Audrey's Recompense.

B ¥ MRS GEORGIE SHELDON, 0 ( <• Brownie's Triumph," "The For- Bride, "Stella Rosovelt," "The Lily of Mordaunt," etc.

CHAPTER VI.

A DHKADFUL ALTERNATIVE,

1 -spiteof all Arthur's care, Miss Montrose t a severe cold, and a serious illness Howed the exposure and excitement of gdvonture on the island. for more than a week she lay in a raging fever and was quite delirious. Those who attended her never forgot that •llaese, nor the secrets which she revealed daring her wanderings, for any one who ijitenfld to her, for but an hour, would have foamed how tenderly and devotedly she had pown to love Arthur Halstead. Mrs Halstead shared the anxious mother's vigils, and was often moved to tears by the wild, passionate words in which the beauti ful sufferer revealed her affection for her

ten, Whon she told her husband, he replied, though eotnowhat nervously: "Well, well, aa soou as sho gots better it will be all right; there will doubtless be an engagement, and we can announce it to o or friends, though for that matter every body is talking about it now as if it were a jettlod fact" One morning, after the fever turned and Ida was pronounced much better, Mt flalstead Bent word to hia son to come to tim in his private parlour. "Well, Arthur, Miss Montrose is pro nounced out of danger this morning," he M id, as the young man eitered, and determined to find out hia intentions with out farther delay. "I am really glad to hear it, father: J trust she will soon be quite well again," the young man returned, in all sincerity, bat not at all as an anxious, eager lover would have spoken. »0f course we are all glad ; but I sup posed you would be more rejoiced than any one else," replied Mr Halstead. "Howso!" Arthurqueried, though 3 hot flash arose to his cheek as he said it. "Why, everybody believes you are as good as engaged to Ida, and it is but natural to suppose that a lover would feel no small dogreo of anxiety over such a severe illness v she has passed through, and be propor tionately elated when learning thatall danger is passed." " Father, I am not Miss Montrose's lover," Arthur answered, abruptly and decidedly. " What! Do you mean to tell me, after baring followed her about for weeks like a .pet dog, that you have no serious intentions "regarding her ?" cried Mr Halstead, with isoma warmth.

'" The force of circumstances, and nothing like, sir, has thrown me continually into iiss Montrose's society—has, in fact, itmpdlul me to act as her escort on a'l 'tccasions. I have felt from the first that it was placing me in a false position, and I ihould have been glad if it could have been •otherwise; but I could not refuse to accom pany her upon our excursions without ap roaring rude and ungracious. You know now the others hpve paired oiF leaving me to choice in the matter. I regard her very highly—Bfaall always esteem her a valued friend; but I have not given a thought to «oy nearer relation than that."

" Well, I must say I am astonished. Why, the girl loves you to distraction." "HoY do you know that, sir ?" demanded Arthur, growing pale at the intelligence. "She has been raving about you ever tince she has been taken ill."

"1 am very sorry," said the young man, sadly, "for I do not, cannot return her affection."

" Pooh, pooh ! Arthur; most follows would jump at the chance you have had to win a beautiful girl like Ida Moutroso, not to mention her handsome fortune."

" Perhaps ; I only regret that some one who would have esteemed it such a privilege could not have had my opportunity," re turned the young man, gtung to sarcasm by the false, uncomfortable position in which he found himself.

"Nonsense, Arthur. Do be reasonable. I bad set my heart on this match ; bo has Mr MontroßO ; and it will be a bitter dis appointment to us both if you are obsti nate."

"Father, I am not obstinate. I love another. lam as good as engaged to a Miss Waldemar, whom I recently met in New York," the young man confessed, in a repressed tone, though his colour came and went, and his eyes glowed in a way which betrayed he was no tame lover in this instance.

" Zounds!" cried his' father, aghapt at this announcement. "You don't mean it! What Miss Waldemar?"

"Miss Audrey Waldemar, daughter of Hon. Dudley Waldemar. They are now travelling, or wore. I heard from them only yesterday. They bave been detained in Chicago for several weeks by the illness of Mrs Waldemar."

" I know them. So! sits the wind in that quarter?" muttered Mr Richard Halstead, looking very grave. "They're oi good blood, fine family—unexceptionable; but, I say, Art, it won't do !" he concluded sternly, "I do not uuderstand you, sir."

"Well, then, to be plain, ypu are bound to many Miss Montrdse in spite of all. I wish, for your sake, that I had known of jour penchant for Miss Waldemar in the beginning, for I could have helped you to steer clear of this bad fix ; but "

"Do you mean to tell me that I must marry Miss Montrose whether I will or not?" interrupted Arthur, the indignant blood dyeing ma whole face. "Can't you see for yourself, Art, that yon have compromised her in the eyes oi everybody 1 Why, it is common talk that yon aro going to marry her, and the people bare been expecting the announcement of joat engagement for some time—they will certainly look for it as soon as Ida is able to be about again, after what" happened last week."

"But I have never spoken one word of lore to her; I bave treated her only aa any Wend or brother might bave done." "I don't know about that," retorted his father. "You have ridden and walked, danced and boated with her; you have been b beKsociety almost constantly; and I doubt if the public would consider you a» disinterested as you affirm yourself to bfc" th

"I could not help it, I tell you. It has •11 been forced upon me, and I will not be tompelled to marry any woman against my *31i" Arthur returned, spiritedly "But don't you see-cant you under itand how yon have compromised her ?" demanded Mr Halstead, impatiently. "No, I do not see; I have conducted myself toward ber only as an honourable f»n should conduct himself towards any Wy," responded the young man, with dignity. "I do not doubt that, Arthur; you could ootbe a true Halstead and do otherwise, Mt- confound it all! it's a terrible muddle! -don't you see that, as Ida's affianced iiuband, all that has passed will be looked jPfn as all right, otherwise there will »Uow a scandal which must prove a gre»t Wiry to her?" said hia father, greatly disturbed.

'■■■ *Ana what of my relations to Miss "aldemar ? How is it about compromising By own name and honour in her estimation •nothat of her friends ?" demanded Arthur, •wrnly. " fiang it, my boy ! I am really Borry ; D™ a man can stand such things better ""Jnawoman " ... Audrey Waldemar is a woman," in pnapted the young lover, hotly; "a wwhr one you cannot find, go the world |S?& What do you suppose the Hon. **«% Waldemar would say about my her in a way which would ;, aPPear most dishonourable ?" ,„ "tit, according to your own story, you .■■» not know the girl more than three jeeta any way; and here you have b,een attendance upon Ida Montrose for S? 08*« many months, and everybody, in to» k9 atleaßt> thioke you are going to T*7 "w< not to mention her own father toiL*! 11 yOII > sir 'that idea cannot be enter ■;rj*» by me for a moment. lam pledged X*™ Waldemar, and I shall be true to «« pledge." said Arthur firmly. aushed hotly. J« had always demanded implicit obedi r^ijom hia children; his word had ever rtnnj <?J a hia household during their {k? tMul days, and since they had reached ■ " years of maturity, the law of respect ,jn"W^al love had restrained them from rr**Sr«ment and unpleasantness. boH,*? 8' therefore, a now departure, which I»TO? artled Bnd angered the father, to ys™*js<!«t6io firmly and indepen at»termmation to go contrary to ""Mahea and plang.

mm ver/paJT" Arthur ' and he ™» you >'Thl Uh argue*hematt <* further with '„] can take yourself out of my sight the LZZ? P ayln§' foßt and loose' with tao daughter of my dearest friend, who I know, would feel that he had been i*ep'ar iLX^w hrongh hia idoliaed ch»d ---h! L ? W.?ldemar. I acknowledge it will be rather hard on her, as well as on you, Tnd b^nn W^ 6- 1* WOuld be d"le™t ' but not half the mischief could result in desert 7* h« ««* there would in the desernon of Ida, for you were in a crowded city, coming and going with different people all the time, while you say that your relations with her were known only to yourselves and her parents. I will give you just one week in which to decide this matter," and with these words Mr Halstead :;;cmaanairof!todi^ bla AnkX gessio d na(t °rhimWitha th?^ fl thi? T' B command had Mien like a thunderbolt upon him. t^o^ 6 charged with having done beautiful Ida Montroeo an irreparable injury-or at -Ml"7? pparab le ««Pt «» « way from which his whole soul revolted-gave him a shock which completely unmanned him • while to be told that ho must give up the young girl whom he idolised, and marry a woman whom he did not love, was a most preposterous command.

