at all, the Professor knew that the keen giey eyes of the old lady were watching the effect of those last words upon him. He reached out his hand toherß,and,layingonewithintheotber,Biiuled as he said, "My Margaret, mother ! Why mine ? She is your daughter and my sister; so let us speak of her as our Margarets not mine!,' ' . A quick shade of alarm passed over the old lady's face, despite his frank, assuring Btnile. "My son, have you never thoiißht, n[ Margaret I).-.nnton in any way than aa your ooiifsin—as gome-thing nearer and dearer than couein or sister—as your

She was trying the honest old fellow very hard just then, bub he swallowed a big lump that bad got into his throat, and, taking the trembling old hand into bis own, he agaiu, for the second time in life, looked ,iuto his mother's face, and deliberately lied to her. He fancied it wiul becoming easier now, when her happiness was likewise* in volved iv the concealment of tho truth. ■< "No, mother, I have never thoughti 01 Margaret in any other relationship than M.«t »f ■ aiatttr of wlwwo I was very fond.

She went to him, and laid her old white head on his breast, with a great sense of loss and terror in her face, and in the trem bling figure and voice. " Oh, my son, my son!" she cried; "it has been my one thought and plan of life. I have daily and nightly prayed God to spare my life long enough to let me &cc her your wife. I have prayed that he would let you two together lay me away at the last. Is there no hope for it—no chance that you will yet change your mind ? She is better, nobler, more beautiful than other women are, and I hay« only lived in the hope to mako her worthy to bo my son's wife. Was all my loving labour lost f Is there no chance, Albeit 1" "No, mother," he said, "there is no chance. She has found a husband, younger and better and more suited to her, else where. She already loves this sailor, Luke Coiinbr. I saw it in her face to-day " She stood up and confronted him, her lips quivering, her fingors nervously windirig themselves about his own. " You do not mean," she said, her voice grown suddenly husky and broken, " you do not mean that Margaret loves that man? No, no, you fancied it. You know you are cjuick to fancy harm coming to her or me j but nothing so horrible as that could be true. My memory—every thing—eeomsgoing from me; but oh, Albert, help mo to remember the crime that belongs to a name like his. Margaret must be told. We must savo her. VVe must go away from hero at once ; help me to do what is right. Margaret is yours, I tell you ; I gave her to you years and years ago, when she was only a child in my arms. Help mo, Albert I" It was piteous to soo so Rontlo and oalm a life as hers had been so troublod as it grow towards tho end, pitooua to poo its one hope beaten down an t trampled undor foot, piteous to see her anguish and pain at her great loss ; but her son seated her in hor ohaif, resting his hands' tonderly on her breast, as he said, " Mother, you must hoar mo now. I cannot help you to what you want. It is too late; the evil has already fallon upon us. Margaret loves Luke Connor today well onou^h to taks his crime, if ho has a crime, upon hersolf -to. sharo with him for ever his dis honoured name—if it is dishonoured. We must give her up to him, not for his sako but for hot own."

" But you j Albert ? —what of youruolf, for ■ou—you loved her J" "It docs not matter, mothor. I would

not lovo hor at all, if I loved myself hotter," tho poor old follow eaid, wearily. '' I have you and my home and my work. Those havo always beon enough for mo—thoy will bo enough now. Our care must be no hint to hor against tho honour of the man she loves—no roproach nor tuapicionagainsthim from us. If calumny or unpalatable truth touches him, neither muat come from ug. I doubt if ha has spoken to Hor yot. Let us wait and be Tery tender with hor, for she has bocn tho stoady light and warmth of home to both of us.

" If this 18 true, my eon, that you havo told me," who said, "then God holp u» all. These are da>k, Btormy days coming to me at the end. But I will not spoak of my trouble to hor; send her in to me, lam vory tirod, and noed hor."

When the Professor wont out into tho orchard whore Margaret was, ho looked liko a very old man—indeed, like a man on whom affliction had fallen heavily, suddenly rob bing him of youth and purpose. At the gate the old wrecking-master accosted him. "You're ailing, Professor," ho said. "These nor'castors nflect people onuted to 'em, sometimes. Now, they have affected you, and you aren't well. Not a bit of it." " You mistake, Captain Brown. lam well enough, but tired. I wulked along tho coast to the wreck of the Osprey, and tho sands were heavy." The Professor wanted to be alone, and would have passed on, but the old Captain was inclined, just then, to hear himself talk, and fanoiod the Professor wanted to hoar him too. Tho latter stopped courteously to listen to what the wrocker had to say. " And so you walked all the way up there to tho wreck, oh ? Well, now, its curious how strangers to these parts will hunker after wrecks, and iitories of 'em, but thoy dot Now, Professor, it wasn't a pleasant sight to see that young Woman a-lying there, and him beside her' No, I-know it wasn't. > But wo sco a heap of such sights, an' you might think, now, it would harden us liko, but it don't. Now, may bo you don't think it, but no woman would caro for that poor body thero, tondor a3 thorn wreokers. They're mon, they aro. But that isn't what hurts 'em most, though. What hurts them men is to see a crew, with a woman or a baby among 'em, cling to a ship's sides, and the winds howling like devils-about 'em and the big waves rolling up to 'cm, hungry like to drag 'em all into tho soa, and for thorn men to stand thero on tho shore, help less, abd knowinc that, no lilVbrmf. as vhhm can't save em, after awlulo, dropone by one into the sea. Now, Professor, if this Go vernment of ours could afford it, which it can't you know, it would havo a mortar down here, and wo could (ire a lino to them chips oasy enough ; but Government is too poor, you see. Seeing pooplo calling on as to save 'gm when we can't, is what hurts us wreckers, and makes wreckin' in onpleasent business to follor; but then we do save lots

that never would be saved only for us, and that makes it pleasant again, you sco." While the old wrecker, loaninrr on tho gate, talked on monotonously, tho Professor was looking out seaward, watching the lirst signs of a coining Btorm. "This wind is getting fresher, I think, Captain!" ho asked.

"Surely. It'll bo a hurricano be'orc morning; but they'll all f,ivo this bit ol devil's coast a wido berth to-bight. It's when it comes up in a minute liko, and takes'em unawares that they come emash-

ing onto it; but you sec, Professor, they've got warning to-night." The Captain, casting a lust glance at the threatening fky, went indoors; and tlio Professor, finding Margaret, serf her. into Mrs Daunton, and then started olTfornlong walk along the river-shore.

