THE END OF HER JOURNEY.

IN FOUE CHAPTERS.

From " Temple Bar."

CHAPTER lll.—Continued.

•You say you have known him for years,' Mildred said. ' Did you know that—he—was married t

* Yes, I knew that he was married.' 'Do you know his wife?' The question was'almost whispered. 'Yes, I know his wife,' came the calm, unflinching answer. The. girl waited a r moment, but the inexplicable woman before her seemed like some strange automaton, and did not offer to speak of her own accord.

' Weill—do you know her well V There was a change in Mildred's voice then.

'Yes, I know her well,' she said, bitterly; ' better than anyone else in the world knows her.' ' You are her friond f ' Yes, I suppose so.' ■t When did you find this out ?' t 'Just before I started —an hour ago.' 'Then she cannot know yet! Oh, don't tell herl don't tell her!' the woman who had taken Mildred's place cried, putting her hands out entreat jngly 'Don't tell her. He says she is so gentle and good, it would break her heart. I would rather die, I thitikj than that .she should know ;' and, suddenly resting her face down on the edge of the velvet-covered shelf, she sobbed bitterly; The words took Mildred altogether aback, but her lieart grew cold and hard as she watched her rival—her rival, and no dupe—and apart from all other feelings the remembrance of a marriage cere mony with choral service filled her full of indignation. ' You are very considerate,' she said, in a grinding voice; 'it is most kind.' The girl raised her head quickly, and brushed her tears away.

'You don't understand/ she said; almost fiercely. 'Wait, and in a moment I willtell n?n. You mustlet me get calm—you say you know him—and her?'

'Yes, I know them well.'

'Then you know that he married her for her money. He did not love her. She is very gentle and good, but he does.not love her; he never did, and he always loved mo —always.' She clasped her hands together, and said the last words with a tenderness of which Mildred knew her own voice to be | incapable. In that tone alone lay half the reason of everything.

'Always?' * Yes, always. He loved me before he had ever seen her.'

Mildred looked at her half-bewil dered, incapable of taking in all the bitterness of those last words; but her thoughts went back to the early days of her married life, to all the little en dearments and foolish names and sweet nonsense of the time. It had all been a<make-believe, then—a sham a mockery

• Wl?y did he fnot marry you, if he loved you before he even saw her V she asked. '

* I was poor, I had no money at all. I was just a little drawing-mistress, and he was poor too, and very much in debt. One day he told me that it was of no use going on, it couldn't be ; that he must have money, and could only get it by marrying. I was angry, he wanted to go, and I let him. We were both wrong, for I let him go, though I knew he loved me ; but what could I do?' she asked, still speaking eagerly, as though for dear life. "I was alone, too,' she Went on; 'there was no one else;Jn the world, and I was so very, very miserable I thought my heart Would break. And yet I was angry, too, and gave up all my pupils, and moyed so that hemight not find me. I only wanted never, never to see him again^—■— ' 'Well?' ~;

'And then we met, arid—-and I had nearly died, in the two years and more between. It was like Heaven meeting him again •andthough.'he tried to hide it, it was ho goo.d—l saw that he loved •me just the same. Oh, you„cannot think what it was to meet-^the misery, the joy of it; and he told me that his wife was good'aha! geh^e, but she had no lilt, mo go—she: loved him in an eyem passionless; manner, as a school-girl loves, noVas Fdid, as Ido ! !He is'jiist my life !' Tshe; exclaimed, with flushed cheeks and eyes, that: had Jost their dreaminess, and flashed as she looked up—' just my life, and light, and love, and all the world, as lam his.' 'Yes,' Mildred said calmly, 'go on. It is better to-t6.il me all. I know them both, remember.' i ' ' 'And lie had ho child, and, try as he would to'help it, his wife was sojittle to hiih, he could not take her into his life ; his heart was empty save 'for me; it ached for me; and I was alone and loved him. We went on meeting^and parting—it was maddehihg-J-Aand at last he made me come to him. "His wife should never know,' -he said; You - must not think —you arfe'her friend,^ that is why I wish you itor know all this—that he does hot care'for her; he does. But he does not love'her; it is just affection—-' 'And for hqr money.'