I will never do it!" he cried excitedly, hia lips quivering, his whole frame trem oling ; " my darling is my one love, and I will be true to her as long is I live. I will make all suitable apology to Mr Montrose, if he considers that I have done his daughter a wrong, but more than this I cannot—will not do."

With this resolution made, something of the pain in his heart subsided, though he well knew that his father's stern decree would be carried out to the letter if he did' not accede to hia demand; while, too, a sense almost of guilt stole over him aa .he thought of what Ida Montrose would suffer if she really en tertained the feelings attributed to her by Mr Halstead.

As he reviewed the few past weeks he could not fail to see how she might have misinterpreted his attentions to her, even though he had spoken no word of love to mislead her.

It was in vain be told himself that he could be guilty of no greater act of dishonour than to break his troth with Audrey and, for the sake of appearances, marry another —one, too, who had no power to kindle a sentiment deeper than that of mere friend ship within his bosom. The words and threat of his father pursued and haunted him continually, while it seemed as if he had fallen all at once under a ban, for a certain constraint appeared to have sud denly taken possession of every one about him.

He was sure that Mr Montroso avoided him, or, when obliged to meet him, that there was a coldness and dignity in his manner entirely unusual, while be imagined that the rest of their immediate party re garded him with a sort of reproachful in quiry and curiosity. All that day he bore it, and part of the next ulso ; his father scarcely addressed him or noticed him in any way then ; he grew desperate.

" I will end this," he said to himself, with a sort of savage resolution. " I will go to Mr Walderaar and my dear love; I will make a clean breast of this disagreeable business, and beg them to allow our engage ment to be announced at once. That will settle all this trouble for evor. Then, my father's decree of banighmeut taking effect —as it will, for he never yet broke his word —I will put my shoulder to Fortune's wheel and wait, with what patience I can, until she rewards my labours and puts me in a position to claim my bonny bride."

Having arrived at this decision, he has tily packed his portmanteau, and telling his mother that he should be away for a week or so on a matter of business, he departed without taking leave of anyone else, and was soon flying over the country towards that great Western city, where the Walde mars were still detained waiting for Mrs Waldemar, who was convalescing, to regain strength to resume her journey.

(To be Continued.)

MAM'ZELLE EUGENIE.

A RUSSIAN LOVE STORY,

BY HENRY GREVILLE,

Author of "Dosia." "Saveli's Expiation

•' Marrying Off a Daughter," " The Princess Opherof" " Markof." " Tho Trials of Raiasa," '•Sylvie's Betrothed." "Dournof," "Qabrielle,' "I.ucie Rodey," "Bonne-Marie," "Xenie'a Inheritance," "A Friend," "Sonia." "Pretty LUtla Countess Zinn," ''Guy's Marriige,' •' Tanla'a Peril," "Philoinene'sMarrlaff.eß,"&a

CHAPTER X,

DECIDED ACTION

The Berlaguine household was enjoying its siesta ; not the mistress only, but the ser vants had lain down to sleep in all manner of places, more especially in the open air; still the sonorous ante-chambers resounded with melodious snores. Anton Petrovitch's arrival disturbed their rest, and the men servants fled in every direction, even into the maids' hall, which speedily became lively with the cackle of terrified hens.

" Good heavens I" growled the old house keeper to Malissof's coachman, who was slowly leading his' panting horses into the shade, " whatever possesses yonr master to come driving across country at an hour when every Christian is taking refuge from the heat ?" " Oh, it would be well if that were all," returned the coachman. " Our people say that the master spent the whole night in walking up aDd down his room or in the garden. He must be head over ears in love with your young mistress to lose his sleep in that way. You are likely to have a wed ding soon, I think." While these ond similar remarks wore being exchanged outside, Madame Borla guino, whoso eyes were still heavy with sleep, but whose heart swelled with joyous impatience, was keeping up a disjointed and uninteresting conversation in the draw ing-room with Anton Petrovitch. He kept his eye fixed on the door, awaiting Eugenic a entrance, before touching on the object of his visit. The mother saw this, and rang twice to let her daughter know he was there, though she was well aware that the poor child was in the hands of half a dozen waiting-maids, who were attiring her in all haste in a white dress fresh from the laundress. At length she made her appearance, and walk ing Btraight up to Malissof, gave him her hand without the least trace of embarrass' ment. A furtive smile, accompanied by a glieht gesture which betokened surprise at bis coming so aoon, repaid him for the pains he had taken. She sat down, and everyone waited in suspense. ••Madame," said Malissof, "you have been kind enough to receive me well, and your daughter also is good enough to give me some encouragement-are you disposed to entrust her happiness to me ? Madame Barlaguine put her handkerchief to her eyes; real tears of pride and affec tion were streaming down her cheeks. » With what joy, dear Anton Petrovitch! Who could be more worthy of my tr^Then you place unbounded confidence in me, and feel sure that I can wish for nothing but to ensure your daughters aßk BUC h a question?" ex claimed the enraptured mother; it is easy to see how passionately you love her ! Eugenic turned pale and looked at Mali* sof •he put a good face on the matter, and vel'edtL stab beneath a winning smile. "Then dear Madame, will you leave her f^SfSs^ mwUn" d B Baid Madame Be, laguine, slightly surprised at his perns whom I eateem and am prepared to treat "^"fii«i Ke Berlaguine, starting up from her seat: '■ you are turn ing me into ridicale, Monsieur Malissof!

And as to you, shameless girl, wn6 kave been p totting with strangers against your mother's peace of mind—' 7 Eugenic, too, had risen instinctively to avoid her mother's threatening hand, which had come dangerously near her cheek ; ehe clung to Malissof, who put his arm round her. You place me in a strange position, Madame, said he calmly ; " pray, notice that it is I. the stranger, as you call me, who have to protect your daughter from your anger!" "You are a dishonest man!" hissed Madame Berlaguine between her teeth, with .subdued rage. "After compromising my daughter by your visits, and making the whole country talk of her approaching mar riage to you—"

"The report was not circulated entirely by me," said Malissof quietly. "It has circulated, at any rate, whoever set it on foot, and now, after compromising her, you put forward in your place come wretched—"

He ia the man I love, mother," said Eugenic, raising her head and stepping for ward ; " a man worth more than—"

Her sentence remained unfinished, cut short by a stinging blow. Malissof folded her in both arms and hid her outraged cheek on Ms shoulder. " Madame," aaid he, "you retain your maternal rights and can use them ; but until you return to your Benses, it may be well to shield your daughter from your violence."

He caught up his hat, and led the young girl, still encircled in his arms, to the steps. The coachman waß watting a few paces off; at a sign from his master, he drove up; Malissof got into the carriage with Eugenic, almost lifting her in, and off they drove without a word, much to the astonishment of the household.

Madame Berlaguine, who had failed to catch the real import of Malissof's words, rushed to the head of the Bteps at the sound of the wheels, but was only in time to see the carriage vanishing round the corner in a clo -d of dust.

