A TALE OF THE MISSIONS.

Asjtonio .Tomelli was the best artisan of his profession in Naples. He was a worker in bronze, a department of the arts for which the Italians havo been long celebrated. Antonio's skill had gained him reputation and abundant employment, and from his workshop had issued the greater number of the candelabras and othermetallicornuments to be found in the palaces of Naples. The bronze-worker had grown rich by his occu pation, but the usual concomitant of riches, pride, he had eschewed. He still laboured away at his trade, with his own hands, con fining his personal attentions chiefly to the finer and more difficult articles which he was required to fabricate, while meu in his employ manufactured in a large and separate workshop the common articles of the trade. _ One evening, as Antonio sat alone in the little apartment where he pursued his la bours, he was informed that a lady wished to speak with him. He desired her to be admitted immediately. The visitor was a female of tall and stately form and carriage, with a dark thick veil thrown over her head and face, so as to prevent the bronze-worker from discerning the features beneath. The lady, for such her dress betokened her to be, did not speak until the servant who had ad mitted her had left the room for some moments.

Turning then her glance from the door to Jomelli, and seating herself in the chair which he had placed for her. she said, in a voice which her hearer thought the most Bweet and mellifluous that had ever fallen upon his ear, but which seemed strangely agi tated, considering the commonplace matter which it uttered : " You work in bronze— you can make bronze ornaments of all kinds? Ie it so ?"

"It is, lady," replied the artisan, "and I shall be proud to execute anything of that nature for you." "Yes, yea," said the lady, "I wish a piece of work done. I have a statue of great value—the statue of a conqueror and king —done by the band of a first-rate sculptor. It is perfect in every respect but one :it wants a chaplet of flowers to adorn its templea ; and this is what I wish you to make for it."

"Is the statue of bronze, madame!" was the artist's question. "No,"repliod the lady, "it is white, of pure marble, and you must paint the chaplet of that colour when you have made it." "What form, then, lady, do you choose it to be of ?" said the artist ; " what shape or pattern shall the ornaments have? But, perhaps, I had better see the statue, and measure the dimensions of the head."

"No, no !" exclaimed the visitor hurriedly, "it will not be necessary. I have looked upon it so often that I can tell you perfectly well how large it is. Your own head is very .near it; yes, you cannot go wrong if you fit the chaplet to your own head." "And the fashion of the ornaments, madame?"

"Let it be heavy, very heavy," replied the lady, sinking her voice to a concentrated whisper; "let it be very weighty, that it may not fall off easily ; and make it jagged, and full of spikes inside, that it may adhere to the brows of the statue." "Still, lady, the band should be wrought in some ornamental fashion," said Antanio. " Do that as you please," was tho lady's reply ; " but remember it is to be heavy and full of spikes, and forget not that it is "to be painted white, so as_ to resemble (lowers. And now, when will it be finished!" "Oh, in a few days, madame," said tho

artist. , " A few dayn !" cried the lady vehemently, rising from her chair at the same time ; "it must be ready to-morrow evening, sir! I must have it to-morrow !" "I cannot do justice to the chaplet, lady," said the bronzo-worker, astonished at her violence of tone ; "the ornamental part " " I care not for any ornaments," was the hasty reply ; " make it as I have directed ; and to-morrow I must have it, because— because I am to have a party, and I wish the statue to be then ornamented." " Well, madame," said the artist resig nedly, " I shall do my endeavour. And ■whither shall I have the honour of sending it!" S " I shall call for it myself at this hour to morrow, and shall pay what you will for it. Remember what I have said, heavy and set ■with spikes." With these words the lady departed, leaving on Jomelli's mind the im pression that, fanciful as many of his former employers had been, this new one was the most flighty of all. On the evening following that on which this singular order was given to the artist JomelU, #11 the grandees and fashionables of Maples, and not a small part of the populace, were on the move towards the splendid theatre of San Carlos. A piece of great in terest was to be performed, and the prima donna, who was young and beautiful, was the exquisite vocalist Signora Marina. The lady had but lately been appointed to take the part of chief singer, and had therefore superseded one who had formerly been her ack no wledged superior—Madame Oambrici. Considering tho comparative humiliation which Madame Gambrici had endured in