(To be Continued.)

A Tux ou Bachelors

It is st riously proposed in the French Hevate to levy a tax upon bachelors. At the first blush this may seem a rather stupid irao ticle joko on the part of some unusually tacetiaus moinber, but in reality it is not no. If the measure passes thero it is- no doubt that Franco's revenues will be largely increased. For the real pnrpose of the bil'i which is to make men marry whether thoy like it or not, will be attained. It is well to insist once more that the is drawn up in all sober earnest, Its preamble reads some what "as follows :-—" Considering the grow ing decrease of the population in France, it has become necessary to impose a tax, upon all single persons over — years' of age of the male sex.'' My informant, who gives me this little scrap of news, does not tell me anything more. One naturally asks one self whether the tax will bo indiscriminately claimed from rich and poor alike—from the Adoniß who enjoys his single blesfednees, from the Caliban who hates it. It ig too early in the day to judge of tho effect it will produce upon tho bachelor from conviction. As for tho dowerless spinster, it is doubtful whether she will ftherish any illusions -with with regard to it. She knows full well that she will not be the one to benefit. " After al1," said a bachelor jestcrday, "the tax, if tax there be, can only be regula'ed by one's income, and one's household expenses never are." The argument is not an inccon elusive one, though it be folly to pretend that want of means prevents the majority of young men in France from marrying. The cases causeß of this inclination lie far deeper and are far more difficult of discus sion in an English nowspaper. They may, however, .be slightly touched upon without offending the proprietors, No Frenchmen under 25 years can marry without the con cent of parents. This concent will be invariably withheld if the girl whom he proposes to make his wife is portionless. It matters,little onotigh whether the girl I c honest, well educated, aud generally un objectable. The aspirant Benedick may not hare a penuy werewith to blws himFelf. It will be all the more reason for hie parents insisting upon a good lniftch, On the other hand, if the girl be well pro vided for, he kinsfolk will net only let her marry unless ohe man'=i marriage portion be in proportion to hers, but (hey will effectually prevent all "po:sibility_ of her making acquaintance of a financial detri mental. One may depend upon one thing in. France, wl)ich is this—than an invitation to a private ball or dinuer party has been preceded by an inquiry into the finaucial position of the recipient of tuch an in.i titation which for thoroughness will beat anything and everything that the moot ex porionrod 'detective in London or ' Paris oniild arnompliph. Under those circum stances would it not bo more practicle to levy a tax upon the parents possessing mar riageable children of both sexes '! Even this, however, would not produce the d( sired elect, because rather than give their tons and daughtera without therequisite dowiy, the parents would grumblingly submit to be mulcted.—" Globe."

£100 Rewaud.—They ourd all diseases of Uie alomueli, bovvolß. bluud, Uvur, uurvos, uud kid new. and £100 will be paid for a case they will not cure or help, or for anything impure or Injurious found in them—Hop Bittera. Test it. Bead. -

NEW GUINEA.

Resources and Adaptability for

Settlement.

IFIIOM THE COBBESI'ONDKNT OF THE

"Melbourne Age."]

The firet feeling tho stranger has on reach' ing New Guinea is one of disppointmont. We are accustomed to hear so much of its wonderful fertility, its rich harvests of nat ural fruits and foods, its splended harbours, ite magnificent rivers, flowing brooks and oreeks arresting the progress of the travol ler at every few miles, the warlike qualities of tho natives, their populous swarming alOng tho coast, and a hundred other won der?, the re'ekal of which has given the gen ral public, not only in tho mother country but even in the colonies) tho idea that New Guinea is a kind of grand natural paradise, peopled by millionsof copporcoloureddevils, that the reality produces disappointment. Now, so far as I have boon able to see in the course of the trip of the war ships along the coast, and from all I havo bocn ablo te gather from those who havo lived longest on tho island and know tho most

about it, Now Guinea is no moro wonder ful and no more remarkable) than any of Australian cokiyes wcro in their unsettled conditions. It is well watorcd, it possetsa good harbours, it is heavily timbered, its sconoryisin places magnificent, it abounds in tropical vegetation and it po;Hiß£O3 millions of acres of soil of great richnoss ; but pricisoly the same can be said of nearly ovcry Australian country, vory much moro might bo said of soino of our colonies than of Now Guinea. Absolutely nothing is known as yot as to its mineral resources, and in that respect no comparison can bo attempted ; but, limiting tlio comparison to what is really known, I bclievo I urn justified in saying that nowhere in Noiv Ouinoa has thirj been found soil equal to that of Claronco and Richmond River dintriets, in New South Walcc, ro the Gippsland district, in Victoria, or a dozen other places that might bo mentioned in Australia. There bus been much rhapsody indulged in, but nono of tho Now Guinea rivers—that is, nono of the known rivers in tho island—aro equal in volume to tho Derwont, or equal to the Murray in navigablo length. Then, as to scenery, tho known parts of Now Guinea aro hardly to bo mentioned in tho eamo bioath with New Zealand ; while iti wealth of tropical fruits and flowers Now Guinea is no better than a score of unknown islands in tho Pacific At present it would be absurd to say eithor that New Guinea is unfit for settloment or that it poHsoEsos extraordinary attractions to settlors. Until tho groat mountain ranges havo boon crossed, tho inland por tion of New Guinea must remain just aa much a terra incognita as was the wostcrn districts of New-South Wales before Law son_ and Bluxland and Wcntworth forced their way over tho Bluo Mountains. Now that Eng'iih protection is assured thoro can be no doubt as to tho speedy explora tion of Now Guinea, but in the meantime tho general public should not pitch their oxpactations too high as to tho value of Now Guinoa as a field for sottlomont.