Our travellers hardly exchanged a word during their drive; Eugenic was without a hat, and the sun beat down on her head ; Mfilisaof ordered the hood to be put up, and both suffered much from the heat; at length, thanks to hie excellent horses, Madame Pajaroi's house came in sight sooner than he had anticipated.

On seeing Eugenic appear on the scene without a hat, in a white dress and blue sash, with one cheek very red, and the other very white, Madame Pajarof felt that something very unusual must have happened, and without a single exclama tion she conducted her visitors to the drawing room, and closed the door behind them ; but just as they entered on the loft, Markof, who had seen their strange arrival from his window, appeared on the right.

The quartet stood petrified ; the first impulse of the lovers was to rush up to each other, but they were restrained by Maließof's presence. He looked at them affectionately, and once more stifling the bitterness which lurked at his heart, took Eugenic by the hand. " I give her into your keeping," said he to Markof; "may you both be happy." The young couple timidly laid hold of each other's hand; then Markof, growing bolder, grasped that of the young girl, and by a common impulse they knelt down before Malissof, as if ho were their father, to ask for his blessing. He gave it, and raising them from their knees, pointed, without speaking, to the garden. .They went out hand in hand, and the door closed on their youthful raptures.

Mulis.sof, still mute, aat down and buried his troubled face in his hands. His old friend drew near, and laid her hand on his shoulder without a word. He turned round. "I thought, for one moment, of carrying her off to my own house," said he; " I am glad I resisted the temptation " "God will bless you," said Madame Pajarof ; "you are a good man." Malissof struggled a moment with his uncontrollable emotion; then he choked back the swelling tears, proseed his hand to his heart, which beat cruelly, and paced up and down the room. "This is not all, said be, as soon as he was able to speak; " what are we to do now ? Her mother struck her; if Bho returns home, the marriage will never take place." " Of course not," said Madame Pajarof; " she will not return till she is married. 1 shall arrange it all." She rang the bell, and a servant entered. "Go and fetch the priest," were her orders. In twenty minutes the priest appeared. He was a good old man, rather deaf, and so good-natured that if the adjective had not Been in existence, it must have been coined for him. He came in, bowed, and took his seat with a winning smile which would have softened the heart of a wild beast.

" See here, Father Andre," said Madame Pajarof, reverting to stratagem; "some thing very extraordinary has just happened. Madame Berlaguine, my friend and neigh bour, was intending to marry her daughter Eugenic." Father Andre smiled, and glancing knowingly at Maiiesof. "No, not to that gentleman," pursued the good lady, " but to young Markof; I invited the young man to come here a week ago, for the very purpose. The wedding was to have taken place at Madame Berlaguine's church, and Sunday was the day fixed, but the priest has been obliged to leave home for a little while; these young people are naturally impatient, you ccc, and we thought you might consent to marry them from my house. "Certainly," said Father Andre, falling into the trap. " Madame Berlaguine has begged me to represent her on this occasion ; I suppose you will not require any documents, since you know the young people." "Why should I, for children I have known from their infancy ?" said the old man, smiling. ' '' lam to represent the mother; Monsieur Maliseof is to act as father to the bride, and we will have them married at seven o'clock this evening." "This evening r repeated the priest, rather startled.

" Yes, Monsieur Malissof has to start t ■ a long journey to morrow, and as he has promised to give the child away, we ait obliged to hurry it on." "I shall be grateful if you will render me this service, my father," said Malisssof, holding out his hand to the old man. The hand contained' a hundred rouble note, which it left in that of Father Andre, who, knowing his rich neighbour's wealth and liberality, was troubled with no suspicions, but departed with profuse bows and thanks, to tell his wife to look out his best clothes.

In spite of the gravity of the situation, the two accomplices could not refrain trom a laugh as the door closed behind them. " I bave played my cards well," said Madame Pajarof. " Now, Madame Berla guine might take it into her bead to come in quest of her daughter ; she had better not, for upon my word, I should be ready to return her the blow she gave poor Eu genic ! But this might create Borne dis turbance." " I will send Pelagic off to her at once, said Malissof, " with my horses, so as to lose no time." " That will never do," broke in the old lady; "Pelagic would say next day thatyou were going to marry her, and had given her the horses as a betrothal gift; send mine, if you please." In less than a quarter of an hour, a light carriage and swift horsea rolled up with Malissof to the house of the amiable spin "Anton Petrovitch !" cried Pelagic, at the top of her voice. "The same, come to apply to his kind neighbour, as we do to the saints for a favour which we are afraid of being refused by the Almighty." Pelagic, delighted with the comparison, displayed all her teeth in the most bewitch ing of smiles. "I have had a slight quarrel with Madame Berlaguine," proceeded Malissof. Pelagic opened her eyes wide. " I feel persuaded that you are the only person in the world who can make my peace with her ; I want ypu to tell her how distressed! am at what has happened, and to obtain my pardon. But pray go without losing a moment." "Withoutmy dinner?' asked the lady, her appetite and curiosity striving for the mastery , , "Yes, dear friend, replied Malissof, with a squeeze of the hand; " you can dine with her, her dinner hour is six, but there is not a moment to epare. Madame Pajarof has sent her horses to spare yours." "Very well, I will go !" sighed Pelagic. "But whatever has happened?" "Madame Berlaguine will tell you all about it; make haste, my dear lady." "You are not going to marry Eugenic, at all events?" suddenly exclaimed the jealous Pelagic. "I give you my word of honour that I am not going to marry ber, but for the love of Heaven and Christian charity.pray make haste and put an end to my suffering I "I wish I could remove them all as easfly !" observed Pelagic, throwing him a look of consummate coquetry over her shoulder.as he helped her into the carriage. " Where are you to receive your reply ? "At Madame Pajarof'B," said Mahasof, who had made his calculations. As he walked back to hia old friend's house, his thonghta were still busy with thu

kind of mental arithmetic. "It is now five o'clock," said he to himself ; "Pelade will be there in an hour, they will wrangle for twenty minutes before they come to an understanding, and their explanations will take another twenty, that makes forty ; an hour to drive back, that Inakes two hours and three quarters. If they lose no time by dining, they may possibly arrive before the ceremony is over."

(To be Continued.)

GOSSIP FROM STAGE AND STUDIO.

(By Euterpe.)

Mb George Darrell is not the only mem ber of the dramatic company now in Auck land who has won the spurs of authorship. Mr George H. Forbes has achieved consider able distinction in the same line, and his three-act farcical comedy "The Philan thropist "is now being " run" by Mr Wybert Reeve as his trump card. It was produced at the Sydney Gaiety in Septem ber of last year, Lord Augustus and Lady Loftus being amongst the audience, and it produced quite a furore. Speaking of it the Sydney "Telegraph" saye: — "Mr George Forbes is splendidly fortunate. He has given us a play that is in every roapoct froah and humorous, and therefore enjoy able. The plot is smooth and intelligible, although having many intricacies from which intense fun is derived." The " Town and Country " Bays the Philanthropist him self is a gentleman whose desire to improve hisfellow-creatures is constantly leading him into the queerest of scrapes, one who com mits all sorts of blunders, which, however, luck or accident sets right, and for which he claims the entire credit - being, in short, • humbug. He becomes interested in the family affairs of a Mr and Mis Poynter) in whoso household the enfranchisement of women—so far as the mie trees is concerned —is completely abolished, Mr Poynter being a thoroughly hen-pecked hus band. There is a young lady and ward of the Poynters who is beloved for her own sake by one Walter Wynne, and who loves him in return ; but there is another admirer in the shape of an .-esthetic poet, for whom her money is the strongest in ducement, and whose suit, supported by Mrs Poynter, seems at first in a fair way to prosper. But the moneyed maiden will have none of him, and a certain discovery deprives him of the friendship of his patroness also. A charming widow plays a part in the complications which ensue. Sho falls a prize to the ultimately fortunate Philanthropist; and the true love of Walter Wynne is suitably rewarded. The phenomenal success of Hugh Con way's "Called Back" seems to have wonderfully stimulated the issue of shilling stories. Mr Mears has just received a new batch, and amongst them are some really admirable talea, both of the sentimental and sensational class.