the eyes of the Neapolitans, it was not to be supposed that she would on the present occasion make her appearance in the house. But few knew the real character of their

former favourite. To the astonishment, and

wo should add the delight, of tho audience, Gambrici attended, as if for the purpose of -acknowledging the merits and gracing the "triumph of the inimitable Marina. She appeared in one of the most conspicuous parts of the theatre—the front corner of the upper box overhanging the stage. Before the opera commenced, the audience called out the name of their former favourite, Oambrici, and cheered her for her seeming freedom from jealousy in being present on such an occasion. The object of their at tention, however, appeared to be abashed by the plaudits sho lmd raised, and moved not a muscle in reply, but, half covered by her veil, sat with her eyes fixed on tho stage. The piece at length commenced, the young prima donna appeared, and the cheers were Io»g and loud. Marina had not been over praised, either as regarded.her person or performance. Every step which sho took across the stage elicted admiration, for her movements wero like those of a sylph ; every note that she uttered drew forth applause, for her voice was sweet and strong as Philomel's. In every song of tho piece she was successful, but attention and expectation were chiefly riveted upon one song, onco Gambrici'e masterpiece. Marina at length reached this part of the opera ; she was then alone upon the stage. She sang the first verse, and tho audience wero in raptures. She eang the second, and crowns of flowers wero scattered upon the stage, while even Gambrici was seen to applaud. She sang the third and last verse, and in doing so, chanced to stand immediately below Garnbrici's box. To the delight of.the spectators, Gambrici rose at that moment with a large crown of flowers, and, waving it in the air, threw it down on the young Marina's head. The crown bounded from the singer's brow nnd rolled along the stage, whilo Marina herself fell prostrate on the boards. She gave one scream, and never spoke or moved again. The flower-covered crown or ehaplet was theheavy bronze one made by Jotnolli, and one of thfi'jßjoikes hnd entered the victim's brain.

It would be impossible to describe the con fusion, the hcrror, the execration? that en sued. Gambrici having gratified her ma lignant revengo, seemed contented that she should pay for it with her life. She had slain her rival, the unfortunate Marina, and was satisfied. Dreadful must those passions have been, which could prompt the execu tion of so unhallowed a deed. Looking round her with calm and reckless indiffer ence, shedid notmaketheslightestattemptto escape, and was forthwith seized and brought to justice. Antonio Jomelli was confronted with her for form's sake, and avowed having made for her the fatal wreath. It has only to be added that she did not die on the scaffold, but put an end to her existence by poison in the prison where she was confined.

THE FOLLY OF REVENGE.

I was murdered ! I was perfectly conscious of that fact. I stood between my brother-in law and some property, and to obtain it he killed me.

Yes, killed me deliberately, in cold blood. I was standing with my back towards him, when lie struck me a heavy blow •with a life preserver. I reeled like a drunken mun ; but, catching hold of some article of furniture fiiat stood near mo, I prevented myself flora fall ing. In this position I managed to turn to wards my assassin, who stood glaring at me tiiumpantly. Not one look of pity or remorse was in his face. Stiipified as I was by the terrible effects of the blow, I recognised him, and called out his name. Again he raised the life-preserver. I saw it coming, yet could not move to protect myself. Down it came, smashing my skull to pieces. The next moment I was dead !

It would be in vain for me to attempt to describe the peculiar sensation thatl felt on finding myself a disembodied spirit. I passed and rcpassed my shadowy hands through each other, then extended my form till it was twice the usual size, and con tracted it till I was smaller than the small est dwarf. The material of my form was a fine gas, that seemed to take any shape my will directed : thus I could at pleasure will myself to appear in the same clothes as I wore when in the body, and instantly I had assumed that form. My usual dress, or rather that dress which I wore when my will was not exerting its influence, was a light flowing robe, resembling those mists that are often seen crawling along the fields on moonlight nights. Directly after the crime had been accom plished I was wafted off to a great distance from the scene of my murder; how, I knew not, I only knew that such was the case from the difference in the country that sur rounded me. I felt comfortable and con tented, my strongest sensations being those of curiosity and astonishment. I examined my gauze-like substance with delight, and exerted my new power of will in every pos sible manner that I could think of, each new evidenco of its mutability affording me fresh delight and amusement. How long I remained in this blissful and contented state I know not. Whether for a very long or a very short period I was perfectly unable to say. Time seemed to nave perished with my body, and I no longer thought of either.