Mineral Resources of tho Island,

. First, let mo cay a word with regard to mineral*. I have taken a good deal of trouble to find any reliable authority who could supply evidence of the existence of fold or othor minerals in New Guinea, but have been wholly unsuccessful. I know that what among gold miners ie called " the colour" has been found, but very little more. Some years ago, it may be remem bered, there was n mild kind of gold rush to New Guinou, and many prospecting parties from Queensland went a consider ublo di^lnuuu inland, buS all of them were unsuccessful. The geological formation of the country is said to bo such as to favour the pr< sumption of thooxistenco of gold and other mineral deposits; and an old Palmer miner, whom I mot at Cooktown, and who had formed one of a prospecting party in New Guinea, expressed his con fident belief that gold would yot be found in the island. Tho work of prospecting, however, is attended with such dangors and difficulties, and involvoa the mainten ance of such a large party, if safety of lifo is to bo secured, that I bolievo it will bo yoars beforo the mineral resources of New Guinea aro even superficially tested. None of tho native tribes whloh have yet been seen wear gold or silver ornnmonts, nor do they oven display the possession of gamß or othor valuables of th.at kind; so I imagine that if there is any mineral wealth in Now Guinea it will have to be sought for results, while the difficulties of Irwelling through unknown country, procuring the necessaries of life, providing against attacks from hostilo tribes, and the euft'oiin}!* of those who had. the misfortune to be fever stricken, wero quite sufficient to damp the ardour of intending gold-seokers ever since. I think every man without exemption was stricken with tho fovor, some of them having repeated attacks, and tho inevitable result was that many of tho diggers suc cumbed to tho hardships and sickness they had to undergo. Nmnbors of them wort buried in tho Port Moresby district, and no party has over since attempted to lind oui the mineral wealth of tho island. Tho nut result of all their gold seeking is summed up in few words by Mr Hanran, who was among the prospectors in tho country be hind Port Moresby in 1878, in a document published not long a«o by tho Queensland Govsrninont. Mr llanran i 3 quoted as having stated that ho found tho colour everywhere in tho bed of tho rivor, but never in tlio gulliop. I boliovo that Mr Goldie, one of the most experienced white-

men in New Ciuinea, and now n, store koeper at Port Moresby, has soino gold specks in his ponaesri in, which wore found in the back country, but nothing more sub stantial han over boen discovero 1. There is no doubt that thoro is gold in New Guinen, but whether in pnyiiblo quantities has yot to be ascertained. I know that on more than one occasion returned travellers

I: nve rehearsed glowing stories of rich gold deposits, but, as in no caso havo they been able to furnish specimens, their statements most be accepted with caution.

Agricultural Settlement,

For agricultural purj-oes, I think Now Guinea will bo found an excellent field for investment. In the first place, the soil generally is very good, as evidonccd by tho rich vegetation all tho year round, and also by the facility with which tho natives carry on their, rude system of cultivation. In the next place the wholo of the coast country may bo said to be splondidly watered; thus the probability is that the same State of things would occur inland. As in New Zoaland, thore aro large stretches of country liable to floods iv the rainy season, but not nearly to tho same extont as New Zealand. Nearly all the known tribes carry on cultivation to some degree, producing eago, cocoanute, yarn?, and in somo cases sugar cano. The fact that tl ey are able to do this by moans of tho rudest appliances would seem to show that, under a proper agricultural system, very rich harvests could bo obtained over a very

largo extent of country. Gentlemen upon whose authority I have reason to depend, and who have made inquiries in the matter forthik own information, assure me that New Guinea is capable of growing much richer sugar cane than any part of Queens land or New South Wales. A man who had worked sjme years on sugar plantations in Queensland averred that ho had seen cano growing as un experiment in New Guii.ei far'EUi.erior to anything they had in Queensland. With a tropical climate, rich soil, long stretches of valley land and good water snpply, New Guinea should produce sugar, maize, sago, and other cfops of that kind in abundance. As the natives have a rough knowledge of that kind of work, they would enable the planters to got over the labour difficulty. This question of coloured labour is the greatest tr jublo which borets the planUrsof Noit'iern Queensland, where not only is tl o climate too hot for white men in fields, but the cost of production is co great that work cannot be profitably carried on. In New Guinea thia difficulty would probably bore; moved from the outset, by the presence on the if 1 md of an extensive native population eamewhat accustomed to field labour, and

capable of beinsr more extensively and suc re nfully employed in that direc'ion. Within a radius of 100 miles of Point Moresby there are scores of thousands of acres of gced sugar and maize and sago lands, and thousands of natives are resi dent in villages scattered over this area ; nothing more is required to successfully start a plantation than t.hn selection of suitable land, and tho organisation of a pioper scheme for utilisiug the labour. As the purchase of land is forbidden, or, at all o^e•)t■i, not recognised by the British Go vcr.iment, there will bo no opportunity of taking up large areas of freehold at a paltry price, as has occurred in Australia ; and, with regard to leasing the land and working it, I am afraid that, until the natives are accustomed to tbe legal siguirka cc of leasehold right, there will be groat diiliciiltioj it that respect. What would be the less risky, and rirobably the more profitable course, would be to erect a 'iirar mill and purchase th? sugar cane

from the natives, who would not belong in devoting more .attention to its cultivation when they found it to be to their interests. Most of the coast tribes are used to field labour, and if they were trained in the method of producing crops e»tensively and cheaply, they would not be long in adapting themselves to the new custom of things, anu would eagerly avail themselves of a good market for the sale of their produce. They would appreciate being their own masters, for, like all savages, they prefer to work when they choose, sleep when they ohooao, trade when they choose, and go on the war path when they choose. Many of them choose to do all these things except work; that they leave to their wives. Their method of agriculture is simple and tedious, and the fact that they are able to produce even the limited results that they do in disatea suitable soil and suitable climatic conditions for agricultural purposes. Their stylo of ploughing in somo districts is very slow and primitive. During a visit paid to a village near Hula, on the southern coast, two gangs of men were seen engaged in ploughing; there were about a dozen men in each gang, and each "man bad two pointed sticks; they stood in a line and forced the sticks into the ground to a depth of about 12 or 18 inches, the line of men then suddenly fell baok together, and thus the sod was then turned over, and the men stopped back a pace and ropcated the operation. Now if these men were taught the use of a horso and plough, the labour that it would save them, and the largo amount of work they could perform, they would not bo long, I believe, before thoy would adapt themselves to the now notions. They could never be expected, ai coarro, to work the land as well and as profitably as Europeans, for thoy are lazy, dirty, arid obstinate ; will work only in the way that sui'.s their indolont natures or satisfies their daily desires. A vory low rato of remunera tion would satisfy them, and probably on ablo tho purchasers of their produco to mako a handsomo prolit