Arthur Roberts, the well-known comedian and music-hall lion, the immortal hero of "More or Less" and other ditties, has painfully experienced what it is to be run in by a policeman in the King's Cross Road at 9 a.m.,-and fined five shillings for being drunk and disorderly.

A new comedy, entitled "Noah's Ark," by Harry Paulton, was running at the Sydney Opera House when the last mail left. The " Evening Nows " says :—>•' The drama is amusing enough, and is full of comic situations and vivacious dialogue, and it abounds in puns bad enough for a pantomime. As old Noah Winter, Mr Anson has a part well suited to him." The attraction for the Christmas season in the Theatre Royal, Belfast, will be Marie De Grey and her specially-organised com pany. Miss De Grey was to open there on Monday last, December 21st, and will play for three weeks. She has had a most tempt ing offer to " star " nei* autumn in America Messrs Majeroni and Wilson have just started Sunday evening classical concerts at tho New Opera House, Sydney, and the first of tho series drew a crowded house. Messrs Rainford and Knight Aston, and Miss E. A. Lambert aro amongst those who assist.

Bad news for circus proprietors ! The Napier Borough By-law No. 28 prohibits processions and music in the streets, and, in consequence, the application of the manager of St. Leon'B circu? to drive tho bond through the streets was refused.

Tho Eloiso Juno Company have pro duced at the Christchurch Theatre Royal "The New Mngdalen," "8.8.," "The Ticket of Loave Man," "Throe Mixed Hats," " Barnoy's Luck,' and " The Mystic Link." The last-named is decidedly the best thing they have given. It is not perhaps the most attractive of pieces, but this arises from the character of tho famous novel of " Called Back," from which Mr C. H. Taylor has adapted it. Mr Goo. Darroll was a reporter upon the " West Coast Times " at the time of the Fenian riots some fiiteon years since.

English Statesmen and Tobacco.

Those Who Use and Those Who Do Not

Use the Weed.

Loud Salisbury has never smoked ; Lord Salisbury has never been in the smoking room of the House of Commons. Those aro two of the categorical denials which Lord Salisbury has lately given to certain state ments about compacts made between the Prime Minister and Mr Parnell, as they eat smoking and drinking brandy and water to gather in the smoking-room of the House of Commons. Such statements, one might have thought, hardly called for serious de nial or refutation. Thn man who could be lieve that if Lord Salisbury and Mr Parnell were desirous of making a compact they would go into the smoking-room of the House of Common; to make it, over jorums of brandy and water, might be safoly left to believe anything he fancied. The compact in this case would have to be made in the lower or semi-public nmoking-room, where members introduced strangers. Lord Salis bury could not smoke and drink with Mr Parnell in the smoking-room reserved for members of the House of Commons, for the plain reason that Lord Salisbury is not a member of that House. It is not worth while, however, to say anything more on the subject. The curious fact which the contro versy has brought out ie the fact that while Lord Salisbury was a member of the House of Commons be never had the curiosity to go into the smoking-room. That he should never have Bmoked is not extraordinary. Several of our public men could say the same of themselves, although, of course, the great majority of legislators do or did at one time or another find respite and ne penthe, or something as good as nepenthe, in tobacco. But it is odd that a man should have been for many years a member of the House of Commons and never have had occasion to go into the smoking-room to see some friend or colleague; never have had the curiosity to look in and see what the place and the ways of the place were like. Mr Gladstone, we believe, has been very seldom seen in the smoking-room of the House of Commons. Probably the last time he was seen there was on one occasion in the session before last, when ho was in duced to descend into the lower smoking room and allow himself to be experimented upon by Stuart Cumberland, the thought reader. We believe there were few if any members then present who could say posi tively whether that was or was not Mr Gladstone's first visit to the room.

O» the other hand, Mr Bright, when he was regular in his attendance at theHouee, was always regular in his attendance at the smoking-room too. Lord Randolph Church ill spends a great part of his time in the smoking room. Seldom, indeed, was Sir Stafford Northcoto ever seen there. Mr Chamberlain used to frequent the place. There certainly will come no letter from Mr Parnell denying that he was ever in the smoking-room. Lord Palmerston, we be lieve, was hardly ever seen in the smoking room, but his was a familiar presence in the tea-room.—"London News.

A Singular Duel.

A duel between a woman and a man re cently occurred at Warsaw. The latter had offered the former his hand, which ehe refused, whereupon he spread abroad reports injurious to her good name. Several men volunteered to avenge her by challenging her calumniator to a duel. She replied that if a duel were required in order to vindicate her honour, the conceived that she had a right and title to be one of the principals. The strong-minded damsel prided herself upon being a good shot, and resolved to punish her traducer, but not to injure him mortally. She seat him a chal lenge ; he accepted it, and the duelists met in a place outside Warsaw. Happily, both missed their aim. The woman wanted to are a second time, but her second assured her that full reparation had been made. Her adversary was so moved by her mascu line gallantry that be made her a fermal apology, whiefr she accepted.

A STAR ACTOR IN THE COLONIES.

HIS EARNINGS AND EXPENSES.

Mr. Bouclcault's Unvarnished Statement.

[Special Correspondence to "The Auckland Evening Stab."]

Auckland, N.Z., Dec. 6th, 1885.

Having conducted a theatrical tour in Aus tralia, and thinking our experience of these colonies, from a theatrical point of view, may be useful to our profession in England and the United States, it is given frankly and without reeervo.

Let us, before starting, take a bird's-eye view of the field offered by Australia and New Zealand to the "star" actor and actress.

The population of New South Wales and Victoria put together is about equal to the population of the city of New York and its suburbs. The population of New Zealand is about one half the population of the city of Philadelphia. There are only six cities in Australia worth visiting—Melbourne, Sydney, Adelaide, Sandhurst, Ballarat, and Brisbane. There are four cities in New Zealand—Auckland, Wellington, Christ church, and Dunedin.

To Sydney and Melbourne we may devote fivo or six weeks each ; to Adelaide, three weeks; to each of the other cities, one week. In other words, twenty-two weeks in all. Any star that remains beyond that period is likely to outstay his welcome. To put in twenty-two weeks, we must sacrifice six weeks in going and six in returning—that is, twelve weeks spent on the road. It is not, therefore, twenty-two, but thirty-four weeks that we devote to the tour, and our receipts must be regarded as earned over the eight months.