I wandered on, meeting people and pass ing through them ; no substance stopped me. I flowed along with a calm sense of enjoyment that is beyond all description. At last a new feeling arose within me, my will became powerless, or rather subservient to a greater one, that led me on towards the town where I had been murdered. I knew not whence came the invisible power that propelled me onwards, nor who exerted it, but quietly submitted to its guidance. I knew the town well, having lived many a year there when in the body. Onward I went, meeting at least fifty peoplo whom I knew, but every one passed me by, evi dently not aware of my presence. At length I reached the market place, and, recalling many pleasant days 1 had spent in its neighbourhood., I hovered about to see if any change had come over it since I was there last.

No, all was the same. In the centre stood the old town cross, as dirty and dismal as ever, for it is a manufacturing town, and, consequently, always covered with smoke. The old church, too, looked mournful. No ivy grew there, its only covering being a pall-like mantle of soot.

In the midst of my reverie I again felt the strange, magnetic power at work upon me. It willed me to turn; I did so, and beheld my murderer ! In an instant I was at his throat. I tore, I scratched, I bit. But all in vain, he was as unconscious of my presence as the rest of the people I had met. Baffled in my attempt to inflict any bodily injury upon him, I gave way to unbounded rage. Raising my hand to Heaven, I cursed him.

Scarcely had the words escaped my lips when I heard a sweet, soft, though com manding voice, say to me, '' Thou hast chosen thine own fate! Hence forth thou artcompelled to haunt that man." " Why," I replied, " am I to be punished for Ins crime ? Surely I have suffered enough at his hands already, without being com pelled to follow his footsteps, to watch his miserable fears and meanness of heart." " Child," replied the voice, " before thou wert brought to this miserable man, thou hadst a certain time given to thee wherein thou mightest have seen how email was the injury he had done thee, and, with a con sciousness of thine own innumerable sins have forgiven him. Thou wert happy; hap pier than thou hadst ever been when in the flesh. Hadst thou forgiven him, thou wouldet have been much happier still. But this thou didst not do, therefore thou art not fit to enter into Heaven because of thy unforgiv ingness. Henceforth thy punishment must be to haunt him, and his to be haunted by thee. J

The voice ceased, and bowing low, I pre pared to begin my task. The peacofnl enjoy, ment I had before felt had gone from me for ever. A heavy gloom seemed to depress mo, my buoyant will was gone. I had but one idea, that of being near my murderer, now MY victim.- I approached him. How changed ho hud become ! He saw me now, and trembled in every limb. His face turned pale", his hair stood oh end, his teeth chattered, and his trembling knees nearly gave way under him. For a few 6econds he remained with wide open eyes staring at me; thon. uttering a loud cry, he fled in terror. He could not escape me, for, to me, fatigue was impossible. I kept before him as if chained there. Whichever way he turned his eyes he beheld mine fixed upon him.

At length he foil on the ground insensible, and, for a time, was I released from my task. Yet I hovered near, for I had begun to feel a demoniacal pleasure in his pain. I knew that, go where ho would, he could not get rid of me. I had but to will myself to be near .him, and, though he were thousands of miles away, I should be there in an instant. Ho carried a body, I was a spirit,the essence of thought. For days and days I followed him. As he sat at table I stood opposite to him, till he started up, leaving the meal untasted. By night I wandered about his rooni. He grew paler and thinner. He ate little, and but .seldom slept, and at last from a hearty, hale man, he became a perfect ruin. His terrible torments at ler-.zth threw him on a bed of sickness, and the doctor gave but little jhopes|of his^recovery.S^His wife

sat by his side weeping, whilo his little golden-haired daughter stood kissing his emaciated hand.