Other Forms of Investment,

So far ns is at present known, tho otlior forms of investing capital in Now Guinea aro not numoroua. Stoiolte;pors and trade:« of that class havo no show, because the natives purchaso nothing but tomahawks, pottery, tobacco, and a few othor articles ; and, as they have no knowledge of money, the only payment they can mako is in tho shape ot such food as eggs, yams, and cocoanuts. They woar no clothing, and do not want to woar any \ they uso no furniture in their huts, and are never likely to do so, They cannot oven supply tradors with, curiosities to any large extent, because they have so few worth carrying away. They havo far fewer curiosities than the South Soa Islandor Or tho Now Zoalandor, and those thoy hare are in artistic and commonplace; They have stone hatchets, wooden spears 'poarl shell ornaments, boars' tusks, bone armlets and anklets, and a few articles of that kind, but none of thorn have any special beauty or in terest, and if soon in a snop window in Sydney or Melbourno would not bo thought worth purchasing. Wish rogard to trade in spirits and firearms, which has frequently boon carried on by white men white mon with savago races, a veto has been pronounced by the British Govern ment. Prom tho very out«ot no person will bo aljowcd to sell firearms, ammuni tion, or intoxicating liquors to any of tho native?, nor indeed will thoso artic'.cs bo allowed to bo [sold to anybody in New Guinea, except undor very stringent regu lations. At present none of the natives know anything about firearms, except tho fear of them, and by occasionally witnessing their use in the hands of Europeans ; and, aa far as intoxicating liquors are concerned, thoy are absolutely ignorant of their use. The rum and riflo trade is, therefore, not

likely to be a flourishing one in Now Guinea. The beche dc mer traffic is stil1 e\> tansively carried on jn. Torres Straits and off the coast of New Guinea, and is notlikely to bo affected in any way by the action of great Britain in »egard to this new territory. A small trade may be done in rare birds, such as the bird of Paradise, but (here are no known indigenous animals likely to bo in demand in other countries. Cattle and sheep breeding could bo carried on most successfully, but owirn? to the wide gap hot ween the Australian coast and Now Guinea it is a question if it would ever pay to «hip cattle from tboro to (he South colonies of Australia. In timber, thoro is every probability of a profitable trado springing up in cedar, very rich patches of wrhich have becc discovered but very littlo is known of she other timbers of theißlands. Speaking generally there i* little doubt that in a few yeais, when tho regulations and ronditions of settlement ore cloarly defined men of enterprise, energy and aptitude will find ample opportunities TraHa; but It ts too so'oaih intTuajr lu-fcoj what enterprise those fortunes will bo amused.

SALVATIONIST RIOTING.

Exciting Scone at an "Army" Meeting,

On the evening of the 10th inst, the usual evening services of the Salvation Army at

tho Protestant Hall, Castloreaghstrcot, Sydney, wero the scm) of n disturbance that eventually terminated in a most alarm-

ing manner. Shortly after the band had played tho opening hymn it was evident that among the audieuce, numbering some two thousand peoplo, there were several moro on amusement than salvation

intent. Tho interjections of "Glory be toCod"and "Hallelujah", werointersdereod

with "Hear, hear," and a duct of groans on uioue than one occasion. Muttois, how ever, gradually grew vrorfe as tho service proceeded. First oncoJJendii' was removed by a " Sergeant" ot the army, mid then the man of stripes was called on to eject anot her. The delinquent objecting to this proceed ing," and showing tight, the stalwart eon of " t'lood and lire," despite the struggles of his

larrikin antagonist, took him on the nursing principlo,«iiidwiththea!'3istanceofaootnnide succeeded in clearing the gallery of his pre sence. Meanwhile the fihnds of the ejected ono had left their _seaH and, follow ing in the wake of their friend or com panion, were ursing him to let tho Salva tion guardians of the peaco "have it." To drowu, if possible, tho noise caused by this unseemly interruption, and the disturbance consequent thereon, the bands launched forth.into " Whoro *ho living waters flow." After a short time quiothoss again feigned, only to be followed with another inter ruption from the opposite sido of the gallery. The "captain" from tbo- Btage then ordered two more of the audience 1' to leave thehousoatouce.'' Tho " named" parties, amidst the breathless attention of t!io whole house, carried out this order by rising and leaving their seats. One, how ever, so far forgot himself, or otherwiso through spirit of bravado, as to cover his head before leaving the gallery. " Kemove that man's hat," shouted the captain," and romoved it wai ace rdingly, only to be replaced. " Docs anyono know tho names of those tuo men?' formed the next interrogation of tho Salvation Army leader. No one claiming that honour, then followed the stern command, "Put them out, and give them in charge to the police for creating a disturbance." This was the finishing stroke. The excitement, momen tarily increasing, now reached its climax. Men and women rose en masse, and made for tho door, out of which the serai prisoners had just been hustled. Tho crush of the staircase leading to the exit, door would have been bad under tho circum stances alone, but as if to swell the roll of accidents already chronicled on this score pending the arrival of the police, the means of ojrress were blocked at the foot of the staircase by the door being closed. Close scrutiny revealed the iact that undef the stairs a guard of five "sergeants " held their temporary prisoners in custody, and to prevent the escape of the offenders the innocent wero made to sutler. After ro pcated expostulations one half of the door was opened,, through which a half panic stricken crowd, urged on partially by fear and pressure combined, hastily escaped. At ono moment the crush assumed a serious

aspect, and although there were a number of bruises sustained, the iDJuries received were of a trifling character. On the arrival of the police, who promptly attended when called on, no arrests were made ; but the names of the offenders were officially ascer tained.

Professor R. Tate, lecturing at Adelaide on the climate of Australia, showed that in timee comparatively recent, geologically speaking, the dry zone of Australia passed through peveral changes of climate, the present salt-water pans or lakes having originally been fresh-water basins, support ing fresh water fish and crocodilep. The remains of gigantic lierbiferous animals had been foumfiu that district, the existence ot which was altogether incompatible with the present climatic conditions-. Lake byre was an example of a contracted freah-watei basin though, like all other lakes in ll* dry region, it waa iw * ""lo more tiian a b:UI pati.

bmiinuJ. Kernl —■*Tf.» ■4Co.,Ai«it«,AiKil»ui.