Feeling much doubt as to the prudence of visiting the smaller places, I concluded to play only twelve weeks, and these divided between Sydney and Melbourne. This could be done best by starting early in June, and getting home again early in November; so in March last, being in New York, I entered into an engagement with Mr. Williamson, representing the management of the Thea tres Royal in Sydney and Melbourne, to open in Melbourne on July 11th, and termi nate in Sydney on October 3rd. He stipu lated that I should bring with me four per formers to play leading parts in my pieces —three ladies and one gentleman. I was to pay their salaries and cost of travelling. These items amounted to something over £1,850, or nearly 10,000 dollars; represent ing a weekly outgoing of £150, or 750 dollars. On the other hand, Mr. Williamson repre sented his expenses to be £450 a week ; so . the united cost of our ontertainment amount ed to £600 a week ! To my expression of surprise at this total, he replied that his company was very large and expensivo—his rent enormous, and other matters very costly. Tho Contraot with Mr. Williamson. -

I had been given to understand that £700 a week might be regarded as very fine re ceipts for either theatre. However, I was in for it; I wanted the trip, and so I yielded. The contract read thus : Mr. Williamson was to take the first £450 (2,2soJdollars) per week out of the gross receipts; I was to receive the next £150, and if there remained any surplus, I was to receive two-thirds of it. I had proposed to him to share with me weekly after £300, but this arrangement ho declined. It will be seen presently that, to my astonishment, our receipts were so unexpectedly large—running up to £1,487, and averaging £1,200 a week—that I re ceived by my two-third arrangement alarger amount than he would have paid me had he accepted my offer. I surmise that some harsh treatment we received from the man agement during our engagement was not unconnected with the soreness they felt at having over-reached themselves in this mat ter. But success covers a multitude of sins.

In April wo loft New York for San Fran cisco, where we played four weeks in May, availing ourselves of that bright and culti vated audience to bring out my new five-act comedy, " The Jilt." It does not concern this record to refer further to it, beyond mentioning that two very prominent cha racters in it were admirably played by Mr. Gerald Eyre and by Mr. John Sutton. Hearing that the companies in Australia were very weak, and we should not find the comedians over there we had been led to expect, I ventured to add these two per formers to our little troupe, which consisted of Miss Louise Thorndyke, my daughter Nina, Miss Agnes Thomas, and my son. I relied on Mr. Williamson and hU partners sharing the expense of bringing out this reinforcement, the greater part of which, however, I was very willing to bear. I may say here, and dismiss the matter at once, they accepted their services, but re fused to contribute anything towards their salaries or expenses. After a week or two I withdrew their services, and thenceforward had to endure, on the part of this man agement, a studied course of treatment hardly worthy of their position and of mine.

It is a great mistake to take out a com pany to Australia. The audiences there are accustomed to the local actors, and pre fer them to strangers. As to actresses, they like new faces, but do not care to criticise much beyond that. Let an agent be despatched in advance to engage a company and hire a theatre. The expenses need not exceed £300 a week, and the star will sweep all the surplus over that figure.

The Voyage Across the Pacific. But to return to my flock. We were seven in number, that stood on the deck of the Zealandia, in San Francißco Bay, on the 6th of June last. The voyage across the ocean was delightful; its monotony was broken into three charming acts. After one week of placid weather wo reached Honolulu. Here we found my name in big letters on every fence. It was expected we should stop there and play three nights. It did not come off. After four or five hours' stroll on shore, we were away again across that shimmering, pacific sea. How well it deserves its name !

The trade wind, stsadily breezy from the east, just curled the water and cooled the

air. We experienced very little incon venience from the heat as we crossed the line and reached the little island Tutuila on the 19th. Thence away, sliding over the sea as if we were On skates, to Auckland. We stayed only eight hours in New Zealand, but saw enough to .breed a desire to see more. Away again to Sydney, which we reached on the 3rd, and Melbourne on July 4th. Auspicious day!

Notes ob Melbourne. The weather did not extend a smiling welcome to our party. It was raw, bleak, wet. We were assured that when it changed we should see the glorious climate, of which we had heard so much. We waited, but it i did not arrive from California, where I be lieve they manufacture glorious climates. The hotels of Melbourne are not worthy of the city. The rooms are small and dingy, the bedrooms poorly furnished. The effect is depressing. The prominent character istic of the city is its vivacity; and the level comfort exhibited in its houses and shops. We saw no palaces, no hovels, no overwhelming evidence of individual wealth, no signs of poverty. An independent and

republican community—clean, bright and saucy.

There is no theatrical season in this part of the world; it is open harvest all the year round. Christmas-time is at midsummer; but the heat does not deter the people from visiting the theatres. The months of June, July, August, and September form the dead season in England and in America; it is prudent, therefore, for outcoming stars to devote this period to the Australian visit. Cost of the Journey.

The distance from London to Sydney is about 12,000 miles ; it is accomplished in from 38 to 42 days. The distance from New York to Sydney is about 10,000 miles, and is done in 30 days, viz., six to San Francisco, and 24 across} the Pacific. The cost^is as follows :— Theatrical Rates, both by Sail and Steamer. New York to San Francisco, in cluding extra baggage, sleeping berths, and sundries £40=5200 From San Francisco to Sydney, £32 ; add fees to steward, and extras for wine, beer, soda-water, etc., £3 ... 35= 175 Rail, Sydney to Melbourne ... 3= 15 Total •■ .£78=1390 By taking return-tickets, the journey back may be reduced to 280 dollars, making the entire expense there and back 670 dollars, or about £135. This estimate means first class accommodation all the way—deck cabins on the ship; it includes carriage hire and porterage, and a moderate supply of extra creature comforts. If, instead of starting from New York, via San Francisco, we start from London, \ii Suez, or by the New Zealand Company direct—all sea with out change—the cost will be found to be about the same.

The Theatre Royal, Melbourne We found the Theatre Royal to be a large, dusty, primitive building, with poor ac commodation for the audience, and still more wretched arrangements for the actors behind the scenes. The scenic department, so far as the painting is concerned, was excellent, so was the furniture of the Btage; but oh I the disorder, the confusion, and the mess. No expense seemed to be spared, but such dis order, besides entailing waste, must engender lack ef discipline in other depart ments. The company was meagre, the principal members having been drafted off to Sydney, where they were rehearsing, "The Private Secretary." The Theatre Royal is divided into a pit floor, a dresa circle tier, a second circle and a gallery. The prices are:—Dress circle, five shillings, seat, 180 persons; orchestral stalls, three shillings, seat, 568; upper boxes, two shillings, seat, 300; and pit and gallery, one shilling, holding 1,300. There are 1,600 persons at low price, and 180 at the higher. The result is a popular audience. The 1,600 have it their own way. I think a smaller theatre should be erected in Mel bourno, where plays of the higher class, produced with much care and well scened, would maintain a higher standard of taste. Melbourne claims to be a critical public. There is intelligence enough to make one; the soil is rich but uncultivated, and over run with the rowdy element, that want no better drama than " The Lightso' London," "Struck Oil," "The Shaughraun," and " The Silver King." When we were re hearsing "The Jilt," the management begged me not to announce it as a five-act comedy, as that would keep the public away; so it was called "A Sporting Play." It is a pity that the lower taste in dramatic entertainment should be cultivated bo assiduously as to threaten with extinction the finer qualities in the public. The two kinds of entertainment may exist and flourish side by side. The more delicate may require to be reared under glass, and need the care of the press.

It proved fortunate that I had brought with me Messrs Eyre and Sutton, as we found no complete company at the Theatre Royal; the parts not played by our six performers were filled by persons picked here and there as occasion arose. I objected to this, but was referred to the contract, in which it was not specified that the Theatre Royal Company should be at my service. That was true. But the large sum of £450 per week which had been claimed as first charge on our receipts, was allowed in con sequence of the "very large and expensive company " they had to maintain. In this instance it appeared to me that they were maintained out of my receipts, while they were playing in Sydney for the benefit of Messrs. Williamson and Co. I said so, and made matters worse.

The Receipts in Melbourne. The Theatre Royal, Melbourne, will fairly accommodate £225. We opened on Saturday, July 11th, to £280. Where the odd £55 was packed away is no concern of ours. We played seven weeks in this city, taking, gross, £8,070, of which, of course, the lion's share wont to the management. Mine, after paying salaries and travelling, was £2,470. From all sources we heard that this engagement was the largest ever played to that date in the colonies. It greatly exceeded my expectations. Our best week was the first, in which the receipts were £1,331. Our worst week was the second week of the " Colleen Bawn," and the fifth of our engagement, when we encountered very wot weather, the receipts were £960. The Sydney Engagement.