" No hope, no hope," he muttered, "is there no hope?"

" I am afraid not," said the doctor. " Oh, I have deserved this, there is no for givenesß." " Ask God, papa," saidhis little daughter, " mamma says that He will give hope and forgiveness."

The child's words fell like a reproach upon my soul, and I exclaimed— "Oh, Lord, forgive him, for I do."

Scarcely had the words left my lips, when I found myself rising up, up into the sky. Bright clouds rolled around me, and the earth gleamed beneath me like a star. On ward 1 went, higher, a new-born hope, a new life, seemed entering into me. Involun tarily words of praise to the Almighty broke my lips, and a warmth of bliss entered my breast. As I gazed upwards I saw a beautifullight; shining far, farm thedistance, whence strains of glorious music seemed dropping like summer rain, refreshing and cheering me. In the midst of this I thought of my wife, my children, my mother. Immediately I discovered that I was sinking rapidly to wards the earth, in fact, that my worldly thoughts must not be carried up to heaven. I prayed for forgiveness, trusting that He who made those I loved on earth would save and protect them. Then fixing my eyes steadily on the light, I found myself rising again with inconceivable rapidity, till I joined the song of praise and was happy. So happy !so indescribably blessed! But one faint shadow of doubt passed through nxy thoughts will this.jUnlike the joys of earth, last for ever 1

The answer fell strangely on my ears, in familiar—alas ! too familiar accents.

" Please, sir, it's past nine o'clock, and your coffee's a-getting cold."

FOR THE LADIES.

Feminine Facts, Fancies, and Foibles.

The favourite hats are still of the high crowned, straight-brimmed type, known as the Henrill. -HI. shapes, and usually accom pany all every-day toilettes with any preten sion to style or fashion.

Gauze andsilkmuslinformcharmingyoung ladies' ball toilettes, sprinkled with flowers; chenille spotted gauze is also much used with flowers or birds to holdup the draperies. Trimmings forall purposes keep pace with the richness of embroideries. Fringes and passementeries, whether for dresses or mantles, orchenilleorbeads, or both together, have attained an unusual height of luxury this winter.

Giris' hats are distinguished this winter by the straightness of the brim, and very few cavalier hats looped up in one place are now seen.

Most of the seal muffs are provided with a silk cord to suspend them round the neck. Many pelerines and muffs of undyed seal are worn, lined with blue satin or brown satin to match.

Fur boos are much worn ; they are very soft and comfortable, and far more becoming than the capes. Muffs are worn rather larger, unless by very young girls who study appearance more than comfort, and who use the milliner's, not the furrier's muff.

Feather aigrettes in the hair are more worn than flowers this winter; if- flowers ai . preferred; they are mounted ere aigrette. They are, however, very expensive. Ball dresses are exquisitely pretty and graceful owing to the extensive use of silk gauze or tulle for the paniers and draperies, and magnificently embroidered silks for the skirt, corsage, and train.

Fine serge, cashmere, foule cloth, and every kind of woollen material continue to be extensively used, in combination with velvet or good velveteen, for house and walking dresses. Velvet is as extensively used for visiting toilettes as is velveteen for the plain morn ing costume, but it is made up in more elaborate styles and richly trimmed. Very pretty new capotes are made of rowß of narrow silk braid gummed on the shape quite close together, so that they have the appearance of a thick, glossy ottoman. They are made in all colours, and these braided capotes are newer and more fashionable than those of velvet and other materials-

Fur is muoh worn as trimming for dol mans and redingotes, as well aa for all out door costumes made of warm, serviceable, rough-surfaced cloth, either as bands in various widths or extremely narrow fringes, which are placed beneath the edges of the material, giving it the appearance of being lined throughout with fur. A charming dress for a girl of nine is made entirely of dark grenat satin. Back and front are pointed, pleated panels, with a satin sash tied beneath the points with a bow in front. A plain pelerine covers the shoulders, finished off, with a small turned down collar. The sleeves, collar, and pelerine are edged with narrow chenille fringe, and a row of white lace edges the pleated skirt.