CURIOSITIES OF NEWGATE.

To study the Baatila, and what passed within its walls, from the day its cells were firet opened until an angry people stormed the building and set free the captives, is to got a glimpse of French statecraft and character surpassing in importance and "ividness anything the ordinary national documents covering tho same period have to tell. The story of the Newgate of our own country has an even greater value. New gate is much older than the Bastile. It is believed to have an history that goes back as far as the building of tho Tower. It was a prison-house in the time of King John, and it is a prison-house to-day. Itisnot,itistrue, the building it was when the Great Charter was drawn up; but it has always been a place for offenders, real or imaginary, and the time is out of reckoning when the name suggested one of tho entrances to the city, and not a place of doom. There is a good deal that is quaint about Nowgate. The saddest thing of all about tho New-

gate of the past is that persons arc known to have beon detained in it as though on a lifo sentence, in thorough defiance of the

constitutional rights of arraignment and trial.

Thero died in the prison in September, 1732, a man who had been forty years an ininato, who had never beon convicted, and who is not supposed to have been guilty of tho offonco which was madtt the excuse foe his detention. Macaulay mentions tho case

in his picturesque fashion as being that of a man whose long imprisonment at length shocked a generation which could not re momber his crimo. This unfortunato was a soldier. He fought under James 11. in Ire-

land, and had risen to tho rank of major. As ho had previously served in tho Dutch army under tho I'rinco of Orange, suspicion

rested upon him in 1C96, when arrosts wero mado in connection with tho plots on tho life of William 111. Eight portions wcro duly tried, convicted, and executed for their sharo in tho attempted assassination; but against this oilicer—Major John Bernardi by name —and five others there was an absonco of evidence. It was thought, howovor, that evidence would bo forthcoming; and to give time for this the Government of the day 1 wont to tho extreme course of suspending the Habeas Corpus Act for nine months. When tho nine months came to an end, and evidence to secure a conviction was still unattainable, tho judges remanded the case for a fortnight, and in the interval an Act of Parliament was passed authorising the im prisonment of tho men for another year. Tho injustice thus begun was perpetuated. A second measure of liko purport was cn actcd, and ovontually a tnim bill passed into law authorising tho confinement of Bernardi and his companions during His Majesty's pleasure. "His Majesty's plea sure '' was tantamount to asentence of impri sonment during the King's life, for it was not until tho King died that these poor men wore again heard from. This was in 1703. The prisoners then applied to be tried or to be admitted to bail, it was an unfortunate application. I'arliament fell back upon precedent, and passed an Act to confine the prisoners during the pleasuroof Queen Anne. Anno was moro merciful than William. She released one of the six, but when she died Parliamont repeated tho injustice, and successive Acts condemned the unhappy men to remain in gaol during the pleasure of George I. and again of George 11. There came erders of release, however, againßt which all human schemes were powerless. Wh»n George JI. ascendod tho throne there were only Bornardi and two others alive j and eventually Bornardi, now an octogen arian,, was alone left to petition in the vain quest for justice. For him, as for the others, the only release was death. His long detention in Newgate, however, was not all gloom. Fortunately for him, prison discip-

line was much more lax then than it is now. Newgate became a roof-tree to the poor prisoner. He courted and married within the walls of the gaol; and his wife, in every way a helpmeet to him, bore him ten child ren. Bernardi was entitled to all the liberty tho prison officials could allow him. But there wero some prisoners who ware arrant rogues, to whom privileges were ac corded that seem almost incredible in these days. In not a few instances, men convicted of capital offences wero allowed to hold levees and to welcome any number of friends. A notable example of this class was the notorious Claudo Duval. Duval was a handsome rascal, and being a Frenchman, he had a certain amount of politeness which rather helped than hindered him iv his ne farious trade-; -but in no sense was he the

" honest rogue "of the Rob Roy type. He would rob men on Hounslow Heath to the last farthing; but be was gallant in his way, jtiri.iia.l «iu.imuW .an fjui._fnrcmfc,hertjerrjor with the greaterpartof.it not atl.liernttmeyr This did not' prevent a price beinc put on Duval'a bead, and his name is first on the list iv an old proclamation against highway men. But it was not the era of detectives, and the old watchmen were a terror to no o le. Moreover, Claude Duval was quick at fence, and a suro and steady hand with a pistol. So long, therefore, as he attended strictly to his " business," he was fafe. He was in danger only when in search of pleasure. . And so it happened that the highwayman was caught one night when overcome with wina in a tavern. When he cime to his senses he was in Newgate. Thero are accounts of his trial in the papers of the time. There was evidence enough against him to convict a dozen Duvals, and Judge Morton took caro that the gallows should have its own. Nevertheless, it is a strange commentary on the times of Charles II that this monarch was approached by courtly dames with tears in thoir oyev begging him to sp*l"o the life of tins good looking ftlpn. The King was on the point of grunting a pardon, when the ]iulgo inter fered with a threat of resignation if the law were not carried into effect. The best of a bad bargain was (hen made. Tho culpnt held receptions in tho prison; and when Jack Ketch hod done his grim function, the body was removed with much display to a mortuary chamber in a tavern—tho Tangier in St. GileeM :— wliare there were mute? and esc'itchions and tapers, and other miserable paraphernalia. There lay fee body in siate until once again Judge Morton interfered and put a stop to the disgusting exhibition. Some curious sentences were earned out iv this historic prison-house, and this was particularly the case in regard to penalties for adulteration and cheating. There was the pillory for the merchant whose sample was of better quality than his consignment, and for the shopkeeper, who sold unwhole somo meat. But there was more than the pillory for the taverncr whose supplies would not stand tho test of good quality. Ho was compelled, in addition, to take a bath in his own vile liquor. On one occa sion a citizen accused the civic authorities of conspiracy, and for this offence he was con demned to appear in the pillory four times in the year, and to wear a chain round his neck, from which dangled a whetstone, with the inscription, "Falso liar." The whet sto:-.e was intended as a sort of satire. It was supposed to mean that anlintruthful tonguo required sharpening, or that a man who was a liar must improve inhisart, seeing thit as he had been found out, no one was likely to believe him ■nhen bespoke the truth. Penalties of this nature seem generally to have boon rigorously enforced. But fre quently when the sentence involved more serious" consequences the prisoner managed

ith but little difficulty to secure pardon

It fared well with one William Doinroio, who should have been hanged, for stealing £4, but "being an excellent drummer, fit to do the King service," he was reprieved and pardoned, another reason for .his lucky escape being that it was his first offence. Often enough men^ " fit to do the King service " had the doors opened to them, and occasionally culprits would obtain their liberty on consenting to go abroad. Men enough to form a company of soldiers, with a woman at their head to serve as a vivan diero, inarched out of Newgate in 1620, " to the end that thoy bo employed in the eervico of the King of Sw eden "■—the King of Swo den at that time being none other than Gustavus Vasa.