•■Her.money was a great deal to him 011C e—he married her for it; but now he is - rich, ■ ami it is-'fiothing to him. It is :that:iie fears toAgrieve her; it is because, he,Jcnows.how gentle and good she is ' •

' While he is unfaithful to her. every hour'^bl.. his iife—-' Mildred said. She'had listened "to the story as 'if it were all a dream—a story that con cerned some other person-someone Jghe had known and remembered, -She notgrasptlie facahat;t was, her own history that she was hearing and

livirig; through. "The' girl looked up quickly at MUdred's la^t wof&s,1 atid spoke again, as she had ajl through, in a'voice that- came from tfte innermost .depth? of her soul. jfi {There are some people,' she said* and Mildred, looking, back at her; .thought wiule she'"'listened, how blue :t\j6x eyes were. Jfc was odd how Mil dred dallied with her knowledge and her anguish that morning, though it wrecked all her happiness; dallied with it and put it a little way from her, and looked at it curiously as a thing lor which she could put off' grieving, though she knew that there would never be another hour of her- life that would not bear bitter fruit of this. 'There are some people,' the girl said, ' who have lives that go out to meet each other- ours did. They have met, and can never be parted. She lives there his wife in name and before the world by virtue of a marriage ceremony, but I am the wife of his heart, his soul, his innermost self; and as for wronging her -' 'Does he suppose she will never know f Mildred asked. She had hardly heard the last words.

' She will never know if he and I can help it. How is she to know 1 I use his name, but that is all. I could not bear not to do that. I go nowhere, know no one, we seldom go out to gether ; the name is not in the Direc tory, it is by the merest accident that it is in that list, and I shall instantly have it withdrawn ; it is in no other place at all. How is she to know 1 We shall keep our secret. Oh, he would not let her know for the wide world.' She went forward a step or two and put her hand on Mildred's arm, but the latter shrank away. ' Oh, if you love her," she pleaded, not heeding the movement, ' and have any regard for him; if you have a woman's heart, and know what it is to love—be silent. What good will toll ing her do ? It will not make his heart go from me to her. You cannot love as you will. Remember that. Let her keep her poor happiness ; she will never find out what a ghpst it is. I, loving him, can understand, and dread to think what she would suffer if she

knew :

' You said she was cold.'

1 Yes, she is cold—she has no fire, no abandon, no passion; but she is good and gentle, and loves him truly in her own way. Surety, knowing her, you understand; for I, who have never even seen her, can— —' 1 Oh, yes, I can understand,' Mildred said, with k long weary sigh, and eyes towards the door. For one moment she wondered foolishly if she would be a dead woman when she went out of that room. Then she asked one more question. \ Does it never strike you that you are making him wicked, dragging him down, the man you say you love so much better than she does—and that you are doing her a terrible wrong ?'

' No, I am not making him wicked,' the girl answered gravely, in the tone of one who was certain; 'and I am not doing her a terrible wrong. He did that when he married her for her money, and he knows it now. Yet, after all, remember her money bought her the man of her heart, though she does not know that that was the price of him. She will spend her life with him, possessing his affection and re gard, bearing his name, sharing his public triumphs. That ho neyer loved her she will never know. Is it not better than if she had never married, had not had the blessedness of being his of seeing his face every day of her life 1 There was something in her voice that was almost eloquence, that paralysed more and more the woman who listened, that seemed to send farther and farther away all life in her. 'But she is his wife.' It was a forlorn argument, but there w.as nothing else to say. 'No,' the other said, contradioting it as a statement she could not and would not allow. 'I am his wife. .Marriage is not a mere ceremony. It is the joining of two lives that for ever become one. lam the woman of his heart. That is my justification. If I were not I Should be infamous. But lam not infamous; for lam his wife, body and soul, bound faster than any ceremony in all the world could bind. As for making him wicked'— and a smile that was almost scornful came ior. a moment .to her face-r-'I do not, I—oh, I wonder if you understand ! Ace you married 1 1 do not even know your name. -Tell me Who you are, pud— r-rr'. The handle rattled for a moment, thqn the door opened, and there entered a little fair-haired child of; two or three years old.