For young girls' evening wear, nothing can be prettier or more fashionable than bronze shoes, the toes ornamented with velvet bows matching the prevailing colour of the costume, and surmounted by gilded, silvered, or oxydised buckles in delicate filigree work of Italian or Renaissance design. The favourite colour just now for children is red, even for indoor dresses, red flannel or some warm fabric being used generally. The costume is very simple, consisting of a straight Princess dress edged with a guaged or pleated tlounce, which does duty ior the skirt. , ■...'

_ The exquisite fit, neatness, and stylish simplicity of the Jersey commend it tii everyone, and contribute to its alrijaiiy, attained and fast growing populUrity.' Jersey material is now used for ladies' jackets and corsages, trimmed in'various' ways, and complete dresses for little girls and suits for boys have been for some time past in great favour.

\ elvet ig as extensively used for visiting toilettes as ie velveteen for the plain morn ing costume, but it i 8 made up in more elaborate styles and richly trimmed. One or two dresses of this class may be men tioned as new and typical. In one model the skirt is of grenat velvet, flat, and cut out m large embroirdered scallons with handsome chenille and gold tassels falling between the -caiops. Beneath the ual* lops is a fluted pleating of sicilienne. The tunic is of the same thick, soft, ribbed sicihenno, draped in lar™ erarnfUl f.Xfe Ornate M S two materials at the back. The coma.™ i H of velvet slightly pointed in ° WSnd open over a velvet plastron embroidered with flowers A charming little DuchesTof Cleves mantelet, bordered with a frine« of chenille and gold tassels, opens a« in front to show the embroidered plastron In another model the plain skirt; wof nain brule velvet, and the tunio and cotsaeati shot blue and deaf leaf surah studdedwith round spots of pain brule velvet.'.- .1 ,-. ,

STAR SATURDAY SUPPLEMENT, MARCH 15, 1884.