Money ami influence would generally help a man out of most scrapes in those old prison days. ACaptainCatnpbell,brotber of the Maeallam More of the time, abducted in 1690 a Kirl o! sixteen, who had a fortune of £50,000, and married the girl. The cap tain's family name was his pastport to liberty, but Sir John Johnson, who had helped to carry off the girl, was hanged for his share in the transaction. The marriage was declared void by Act of Parliament. There were many similar cases in the seventeenth century. A Clifford stopped a coach on Hounslow Heath in thei ap proved fashion of the, period, and carried Re occupant, an heiress, to Calais, where the lady was forced to many him. There was an outcry, and tfce lady was rescued. Clifford stood his trial, pleading guilty, but his excuse that "be caw no other wav of winning her must have gone in mitigation of sentence, seeing that he got off with a fine of £1,000 and a yew's detention in Newgate. •' i more famoua case of this description. WaV the abduction of Lady Ogle by Count Kouigsniavk in .1632. Kuuigsinark wus a Swede. The lady was but a child of thir teen. Nevertheless she was a widow, for her " housen and landa " had caused her to

be married early, and her beauty had brought about a second marriage, much against her will, with Thomas Thynne, who was as rich as' his little wife. After the second marriage, the lady went abroad and saw Konigamaik, who did what he could to engage her affections. Young as sho was, the lady knew where her duty lay, and repulsed the count. Thereupon Konigs mark set to work to remove the obstacle in the way. He hired a party of assassins, who waylaid Thynne and killed him. The principal and his assistants were arrested, and the latter were hanged, but Konigs mark, who had money at his command, spent it freely in bribes, and succeeded in getting out of the country and cheating Tyburn.

It is only within a century or so that the horrors of Newgate and other gaohrof the country have ceased to •xist. Much that was wrong in prison management- has only been remedied in our own time. Tho good work began when John Howard started on his "circumnavigation of charity." The system in our day is to pay the governor of a pri?on as we pay any other public official, and the salary is high enough to command the services of men of honour and education. Tho old style was to give the governorship of a gaol to the highest bidder. Ho ward found many gaols in .England where gaolers had paid large sums to secure tho appointment. At tho beginning of the eighteenth century the Governor of New gate paid £1,000 for the place, and did not cons-tier the price too much. He became head, as it were, of a penal boarding-house. The poverty-stricken offender got little or nothing to cat, and led worse than a dogfe life in gaol. Tho man who had money at his command fared better, but it was at a heavy cost. There were " select" parts of Newgate, for admission to which a feo of twenty guineas was extracted. Beds had to be paid for in addition. Enormous sums Were charged for specially-cooked meals. One govsrnor is said to havo cleared £1,000 a month from the office, and as ovory uader g.aoter exacted fees, it will bo inferred that imprisonment after the old style in England not only deprived a man of his liberty, but was apt to rcduco him to beggary.— "Tit Bits.1

The Verdict of an Auckland Jury.

Curious stories have been often told respect ing tho doings of juries when locked up to consider the verdict, but the following novel mode of coming to a docision, if not new,is at least, amusing. At. it would spoil the yarn txyprint it otherwise i.ban as related, wo give it in tho man's own words :—

" Gentlemon," said the speaker to a com pany of us who had assembled at Walker's Imperial Hotol, chatting over old timer, " I was pursuing the even tenor of my way, when I found myself in Auckland carry ing on the peaceful avocation of a land agent, including the lucrative business of supplying the rebel Maoris with leaden saßh weights, wax matches, and eyolct holes." " What was that for?" demanded one of the company

"Well, you see," was tho calm reply, "gunpowder, bullets, and percussion caps were contraband of war at the time; and I had no desire for a neck-stretcher at the hands of Sir Duncan Cameron. It was be foie Kangariri, gentlemen. So I instructed tho Maoris how to make rifle bullets out of sash weights, and you would scarcely be lievo how admirably the tops of wax mat ches cut off and inserted into eyelets answered the purpose of percussion caps, But to return to my subject. One day a constable paid me a-vieit, with a summons for the jury. I went, saw, and got run into the box with eleven others, empauelled to try two Maoris, Hori Tapa and Matui, forrubbing out a settler's family up the Waikato, The main evidence was that of the only survivor, a boy, who had been tomahawked and left for dead, but who distinctly swore to the two men in the dock as being the slaughterers of his rola-. tives. The Judge (old Sir George Arney) charged us dead against the niggers, and we retired to consider the verdict. Now, I

was doing a big business with the natives at that time, and it wouldn't do for to be one of a dozen that scragged two promising specimens of the race, five others, trom business reasons, held the same view; but tho remaining six, including the foreman, weredeadon lor a conviction. Wewrangled, sinolftd, sang gongs, and tried other, ways to pass away the time ; but th«e we were ut 5 o'clock, six of one and half-a-dozen of ,the other. At last the Judge sent in t.o say that if we were not agreed at 10 o'clock we must be locked up all night. That fixed our foreman's flint. He was a master stone mason ; had the contract for a new building underiway, and about fifty men working for' Tor that, 'NowfTEeTFyosrWEW u» is. ;«- I'mlocked up to-night "—(it was on. a .Sat urday)-" ther'U. be the devil to pay with my men. I'll looso a lot of money. Tell you what veil do. We'll toss for it. Guilty or Not guily; and I'll stand a supper afterwards round at the Freemasons.'...; Suiting the action to the word, he cut off a button from his flannel jacket. It was one of those big mother-o'-pearl buttons, common on such articles, black one sid<V whito on tho other. .. , , Selecting mo aa the champion of the not guilty " crowd—tho foreman waß straight for hanging 'em -he continued— " iv'ow then, we're all agreeable— Blank, the niggors goes loose ; while, they swings. Up it goes.' •'. , ; I looked at tho button, to see all lair. Up went the said button, and came down Black.