. ' 'Mammyj/darling.'-he said. 'Nurse says am 1 to. go out ? 'Yes, darling; and baby too.' 'Baby's fast asleep,' he answered, 'looking at the strange lady. Mil .dred Vstired- at him with a ;long fixed gaze, as one standing at the: gate of 'hell turq to see afar-off glimpse of the Heaven .for- ever.denied lier. Then she went a step -forward towards the .door, like somehunted creature seeking instihc tively a'hiding-pLace sOmeVhere in the dark,'away from everything. How she 'had longed for children—for a little onb to hold in-her arms white her hus .baud stboped'to.kiss it..; t she'knew, too, -that" he had longed ior them He.had them,now, ;andrthe woman before her was their mother.

;'Tieis" so ;like His ifather,' the girl said tenderly. .'.Teddy, dear, do you love.papa?'

'Yes, very much/ 'the child answered, never once taking his eyes off -Mildred; and rthen shyly turning to avoid her, he ran out of the room. On ! his way he brushed against. her dress ; she -shivered and shrank/backr-yher husband's child, his and another woman's! The woman Idolced Jip.at the dosed door. ♦I)o you understand now?' she asked. 'You, cannot take him from me, for lam part of his life. She is a

woman outside^t.' "'Are you never jealous of "her ? Do you nev§.r wisbrtJwtlfe w-e-ie dead ?■ Mildred asked, desperately, looking back at her, for she stood with her face towards the door.

' Dead ! No, I-could not be so cruel; for life is sweet, even at its worst! And jealous! Why should I be jealous- f the other answered, almost sadly. 'I do not think. I am ever jealous. I have his life's best love; why should I grudge her poor heart the. little happiness it sometimes gets f 'May Heaven forgive you !. Mildred said, with a sense of awakening life, of returning pain, and of what all this would mean to her.

'Tell me who you are!' the girl cried, going forward and trying to see clearly the pale face and grey eyes of the strange woman who had wrung from her the story of her life. ' Tell me who you are! —you cannot be his wife !—you could not have borne this if you had been.' 'No, I am not his wife,' Mildred answered; and her whole soul felt the lie to be a truth.

'Dp you love her so much that you feel it thus keenly f 'It is so terrible, so much worse than death for her.'

'She will never know, unless you tell her. If you are really her friend —if you know what love is—Are you married ?' she asked, in her impatient, earnest voice. 'I—l am alone in the world, I think.' 'As I was till I loved him, and he me.' ' Had you no friends, no relations, no one to prevent ——' •No, no one. We came to England, my father and I, when I was little ; he speculated, and I was left at school. He died, and I came to London and lived alone, giving lessons. That is my history. There is none to whom I need give account of myself, if that is what you mean. lam his, and he is all I have in the world—he and the children. But before you go,' she pleaded, putting her hand on the door to keep Mildred back for a moment, 'promise me you will not tell her. You will do no good; think how much misery you would cause her. I will make him entreat you too ' Then Mildred hesitated.

' 1 will be silent on one condition,' she answered slowly—'that you are, too—that you never tell him of this.' • But I never had a secret from him yet in my life. I could not bear to have one. Remember, nothing can part us—not joy, or sorrow, or shame, or anything in the world; it is too late for that. You cannot part us; you will do no good by telling her.' 'Noryou by telling him,' Mildred said, and opened the door.

'If you will promise not to tell her— if that is the only price of your silence —then I will keep your visit a secret from him,' the said, giving way, since it was the only alternative.