6



IJEW ZEALAND BAILWAYS. ! TIME TABLE j On and After July 6. ISB3. AUCKLAND AND ONKHUNGALINK. as , s . . 5? s ... jJ 53'a'' «So «5 i M g : S .:5 8 Q ISg S 2 > S3 I I 11 | 1 s | i : . . : & | 3 •" «s ' : «s 2 o | 3 i' 3 **'>>< 9 "S3 »a- •«3 a a || g ij :§ : :MS 1 IS B ""■ ""• -> — "-1 2 S; !I ' ' 111" { S3 '3 • \3 5a | gs i g i is s s I ;—: : : : :—s ■ — §» S :i,.,V i s iHijili gt*lP ? g £ 5 o H —»s —<s — 7Z —ss — o -1 —' ' >■ B - IS 3 a • ' 5« s I •a ■ ■■ — ja ra §532 ' ' I : i g — . s so a 3 a S S -5 S : : i t i 5 : S ► a«• *-«• "I , H I S3 S3>« 3•s ! S3a3 '• «i > a ■ j S" '. « ' ' ' 3 : 3 | io S S . . 8 . S I 2e*«C« '• C* 'C- 2 Io s a , ,sj . s g Irfsj d ' a •sj 1 ' 1 a"33 •*• >3""• 3 ! |S 33 .--.3 .2 | If ' : 'g :S' I 2 S' 1 s ° sgli P 1 1 f as~Si —«S—ST—3S~SS 55— MAIM LINK. AUCKLAND-MKRCKK-TK AWAMUTU SOUTH.—Wkbk Datb. _ A.in. ft*m. fttin. p.m. p.m. 0 AncktauS dep. 6,15 &40 &25 115 8.0 2 Newmarket Jnnct, 8.25 6.60 8.37 (.25 8.10 8 Remuem _ _ 6.30 _ &M iM B.W ■1 Green Lane- .._-.._„ •5 EUeraUo - „.,_„_„ 6 PenroaeJonoUon.. 8.<5 7.16 8.59tM5tR.50 9 Otahuhn _ .. &55 .. 9.10 <U7 8.13 11 Papatoltol - - ~^" _ 9.19 &.I TT •15 Mannrews _ ____.... U Pspakon - „ _ _ 9.« B.SS .. •21 Hnnoa .. _.._.... ---» Drnrr.. _ .. „ 8.1710.3 &«S .. •23 Rnnclaian M •.'•*.. .. .. B0 Pukekofce .. - 9,i519.85 «.» _ •33 Buokland _ 35 Tnakau n .. .. 9.5010.63 8.0 .. •37 Whanitarata _.._...._ « Foksno .. .... .. 11.12 7.3 .. m m«,™, j atr. .. 10311.22 7.15 .. •49 Whanffamatiixo ...... M -54 Wairnngl „ „ .. .. •56 KRngiriri .... .. _ .... _ •59 Ohinewal, _ .. .. _ 65 Huntly ■„■.. .. 12J5 1.0 .. _ 69 Tanplri ;J .. .... 1.15 .. .. U Ngaroairahla .. .. 1.15 I^s .. .. "78 Pukete . .. .. .. „ •81 Teßapa - 81 Hamilton Junction .. „ 2.13 .. 85 Hamilton _ ..I .. 1 90 Rnkuhla .. Xi V. _ .. .. .. 94 Ohannp ;-..! .. .. _ 2.60 „ •96 Lake Road >-«s .. _ i. _ .. •98 Ngaroto .. .. ... ' ..' .:■■ 100 Te.Awamntq*-. am ;.; .„ ft.ls ....... NORTH.— Wkvx Dub.■'-:• ■••. • ■ -: '■' - ■■■"■• ' ■ •'' TS" " .lii v '.: ' a.m. a.m. a.m. p.m. p.m 0 ToAwamutn dop. .; „ 9.20 ..... .. 2 Ngaroto "... .. .. .. „ .. .. •4 Lake Road _■ .. .. .. .. .. .. 7 Ohaupo' ..- .. .'. -. 9.50 .. •11 Rukuhia ...'.. .. :... ■_■ .. _ 17 Hamilton' 2.5 ... 16 Hamilton Juno. .. .. .. 10.33 2.8 •20 Toßapa ■.. .; .. .. _ .. •23 Pnkete ............ ■„ 26 Ngaruawahia .. .. ~ 11.15 .. .. 81 Tanplri .. ... .. ... 11.33 .. .. S5 Hnntly _ .'. .. .. 11.55 8.45 .. •»1 Ohinewat .. .. - - •45 Rangiriri „ .... ... _ .. .. "46 Wairangl ....... _ •51 Whangamarino .. .. .._.._ 67 Mercer -jdep. 6.15 _ 1.80 6.20 .. •60 Pokenp 6.26... 1.41 .. .. -63 Wbansarata .. .. .. .. 65 Tuakau .. .. 6.46 .. 2.1 .. .. •68 Buckland .. .. •• .. - 70 Pukckobe .. .. 7.8 .. 2.25 6.25 .. •77 Rnnblman .. .. .. .. .. .. .. 78 Drmy.. .. ;. 7.43 .. 3.8 7.6 .. •80 Hunuft .«..'■• .. .. ■■• .. •■ 81 Papaknra .. -•■ 1M .. 3.15 .. .. •85 Manurewa ..' .. .. ~ ~ .. 89 Papatoitoi .. .. 8.28 .: 8.49 7.50 .. 92 Otabnhn .. •■ 8.40 7.5 3.59 .. 6.50 84 Ponroao Junction tB.O VIM MM 8.20 7.5 •95 KllorsUe .., - .. "7T - •• •• 97 Remuo.a " '.' 9iis Z U0 siji 7120 88 Newmarket Juno.. 9.21 .. 14.40 8.41 7.26 m Ancldan4 «n« »•» >■ *M BJO 7.85