We went in to Court. ' . "Gentlemen of the Jury, are you all agreed upon your verdict?" cays old.O Bnen the Judge's Associate. " Wels," says theforeman. ' . . "How say you gentlemen of the jury, do you find the pris-onors at the bar guilty or not guilty ?" a^ked the deputy beak. . "Not guilty." , , ..." ; They wore ■ turned loose, and rubbed noses outside with their males. Next day, I saw them selling peaches about the streets. ' , . .-, ~ ' ' ~, ' '•But were thiy guilty !" asked one of the C°«^V;ell' it has turned out that they were not," replied our friend the narrator. "Three days afterwards tho real culprits were taken with a mob of others at Ring 8 Redoubt, and a swaginan who had been hiding in the bueh while the tomahawking of the settlor's family was going on, came, forward and identified them by a peculiar oattern tattooed on their arms-.the mark of the Ncuruawahia..chiefs." ( " What a fortunate intorpotition ot i"ro vidence in favour oQhe innocent!' ex claimed the only righteous onow our, ml"\;ou bet!" exclaimed the relator of the story, quietly. "I had the handling of that button just before it was ehied up. ■ 1 had also somo liquid lamp-black in my coat pocket. Shouldn't wonder if the white Tide of the button got a bit emutted in the confusion. Yea. mite, your-morals very proper and pretty."

The .French Peasant Proprietor

The French land system is constantly held up as a model by those who believe in the land b ing divided up into small holdings, but how many are there who are acquainted with the results of the system? There .are millions of farms in France ranging from a quarter to four acres, and one half-acre being about the average. The rent for .the land is always one-half of the crop. .The land is worth about £80 an acre; «...*», graces £120. Thero are 7,000,000 land owners in France, against 227,000 in Eng land The French fanner, on his one or two acres, with a bare-footed wife cutting grain with a sickle by his side, is happy and contented, because he knows no better. But such a degrading life-would drive an English farmer mad. A correspondent of an English journal, speaking of French thrift, lays:-" The Frenchman thrives) be cause he spends nothing Be has no wan U, beyond the coarsest food and the washings of the grapeskins after the wine is niad* Yea he ie thrifty. He eaves money,too,.The, is appalling. I,n^ er T heir wants are no French farm village._» more than.the- w t a h n e tS Co °a rrestE est food, about Frenchman eats the coarses bread and wine for break -7S B ou^Cfldrand wine for dinner, and &pTbreadand milk for supper He dies not know what coffee or tea is.

Sneaking of Spiritualism in the course of a S s eWTalmage said.:-" It is an unclfean and adulterous region, and the sooner it goes down to the pit.from which it came the bolter for humanity. Spirit ualism produces insanity all over the land If you put your hand in the hand o£ Urn influence it will lead you dovyn to hell/ where there is an everlasting smncc. Spiritualism ruins the feoul and makes men iutidels." : ' ~ -'

" sCM XwnjtJionie. f nwi & Co.. Ajoits, AiMital

AN AUCKLAND BAD BOY.

"Whatshall we do with our boyiJ" Iraj question that has been frequently asked for years past, and for which it aeoma to b« moat difficult to find a satisfactory answer.: My idea (says a writer in a contemporary) has always been that the best plan is to give a boy a good practical education, tsach hiti a trade, and thenlethim look out forhimsslf. But this does not seem to answer always, A gentleman living in Auckland tried it with his son, but his experience is quite th« reverse of encouraging. He gave his boy a good education, and paid a premium to have him taught a good business. The. lad seemed to be conducting himself pro-; perly until the beginning of this month, but it now appears that he had got into bad company and taken to gamb ling. In order to obtain the fund* necessary for that extremely objection able form of amusement, he robbed hit own fathor of £20 out-of £60 given, to;. kirn with which to pay accounts, And' forged his employer's name to cheques to. i the amount of upwards of £30. In order; to save the young scoundrel from gaol, the father had to pay the amount of the forged cheques as well as boar the 1ob« of the £20. Now, what isi to be done in »> gase like this? No one will care to', employ a lad who has proved himself so utterly devoid of honesty and principle; andf it certainly -would never do to allow him to« to lead a life of idleness, and be a burden on the father whom he has robbed. A case of I this sort makes one inclined to sympathise with those people in England who send out.' their " black sheep" to the colonies, know-; ing that', if they do not reform, they are'sbi' farawaytbat they will not disgrace their^ friends. Perhaps we had better return the ; t compliment and send our " bad eggs " to England. ______ i

Russian Forest Products.

Rcmarkafolo Utilisation of tlicm In In dustrial Pursuits.