'Very well. Now let me go,' Mildred answered, in a dreamy miserable voice; and at last she dragged herself to the street-door. For a moment she stopped, wondering almost wildly where she could go. There was no place in the world for her. No one had any need of her. And while she still hesitated she heard the sound of the child's voice above, and the patter patter of his footsteps coming down the stairs. She looked up once more, with a look of such unspeakable anguish that it wrung an exclamation from her rival.

• Oh, come back ' she cried. But Mildred heard no more, only the sound of the child's joyous voice, as with a scared face she hurried into the street.

CHAPTER IV.

Teddy came home to dinner that night. His case was going well, he was in excellent spirits, and ran gaily upstairs to the drawing-room. He felt that something had happened the ihoment he opened the door. Mildred Was lying on the sofa, worn and white. She did not attempt to rise as he entered.

* Why,what's the matter ?' he asked. 'I thought you would be glad to.see me back.'

'Yes,' she answered gently, 'but till half-anrhour ago I thought you were going to dine out. lam resting —it is only a headache,' she added. •Why didn't you go to your dinner?' ' Had a telegram putting me off. So I instantly telegraphed to you. Did you get it?'

' Yes.'

* I thought you would be glad to see me,' he repeated,resenting mentally his dreary home-coming. ( You are gener ally glad when I dine at home.' 'Yes,' she said again. She could not say any more, for all -the time she heard ringing in herears, * You cannot take him.from me.;' and the infinite pity of her heart kept adding, 'and there are the children^. The ahger^ the sense of insult, :oj injury, all that had died away. She was ho coward, ahd unflinchingly faced the whole story. Above all, she saw itis hopeless ness, was only one ending, and she knew ;it. She was like a woman waiting to die. .She harl a strange power of realioing^hings from another's point Of vjpw.; ;it Was only from her own that-she was narrow; but when mentally she looked from Teddy's she saw clearly, judged herself from it and understood,,and did not wonder much. Only there was this.great bitter ness—it was all done in ignorance, a resultof the strange fetters that seemed to bind her body and soul. If she could only once have broken away from them, and have found the voice that was never hers Save in the secret recesses of her heart, where as if in an iron chamber from which it gave no outward sign, a restless fire burnt that made a still agony of life—if just once she had dared to put into words that which she knew well she could never have said at all, but before it reached

her lipi it would have- befcMe dis^ torted, and her voice uncertain and husky. It was no use. For ever be fore his eyes and in his thoughts she must be the woman she seemed, with out charm, or passion, or excitement. His judgment was just; she- knew and narrowness, the narrowness of her outward self> and had no power to help it. It was as if there dwelt in her some other soul besides the one she showed to the world, and lived by some soul that told her of the dulness of its mate, of the unattractiveness of her face and form, of the commonplace ness of her words and gestures, of the bands that bound down her heart, so that even from its depths there came only lukewarm utterance while it vainly longed to find the voice that should have been its natural one. Oh! it was terrible to have that absolute knowledge of self, with the consciousness of the uselessness an d hopelessness of striving against it; to know that she had no power to be other than she seemed, to appear other than the woman she looked. A common thing enough, perhaps; for many have secret souls with which to feel, and working ones with which to make themselves felt and known. And if they are judged according to the latter, is it not fair enough in these days, in which it matters little what a man is, but only what he does 1 ' Have you been out to-day V Teddy asked, looking round the room with a sense of some defect in its arrangement. It had not the air of restfulness that a woman strong in the characteristics of her sex makes the place to which her husband comes home after his work.