KAIPARA BRANCH. AUOKLAND-HENDERSON-HBLENS VTLLE. OUT.—Week Dayb. - _ 0. ... ft.m. a,m, p.m-i . Auokland flop. 7.15 U.O 4.30 2 Newmarket Junotlon _ _ 7.26,11.12 la *i Mount Eden _ 5 Kingsland.. „ _ _ ~ " ~ •5 Morningsido _ _ "" "7 Mount Albert _ _ " ~ •I NeT^nVj " - - 7-"1i:37 " *U WaikomlH_ _ I 7 " " ~ "14 Henderson- „ _ 8.1012*2 •17 Swanaon .. _ _ „ _ ~' •20 Waitakerei _ _ •22 Taupakl - _ ____"* 25 Kumeu Junction _ _ .. (LIT •29 Walinauku .. _ I . •31 Reweti .. _ _ •- — •33 Woodhill _ _ ' . •3* Paeroa .. _ = Z '.'. " " 38 HelensviUe •«. _ orr. 9.55 _ 7.20•• IN.—Week Days. c « •* ■ ... ft-m. p.m. p.m. 0 Helensvllle dep. 6.25 _ 1.30' *4 Paeroa _ « „ _ .. .. •6 WoodhUl .. _ _ ~ Z 2 .. •7 Kuwiti _ _ _ 2 - .. _ •10 Waimauku .. Z _ .. . 11 Kumeu Junction _ 5.36 "17 Taupaki .. _ _ L. _ II _ •19 Waitakerel .. _ _ _ .. _ *21 Swanson _ _ _ _ _ _ . "25 Henderson.. .. _ .. 8.10 2.0 _ •27 Waikomitl.. _ _ _ _ .. _ •29 New Lynn „ _ _ _ _ 31 Avondale ..__.. 8.10 227 6.17? •32 Mount Albert _ _ .. 1 ~ _ "33 Moraingsido _ _ .. _ •34 Kingslund .. _ _ _ .. •35! Mount Kden _ _ _ 36; Nun-market Junction .. . 9.10 2.53 7.15 SSj Auckland ~ «r. 9.2U] 3.2 I 7.25- C—Goods Train—a Pasaenßer Carriage la at tached to thia Train whiob stops for Pasaengera by Signal only. * FLAG STATIONS.-Trains do not stop aft these unless required. Notice should be given to the Guard at the previous stopping Station. t Change for Onehunga. B—Goods Train—a Passenger Carriage is attached to this Train, which stops for Passengers by Signal only, and runs from liuntly to Hamilton on Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Saturdays only, i Change for Auckland and intermediate Stations. { Change for Helensville and intermediate Stations. r-ENEKAL CONDITIONS. The Railway Department does not pledge It self to the despatch or arrival of the Trains at the exact times notified In the above Tables, and, in the event of any circumstances arising, either during or prior to the journey being made, whioh may render It Impossible or inex pedient for a Tram to proceed, will return the Fares paid, bnt does not undertake to forward the Passengers. LUGGAGE.—Each Passenger la allowed to take 1121bs. ot PERSONAL Luggage free (not Including merchandise of any kind), and for every 661b5.. or fraction of 561b5., a<xm> this weight, forevcry 50 miles or fraction of sft miles, the charge will be One Shilling. No LuggamJ will bo allowed to be taken into the canmges. unleßS of such a size that it can be placed under the seat without inconvenieace to other Passen gers, ttuscnoere are strongly recommended to have their Names and the BtaUon to which they are proceeding distinctly marked on their Luggage, and to gatlsty themselves that it la placed on the Train, as the Hallway Depart ment will not be responsible unless it is booked and paid for. Passengers can be booked at Stations only on condition that there is room in the Train. Children under three years of age travel free: above three and under twelve years of ago, naif-fare. HORSES. CARRIAGES. &c.-The Hallway Department does not undertake to toward Horses and Carriages by any particular Train ; but when sent, they must be at the forwarding Station half an-hoor before the departure of the Train. The Owners of Horses must provide means for securing them in the Horse-box, and the Railway Department will not be account able for any injuries sustained through their breaking loose or otherwise, nor will li under take to carry unbroken or vicious Horses. At Country Stations requisitions for Horse-boxea or Carriage-trucks must be made the day before they are wanted. DOGS mnst be provided with chains, or other sufficient means of securing them. They will not be allowed in carriages, and the sender must obtain a Ticket, to bo given up at the end ot the fournoy, and before the Dog is delivered. UETURN or PERIODICAL TICKETS will not be availably for Special and Excursion Trains, except when the Ordinary TimeTablo is suspended. SPECIAL NOTICE. - To ensure despatch, Parcels, Extra LugKago. and Doas must be at the Station at least THIRTY MINU'i ES before the Advertised Time of Departure of Train. All Time Tables issued prior to this date are now "Micellcd. J. P. MAXWELL, General Manager.