Fkw countries can show a bettor utilisatic'n of forest products than Russia, and partiou-i larly in the furnishing of industrial employ,-1; ment to the peasantry. Carriage and cart building forms an important item in wood-?! work, giving occupation to at least 530; villages, particularly in tho Governments'of Nijini Novgorod^ Viatka, Kazan, MoßCoy,"/ Riasan, Vladimir, Jaroalay, Tula.: and ; Kaluga. . Tho annual production in the 3i Government of Moscow is 116,000 roubles, il the wheels alono in that of Ekaterinburg: amounting to"the value -of 145,000 rouble*:, per annum. It is a singular fact, however, that a vohiclo is rarely if ever finished on.l the spot where it was begun, one village pro vidiiig the spokes, another the boxes, while a third will make the body. The manufac ture of wooden spoonßia on a large scale, J about 126,000,000 being turned out «v<Kv| year. The same subdivision of labour is* seen in this case, one workman cutting the wood into lengths, another shaping the,; spaon in tho rough, a third hollowing its out, and a fourth varnishing it. Tha^ spoonß are usually made of birch andri poplar, or boxwood for the 'most expensive,"'' the average price per 1,000 being-from she; to eight roubles. Some 3,200 cubic fathoms . of wood are annually cut up into spoonsj;;, one cubic fathpin makingabout4,ooo. They;' are exported in greatr numbers via Irbifc to' b Khiva, and via Antrakan to Persia. -The' / Government of Kazan is noted for pro-.' ducing tho majority of the- "donga" or; yokes, which are made ■of elm and ■ willow. Of these a family that includes three workmen will produce from' 700 to * 1,000 in the course of tho winter. Tho; frames,- howover, which are;niade'of birch'; and maple, come from Kaluga, and are' sent to market at Kursk. The xalder tree*-" yields "tho dye with which the harness" is: staiued. Combs foi' weaver's toe specially' from a place called Jegbricffatow, in tho ' Government of Riazan, and are^ produced t" at the rate of 500,000 a year, the' reeds: being bought in the south and the metal work at Moscow. The spinning wheels,'. however, all come from the- Government of ; Jaroslav. A place called SwcnigrodiL itti; Moscow Govfernment, supplies veneered and'^; inlaid furniture peculiar to- the';empire;^ Tula provides concertinas to the amount of 250,000 per annum, and in Viatka Govern- |- ment are also made organs and violins. In the same Ideality are grown great numbers, , of lime trees, '„ tho bark of which is turned , into bast for matting and sacks, and also ' for making bast shoes, to the extent, of ' 100,000,000 per annum.. The bas,t matting*" known as '' Bchangskaia," is imported, to - England, and to- supply these industries ~ over half a million lime trees are annually " cttt down in Viatka. Paper-iriaking is"; r beginning to employ "a considerableamount '[■■ of wflpd, •while of grosser industries the>; annual production of tar ia 2,000,000 poods fl

The Cathedral of St. Saviour at MOSCOW.

' The new Cathedral atMoscdw is oliie of the most remarkable churches in Euro^a. The > church of.St. Saviour has beeu. oroctedi in £ commemoration of the departure of: CthoJ^ § French from Moscow. In less than thrco, months; afler'tlio retreat of the foeiA^Si I ander ;. issued a ukase that o-. memorial'l temple (should be built, and five years, lateral V the foundation was "laid, but not;on the | p present site. Had the original plans, freen ■(■ followed, Russia wbuld'have.hacL, the:high.-;-! g cet building in the world, namely, 700 ieet * high, but after expending ten'years' fimel. and £600,000 the architect and Buudjnffl :•• Cqmmittee were banished^ :- and';.;ihei» property confiscated. Emperor Nisholas^ adopted new plane and selected. theg ; present site, which ,has -cost, jtfithj embankment* and terraces, £180,000. Jiij IS3B the foundation was begun^ and! the building" slowly rose. : In 1858i*he^ ecaffolding was Temoved, and 25 years niorS have been required to decorate and fimeh it ■ .• insido and ou». The building covers;: an , area of 73,000 square feet, orover. onp ,ancH a half awes. It is built in the form of a.; Greek, cross, anil the style is GrKCO;By?«D^ tine. Thero are five cupolas, th« centre . one of flhich rises-to » height 0f.340ft from the Rround. : The gilding of the 4°=^ required 9001b of gold, and .cost £\lP,fm.•-. The bells, as usual in Russia, are otiPpnd erous weight; The largest or "holy day ; bell, weighs 26 tonsi the" Sunday' • well weighs 12 tons, and the smallest of the peal , descends to about 301b. "The chimes, alone i • cost£l3,ooo. ■ ■ . : v ':.?■

Italian Wines.

So fat as quantity goes,1 Italy lia&in sewral recent years outdone France—m 18/8" and 1879 to the extent of 2,000,000 hecolitres— and the production in Italy m now ; increasing andadmite of far greaterincrease^ » Taking the average of the last five years, France" taken the lead, the mean production . being nearly 34,000,000 hectolitres j then ,■ comes Italy, with over 27,000,000} then Austro-Hungary, • with 24,000,000; Jben Spain with 22,000,000. Germany produces only 2.000,000—s little over twice as much , as Switzerland, and nbt; twice as much;a(i » Greece, In considering the expdrts;>y| must, of course, be carefal to'distinguißfl ; , those countries in which ihe Italian wingm ■" are drank from those in which they'are made up and re-exported under false titles,; : Two-thirds of the whole Italian .exports oi wine go to France for the latter purpoaM , aboutaneighth cornea to England (of whieli ii Marsala probably forms by far the gre&tet part)as abeverage j and Switzerland, stawt ~ ing next in order, takes one-tenth...<OivtW w&es imported into Switzerland/ thosa-;;O Piedmont and the ValtaUinaprobablyiforn ( the majority. They are used in their natuVa g state by the Swiss themselves, and. by_tn: thousands of tourists who crowd .ttie.Alß! ■ in the summer and autumn. -Geri^; ; takes about one fifty-eighth, partly ,»r||g f manufacture; and Uruguay, where WM are large numberaof Italian colonists, abfW \ tho same quantity for consumption. Otb<s l« countries take comparatively little. ~. E

A Gaoler Race.

£Ef3fcV«=fctd| rtnaactions. The Marwaree smelt >pu.B; the gaoler was makteg^ ;fT iune out of the prisoners, and gaveuuornu | b; ion to the European superintendant of ttj 9 raol that things were .not astheyebouia b< s ke was asked to sign a charge, and rWll; - : lid bo, and, on a search warrant being; pi B the native gaoler'sjuf^.^ l 8 be a veritable depSt for all th stolen goods in the station for many montl 9 the remainder of the story did" «< 9 and here, and; though it may, be termed: , fl romance, the faote 8 newspaper record. It transpired. thaOBP; Bengali ga°ler had to look to the safety Q two old offenders, who wero then undMgjlO ins louc eentencea of imprisonment in U craoK He wouldlet tiein out after dait, l!" commit burglaries andttefte, and let" tMJ in again befpradaylight; pocketingUieML oeeds of airtteu- doingß duruig W&m andlaying u« the store whiolu^^l wards so rudely broken into.-" I^*l Ehco." - ,i!

THIS, AUCKLAND ETENINu sTAJR, SATURDA*. DECEMBER 6, io»4.

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