On Friday, August 28, we left Melbourne by rail at 4 p.m., arriving in Sydney at mid-day on the following day. The journey occupies about twenty hours. The railway is excellent. The distance, nearly 600 miles, shows a very good average speed, as liberal time ia allowed for refreshment twice or thrice on the road. Australians abuse this railway; we found it good.

The Sydney Theatre is somewhat smaller than the Theatre Royal, "Melbourne, and better arranged in every way. The rowdy element, so conspicuous in the Victorian capital, is not prominent here. This may be owing to the scale of prices, which we found to bo five shillings, three shillings, and two shillings. We opened at night, a few hours after our arrival, to £227; the gross receipts of the first week were £1,302. During the five weeks we remained here the business remained steadily full. The total was £7,343. Our beat week, the last, was £1,487, to the " Colleen Bawn." The worst week was the second week of " Arrah na Pogue," and fourth of the engagement— £1,160. The average nightly receipts at Melbourne were £197; the average receipts at Sydney were £216 per night. There was nosuggestion made to me to conceal the cha racter of my new five-act comedy. " We played it to an average of £251 a night; being the most crowded houses of the engagement. The sum total for seventy-five nights amounted to £15,413 (about 77,000 dollars), or about £200 a night. This would be considered first-class business in London or in any American city excepting New York or Boston, where it would begood, but not great. Nevertheless, it must be borne in mind that to play these seventy five nights I had to sacrifice as many more in travelling; so our receipts, reduced to half, if spread over this period, left me with £34 a night, or about £200 a week. This is not sufficient inducement for any first-class star to come here.

It was my good fortune to meet with a success that was unprecedented : I feel very confident that I could not repeat it, If I

return' here, it will be alone, without the weight of a company on my back. If I can bring new plays which have previously ob tained popularity in London and New York I shall rely on finding a company here, and hire theatres in Sydney and Melbourne for three months. This will not be difficult, as a new building, to be called the Alexandra, is being erected in Melbourne by Mr.' Joubert. It will be a', splendid edition of Wallack's Star Theatre in New York. It will be opened in March, 1886. Another new theatre will follow, not quite so large, but of this I do not feel at liberty to speak. Melbourne deserves better theatres than the wretched old barns that_exist there. It is a fine theatrical city, very badly catered for. Managersjiere are impressed with the idea that the~audiences7nbt having been accus tomed to the good thing, would not care for it-it would be thrownawayupon them. _They say, " YoujnusAiot regard our audiences as ifth'ey were a West End public; they range between Peckhani Rye and White chapel. They want strong effects, not fine acting; they want sensation, not style." I doubt it. It is a low, mercenary view to take of the question. Managers find it easier to cater to such a taste, and create it by cultivation. The educated class should look to it, and assert their claims to better things.

When our engagement at Sydney had concluded, on the 7th of October, our inten tion was to sail on the Bth for San Francisco. The arrangements in the United States, on which I had depended to fill my time from November to February, had, however, been mismanaged; so that I found that period blank, and I stood undecided what to do. Two of my people returned to America. Two more, being ray son and daughter, elected to remain in the colonies, and poor Gerald Eyre had left us in Melbourne. He had been suffering from cold for some weeks, when it developed suddenly into pneumonia. He played on Tuesday, August the 4th. We followed him to the cemetery on the following Friday. He was a great over grown boy, a favourite with us all. We were with him to the last. He went smiling to his rest from gay to grave. Poor chap 1

The New Zealand Tour. Finding myself stranded, I accepted the offer of Messrs Macmahon and Leitch to visit New Zealand for a six weeks' tour, beginning in Dunedin and ending at Auck land. They were to provide the company and all expenses, and to receive £300 weekly out of the receipts, leaving me all the surplus over £300. They assured me that the re ceipts would be from £750 to £900, so that looked tempting. Let me say here that we never reached the top figure. In fact, the theatres do not hold it, excepting Christchurch, where we took £578 in three nights. We averaged from £130 to £140. We expected Auckland to be the best; it turned out the worst of the four cities we visited. Dunedin was suffering under a spasm of depression. Had we struck it under any other circumstances it is fair to assume it would have been better. Wel lington stood up like Sydney at level best. Total of six weeks, £5,039. The visit proved satisfactory to Messrs. Macmahon and Leitch, who did their best, and to whose kindness we were indebted for many com forts.

Field for Dramatic Authors.

If Australia presents no greater induce ment for attractive stars at home to visit the colonies, it is a rich field for dramatic authors ; and when the new theatres shall be opened, a very lucrative market will be afforded for new plays. There is little or no competition now, as there are only two firms working the market; they enjoy al most a monopoly. Perceiving the advantage of establishing an efficient agency here, to safeguard their copyrights, I took the first steps by giving a power of attorney to control thirty-six of my plays to Messrs. Malleson, England and Stewart, a firm of the highest standing in Melbourne, and to Mr. J. M. Slattery, re cently appointed Minister of Justice of New South Wales, in Sydney. I gave a third to Mr. Brett, in Auckland, for New Zea land ; and a fourth to my brother Arthur, who resides in Queensland. An active sec retary will negotiate with theatres, and keep a book of transactions, which will be published quarterly. This publicity of accounts, receipts, and disbursements is the best guarantee for honesty in this business, which may become very large, if properly worked.

The gross receipts of theatres here, when furnished with popular plays, and in full blast, averages £700 to £800 per week. Of this amount as good a share is due the author of the play as is given to an actor, for it is fair to estimate the work of the one equal to the work of the other. If Bouci cault, the actor, draws £1,200 a week, and receives for his share £526, why should not Mr. Silver King or Mr. lolanthe get the same terms if they draw the same amount ? I don't think they did, but I mean they shall. I am forming an agency; when they see how it works, they can avail them selves of it.

Thirty years ago I found the Dramatic Authors' Society in London peddling great plays at a guinea a night, while star actors were reaping a golden harvest over their stupid heads by playing such pieces at that inadequate fee.

I set to work and changed all that! The " poor author " belongs to " the good old times." If I had done nothing else than show my fellow-authors the road to inde pendence, I could retire on that.

DION BOUCICAULT.

COMMENDED BY FARRAR.

Sentiments from an American and an

English Poet.

Among the many beautiful things eaid by Canon Farrar during his stay in New York, none better illustrates bis sense of the fit ness of things and his facility as a writer than his letter to the boys of the Berkeley School:

" Dr. John S. White, Head Master of Berkeley School—Dear Sir,—Nothing would have given me more pleasure than to visit your school and say a few words to your boya. But it is not possible, for every moment is taken up. As I cannot visit them, give them from me these two mes sages—one is from a poet of your own, Emerson ; I had it carved on the walls of one of our halle when I was Head Master of Marlborough College ":

8o nigh is grandeur to our dust, So near is God to man, Whon duty whispers low, " Thou must, The youth replies, "I can."

Tbe other is from one of our poets, Lewis Morris : — Take thou no thought for aught save truth and

right; Content, if such thy fate, to die obsoure. Youth fails and honour's fame may not endure; And loftier bouls soon Weary of delight. Keep innocence; be all a true man ought; Lee neither pleasure tempt nor pain app»L Who hath this, he hath all things having nought; Who bath it not, hath nothing, having all. Yours faithfully, F. W. Fabbab.

THE WAY TO DO IT.

The Late Lord SBaftosbury Tells How to Spend Monoy Profltably-Flfty Years of Progress.