A UCKLAND DEUTSCHER VEREIN. Gescllige Zusammenkunfte jcden Mittwoch Abend, 8 Uhr, 1m Vereins Zimmer. Park Hotel. Wellesley-street. Deutsche Zcitungen und Journale. Deutsche Bibliothek. MAX KOBER. Schriftfuhrer. ANOTHER FIRE! WHAT TO DO IN CASE OF FIRE. The most fruitful sources of fires arc—the careless use of matches, candle flame coming in (contact with window curtains or bedhang ings, the mismanagement of kerosene lamps, and the leaving of ordinary household lamps untondsd. Matches shou.d always be kept on a high shelf out of the reach of children. When employed in stores, warehouses and factories, they should be protected from mico by means of proper metal-boxes. Care should be taken not to drop unlighted matches nor to throw down unextinguished matches care lessly on the floor. Never leave a lighted candle unwatched near hanging drapery, especially if" there bean open window in the room. Reading in bed bycandle light is a practice vory much to be condemned, and a burning candle should never be suffered to remain after the inmatea of the house are asleep. Gas should bo turned off at the main when not in use. In caso> an escape should be strongly smelt, turn off at once from the main and set open the doors and windows, but on no account take a lighted candle into the room till the smell has passed off. Never pile up partially burnt wooi against the chimney ; scores of houses have been burned in thiß way in New Zealand. Never put firewood inside the fonder or on the stovo to dry. Paper, clothing, or similar combustible material should never be left near tho grate. Ashes should never be thrown away against a wooden building, or kept in a wooden box or barrel. The above hints relato to the preven tion of fire. When unfortunately a flro does occur, remember that wot blankets and ruga economise the supply of water, and are more effectual in preventing the spread of flee than water simply thrown on, and at the same timo cause less damage to furniture. In the hurry and confusion or a fire doors and windows are too apt to be thrown open ; they should be kbpt shut as much as possible?; Fire can only spread rapidly when it is plentifully supplied with air. Have your chimneys-regularly swept..- at fixed intervals;" at least once in threo months. [}['.': '■ what .to' do after a fire: i . Tho assured, must use his'best endeavours to save and protect his property during the fire and afterwards, and until an ofllccr of the Insurance Company arrives; he should act precisely as 'he would if he had no in surance whatever, ue., do all in his powkr TO PREVEXT FURTHER LOSS OR DAMAGE. This is especially necessary where the loss is on merchandise or chattels, it being a mistake to suppose that goods damaged by or in con sequence of a fire must bo allowed to remain in the chaotic condition into which a fire generally throws them, to await inspection by tho adjuster. On tho contrary, they should first of all bo removed (if necessary) to a safe, dry place, and everything done that is requisite to prevent further shrinkage of values. After thia they should Eo straightened and assorted, tho damaged separated from the sound, and the whole cor rectly invoiced. The policies make this a part of tho duty devolving upon the assured, and prompt, intelligent compliance with this condi tion is calculated to f acuitate the adjustment of losses. As tho goods paved from a fire belong to the assured they cannot be abandoned to the Underwriters, but tho Companies are liable for all damage thereto so far as ths policies will reach. WHAT TO DO BEFORE A FIRE. Effect a policy of Insurance with tho NEW ZEALAND INSURANCE COMPANY, where every description of Insurances aio taken at Lowest Ratesop Prbmium. ' GKORGE P. PIERCE.' General Manager