The "Pall Mall Gazette" prints an inter view had with Lord Shaftesbury while the deceased was in the full tide of his benevo lence. The interviewer put the following questions to the great philanthropist:

"Today I have to meet a great mil lionaire who has more money than he knows altogether what to do with. At the pre sent his philanthropic enterprise is limited to founding free libraries and endowing schools of physical research. Suppose he were to place himself in your hands and say: ' How can I spend a million to the best advantage of my fellow-creatures?' What advice would you give him ?" "That is a great questioD," said Lord Shaftesbury, thoughtfully, "not to be answered offhand; but I have often thought that if I had the means of some of our wealthy men there are many ways in which immense good might be done. A million aire, for instance; or, atill better, an association of millionaires, who could be content with 5 per cent on their money, might xebuild London in the course of a single generation in such a way that the poorest citizen would have a comfortable and decent home at no higher price that what he is paying now. But whether it will ever be done, who knows ? A jobbing builder will not look at anything that will not return him at least 10per cent., and so, by the side of the great public improve ments of late years the housing of the poor has become a great public scandal, consti tuting the darkest blot on our social system. When seven or eight persons of bcth sexes and all ages live and sleep in one small room, it is certain none of them will have even the most elementary idea of modesty, or what we call morality. "For myself," said Lord Shaftesbury, "if I had great funds at my disposal I should certainly expend a considerable pro portion of them in subsidising the London City Mission. The good which that mission has done is simply incalculable. Its fundß have never been large, and if they were in creased its usefulness would expand in pro portion." "That, however," remarked his visitor, "is, I fear, too distinctively religious to meet the views of my acquaintance." "Then," said Lord Shaftesbury, "if we exclude expenditure on direct evangelistic work, I know of no enterprise more de serving of liberal support than the move ment for establishing coffee palaces and cocoa-taverns. They have done great good, but they should be multiplied tenfold. In London they have not succeeded well, but the reason was very simple. In most cases thoy did not consider the taste of the classes to whom they appealed. For instance, they had marble-top tables and strict regula tions, which made them feel anything but at home. In a few cases they went on a different plan and opened coffee-taverns, which resembled as clcwely as possible the public houses with which they entered into competition. The furniture was much the same, there was plenty of light, everything very snug, and they were allowod to do as they pleased. As a consequence, thoy were crowded night after night, while the others were almost empty. Another cause why many coffee-houses failed wag bad manage ment. Persons wero placed in charge who received a fixed salary, no matter what happened. There was literally no incentive in the shape of personal interest to stimu late the manager to make his establishment attractive; in fact, the fewer customers, the better for him, and as a result he got very few customers indeed, Broadly speak ing, every thing that encourages sobriety and thrift, that keeps men fro-n the public houses and induces them to save their money instead of wasting it, deserves the help of every reformer. In this respect there has been great improvement of late years." •' Looking back over your half century of aciive service in public, do you think that the world has improved or got worse ?" " Oh," said Ford Shaftesbury, "therehas been great progress. In education, in gen eral morality, and especially in temperance, there has been wonderful advance. Of course the powers of evil have raged against the good. There has been a great increase in the activity of atheistic propaganda. There is even now a remarkable develop ment of the most dangerous socialism, and there is, as I have said, a frightful result of overcrowding in the shape of sexual immor ality. Children grow up like animals, ai>d the scenes which you may see in broad day light in some of the back streets would make you shudder. It is a terrible fact that in London to-day incest is moro common than fornication. The Socialist agitation now diligently pushed forward by many is dan gerous and - formidable. It is always a pleasant doctrine for those who have ten shillings a week and a large family that a peer with only one child and' ten thousand a year should be compellod to share equally all around; but when you once begin to rob, ■ where will you stop ? But even more distressing is the propaganda of infidelity, which is carried on with zeal and activity of which you have little idea. On all sides materialistic prints are circu lated, atheistic lectures are delivered, and an infidel press is kept going. You would be surprised at the manifold manifestations of the secularist propaganda. Why, even children are employed in the distribution of atheistic tracts, and I have heard of cases in which boys of 13 and 14 have stood up to address children just leaving Sunday School assuring them with the utmost earnestness of conviction that there is-no God. The pro paganda lacks neither funds nor zeal, and that is one of the great evils against which we have to contend.

"But, on the other hand, there is great room for confidence and courage in the pro gress oi co-operation, especially in the north. Co-operation includes just what is reasonable in socialism. It is socialism, without dishonesty—the socialism of thrift, of industry, and of foresight. And what a success it has already achieved ! In London it has made but little way. In the north the Lancashire men have accumulated a capital of more than £8,000,000 sterling, the savings of working-men and workingh-women. But it is only natural that co-operation should extend most in the north. North' countrymen represent the backbone of Eng land. North of the Humber the people are so different from tboee in the south that they might be mistaken fora different race. There are in the north an energy, a fervour, a warm-hartedness, an enduring remem brance of kindness, and a practical sagacity which have no parallel elsewhere. It is very strange that it should be so, but. what is even more strange is the difference which exists between the working popula tion of the east and west of London. It has often been said that London consists of two nations—the rich and the poor; but it is not so generally known—although it is perfectly true—that in London there are two nations, the poor of the east and the poor of the west, and the difforenco between the working classes who; live in tho east and those employed in the same industries who livo in the west is very remarkable, and will be admitted by those who are familiar with this great city. The east-end workman is more like the north country man, more energetic, and cast altogether in a firmer mould. How it should be so I do not know. That it is so is indisputable." " Then, is it not strange, Lord Shaftes burv, that in the midst of bo much that one would naturally think would cause you to despond—the weakening of that fervent evangeliclsm which used to be a distinctive feature of the most powerful section of the English Church/the growth of infidelity, and the gradual decay of beliefs which you at one time regarded aa essential to the welfare of mankind—that on the whole you should take so cheerful a view of our present position and future prospects ?" " Well," said his lordship, " it may seem so, but the facts are there for all men to see. We are better than ever we were; as a nation our standard of morality and humanity is higher than I ever remember it. England stands in the forefront of,the world in all things relating to the moral and social condition of tbe masses of the people, and yet it has all been done, as you say, in spite of great developments of the forces of evil."

THE ACORN.

Hear the merry acorn drop, Zip-te-zeo! From the oak-tree's towering top, Zip-ty-zaw! Through the foliage he cleaves. Zip-zip! Bounding on the bed of leaves, Zee-zaw!

Short he is and round and far. Pretty thing, With a Tam-o-'shanter hat On his head. This be wore from day of birth In the spring. Doffed it not to Mother Earth- Quite ill-bred.

But he has a brother, much More polite, Who hia hat will always touch To the fair; When he meets Dame Earth, some day Or at night. He will throw his hat away And ko oare.

THE LAND OF THUS-AND-SO.

How would Willie like to go To tho land of Thnsand-So? Kver ( thing it proper tbaie ; All tho otiildran c jmb their hair Smoother than tho fur of cata, Or t he imp of high silk hats; Kvny fac» is clean and white As a lily washed in light; Never vagnest soil or speck Found ou forehead, throat od neck; Every little crimpled ear. In and out, as pure and clear Ab tho cherry blossom's blow la tho land of Thus-and-So.

" Little bays that never fall Down i he stairs, or cry at all, Dning nothing to repent. Watchful and obedient; Never hungry, nor In hanto, Tidy shoestringsalwayß laced; Never button rudely torn From its fellows all unworn; Knickerbockers always now, * Kibbon tie, ana collar, too. Little watches, worn like men, Only always half-past ten— Jußt precisely right, you know, For the land of Thus-and-Bo!

" And the little babies there Give no one the slightest care; Nurse has not a thing to do But be happy and say '800 1' While mam ma just nods and knows Nothing but to doze &ad doze ;■ ' Never litter round the grata; Never lunch or dinner Inte; Never any household din Peals without or rings within, Baby coos nor laughing calls On the stain or i hrougtt the halls; Just great Hushes to and fro Pace the land of Thus-and-So!

" O the land of Tmis-and-So 1 Isn't it delightful, though V " Yes," lisped Willie, answering n>9 Somewhat Blow and doubtfully; " Mast be awful nice, bat I Hither wait till by-aurt-by 'Fore Igo there; may bo when I be dead I'll go them then ; But—" ihe troubled little face Closer pressed in my embrace: " Le's don't never ever go To the land of Thus-and-So 1"

HUMOUROUS PARAGRAPHS.

It is the man who cannot write his name who makes his mark in the world.

Follower at the tail of the procession— Eli, d'ye see yon wee Tarn McGowkie, there? He maun bo i' th' front, what ever's gaun on. His companion—i' the front ? Ayo, man (viciously), he'd be 1' the hearse, if he could.

It is well to be exact, although the belief may bo carried too far for the death of a young friend. A more or less poetical Hudson river railroad conductor remarked, when asked the usual question; " Her wearied spirit sank tc real at 3.45, railroad time."

Young Husband» Now, love, which will you have, the chatolaino watch, the brace lets, or the necklace ? Young wife :We must avoid all unnoceseary expense, dear. I'm cure, if you buy all three the man will give you a reduction on them ! I'm your own saving, economical little wifoy ; ain't IT "Augustus," said Amelia, "how do oysters do to get any air to breathe when their shells are closed tight?" "By valves," murmured Gus.

A liberal brewer once built a church at his sole expense, but the stone engraver cnt the stone which was to immortalise the brewer's name with, "Built by , at his soul's expense." An Idle STouth—"l think," said CoL Fizzletop, " that Johnny is getting to be too trifling for anything. He is the laziest boy in Austin." "That may be, but he gets up at six o'clock in the morning, I notice,"replied Mrs Fizzletop. "Oh, he does that bo he can have more time to loaf. *' Professor—Why does a duck put his bead under water'! Pupil—For divers reasons. Professor—Why does he go on land ? Pupil —For sundry reasons. Professor—Next. You may tell us .vby a duck puts his head under water. Second pupil-To liquidate his bill. Professor—And why does he go on land ? Second pupil—To make a run on the bank. ' .

THE KAULT IB IN THB GUN, OF COUBBT, 'Tls now the modern Winkle seeks for cane Where piping quail and frlnky rabblta run And at each shot in wonder doth exclaim ■ "What! missed again] What alia the'peeky gun! • ■Vj- i Barber—lf my plan was adopted then would be no more bald heads. Customer— I have tried a number of preparations and they are all humbugs. Barber—My idea can't fail. Customer— What is it? Barber —Wear a wig. ' . A gentleman who was habitually guilty of liberties with the Queen's English was returned as a member fcra colonial parlia ment. Delighted with the importance o! bis new position, he rose on the fitat chance that offered to make hia maiden speech, "Gentlemen," be said, ay way of introdnc tion, "what We we lefore the 'ouse to night?" "I think we have an 'h' before 'ouso, gentlemen," wai the prompt reply of a memberof the Opposition, i-.- o „,:"*>■

Selected Poetry.

BONGS OF THB NEW MOTHERLAND,

[nr w. R. wills ]

Thb Summer Palace of My Heart,

In the Summer Palace of my Heart

Ib many a loving gem— Come, draw the cunains far apart. And thou wilt find rich treasured art Sot in life's diadem.

Eioh luetro of God's sunshine falls O'er every chamber fair, Tho' now and torn against ita walla The voice of sorrow Knocks and oalu, And seeks a dwelling there.

Faint ehadowings of a buried past,

Soft woillnai over pftina Tho darkling clouds of fear may oast; But ciauds, however black, at last Get BiLvor lined again.

Sad draperies of a mournful hue May shade the suulight there; But when love-rays aro glinting throußb, The dark turns to the sweetest blue, With sunnhine everywhere.

For Hopndwolls there, and o'er the place Hioh offerings are oast; Sweet aro her Bmilcs and winsome face, lit by tho Father's love and gvaoe, Which as notifies tho past

Faith holds her court tho' Bludowa fatf And eyes grow dull and dim, Yet fluttering wings are over all- And anisel harps, with anthems, call Liko tone of oherubim.

Love dwelleth there; and every Book

Is lit up with her beams— An softly aßa summer brook Comes she along. with bell ana book, Reading sweet fairy dreams.

Ringing out eaoh sorrow of the strife That breaks on every breast- Kinoing in the soul throbs of the life When aay In dorm, tho harvcßt ripe, Telling tha heart or rest.

O! there aru gems in this palaoe fair. Nor wealth nor time may buy- Hope smiles uion me, visions rare— Faith charms with song ana soothes I*lol prayer; Love hushes every sigh.

In this Summer Palaoe of my Heart Tho sunbeams over fall; So interwove with loving art, You may not toar those gome apart. For love relgnß over all.

CONSIDER THE RAVENS.

[BY I)K. GEORGE MAODONALD.]

Lord according to Thy words, I have considered Thy birds; And I find iheir life good. And better, the better understood; Sowing neither corn nor wheat, They have all that thoy oan eat; Reaping no more than they bow, They have all they can stow; Having neither barn nor store, Hungry again, they eat more,

Considering, I see, too, that they Have a buey lite, and plenty of play; In the earth they dig their bills deep. And work well though they do not heap; Then to play in the air they are not loth, And their nests botweon are better than both.

But this is when there blow no atoms; Wken berries are plenty In winter, and worms; When their feathers are tbick, and oil 1b enongh To keep the cold out, and the rain off; . If there thtrald come a lorn? hard treat. Then it looks ac If Thy birds are lost.

Bat I consider f urtfior and find A hungry bird has* free mind; Ho 1b hungry to-day, not to-morrow : Steals no comfort, no «rief doth borrow. This mom' nt he is, Thy will hath Baid It. The next ia no: hlng till Thou hast made it

The bird has pain, but has no fear, Which is tho worst of any gear; When cold end hunger and harm betide him, He gathers them not, to stuff inside him ; Content with the d»y'a ill he has got. He waits jast. nor haggles with bis lot; Neither jumblf s God's will With driblets from his own stUL

But next I flee, in my endeavour, Thy birds here do not live for ever; That cold or hunger, eioknets or age. Finishes their earthly Btage ; The rook drops without a stroke, And never pivns another croak; Birds lie here, and birds lie there, With little feathers all astare;

And in Thy own sermon, Thou That tho sparrow falls doat allow.

It shall not cause me any alarm, For neither po comes the bird to harm, Beeing. our Father, Thou hast neid. Is by the sparrow's dying bed; Therefore It is «■ blessed place, And the i-patrow in high grace. It cometh. therefore, to this, Lord : I have considered Tby word, And henceforth will be Tby bird.

t&E AUCKLAND EVENING STAR, THURSDAY, DECEMBER 24, 1886

5



A Limit to Patience—Waitress (to Dr. Pullem, the dentist, who is greatly annoyed by her constant use of his title in addressing him)—Tcmatoes, doctor? Dr. Pullem— Thanks, no. Waitress — Corn, doctor ! Doctor—No ! Dentist! Wise Folly.—"For ten years my wife mi confined to her bed with such a complication of ailments that no doctor could tell what was the matter or cure her, and I used up a small for tune in humbug stuff. Six months ago I saw an American flag with Hop Bitten on it. and I thought I would be a fool once more. I tried it, but my folly proved to be wisdom. Two bottles cured her, she i» now as well and strong as any man's wife, and it ooct ma only-two dollars,"— B W., Detroit, Mich. Ret&