'Yes,' she said once more. There was something choking her, she could not talk. ' You cannot take him from me,' was still ringing in her ears. There were no other words in the world. .But as she watched him round the room she thought it was true what her rival had said—she had 'no lilt, no go.' The other woman would have run to meet him, and putting her arms round his neck, looked up into his face with loving eyes and words upon her lips. Never in her brightest days had Mildred had courage enough for that sort of thing; she had seemed indifferent, perhaps, but in reality she had been shy and awk ward, even with Teddy. She realised this, too, now that all things were too late. Even if to-day had been a year ago, and all the terrible story she had heard untold, it would never have occurred to her to ask Teddy about his work; she had always waited meekly to be told what it pleased him to tell her. The other woman, she knew surely, and he remembered, would have asked him a dozen eager ques tions—would have lived through the case, laughing at the good points made on his side, vexed at those made on the other., To his wife Teddy hardly mentioned it at all, it never oc curred to him that she would he in terested in it. He put it away from him as much as possible,.in order to talk to her in the manner he thought she would like best.

'By the way,' he said presently, 'I was lunching with Bolton to-day. He gave the medical evidence on our side. I told him about you —that I was anxious to see you regularly set up. He says the real thing for you is a sea-voyage.' ' Yes 1 To the end of the world f she asked, getting up and standing listlessly by the fire.

' Well, no, we won't send you quite so far as that; but a brilliant idea struck me all at once to-day. You know George is at Malta. It is a nice place—not too far; you could always race^ back by Italy, if you were m a hurry to get home again. I should not mind your going out there alone, with Marks, in the P. & 0. You would be all right once on board. It is not a long voyage—rather more than a week— but quite long enough to do you good. You would like Malta; there's plenty always going on there. You like George and his wife, and I know they would be awfully glad to see you.'

Teddy had evidently made up his mind that he had hit upon the right thing for her. George was his eider brother.

'Yes, it will dp very well,' she answered. ' Let me go at once,' she added, 'I meant to tell you when you came home to-night that I wanted to go somewhere. I don't care where it is, so that it is a long way off. How soon can Igo ?' There was something in her words and tone that went to his guilty .heart like a knife. It was the tone that might have been hers had she known all, and was breaking her heart, he thought. The fire blazed up, and he saw her face plainly. Either the firelight exaggerated its paleness and weariness, or she had altered muoh since yesterday.

•js anything the matter V You look so ill--do different,' he said.

•Oh, I am neuralgic, I suppose.' But her voice trembled, her eyes filled with tears. He felt that he was some: how, though how he did not know, re sponsible for her sorrowfulness { that it was not all neuralgia or mere low spirits as she would have him believe; and he hated himself for the part lie had played. Had she not given him her all in the world—that poor little soul whom he had never once loved truly, but had used merely as a stepping-stone to that which was his now, but a few years since had been far enough away 1 He felt that he was a scoundrel, and wished with all his heart that in days that were gone he hrd had courage enough to be honest.

' You will be better soon, dear,' he said gently. ' You want cheering up a bit; you have not been anywhere lately.' And going forward he stooped to kiss her. She pushed him away, almost with a shudder.

' Oh, don't,don't,' she cried. ' I can not bear it —I cannot, indeed.' He looked at her in surprise. Usually she

Trad been demurely eager for the caresses that, he had half^gfudged her. :" ;rWiiat'is; tp matter, JVfildrepl?' he asked, facing the worst.

s I am ill,' she answered, cowering away from him. 'I cannot go on living thi^ life. Let me go away.' Then suddenly a flood of memories swept over her, as she looked at him bending down, as she felt his breath ;upon her cheek—-her handsome, clever husband, of whom she had been so proud. She thought of the days they had spent together, days in which she had never dreamt of all that now must evermore divide them. She thought of all his tenderness and gentleness, for he had been very tender and gentle to her; and she divined that at heart he had been grateful and often self-reproachful. He need not have married her; but it was not his fault that he had not been in love with her. Did not many men marry for money, just as he had, and soon grew careless and callous? He had never done that. Perhaps it was all her fault." And yet it was not her fault; for she could not help not being pretty and lovable, like that other woman. She put her arms gently round his neck and kissed him. She had seldom had courage to do so much before uncoaxed, though he was her own husband. ' You must forgive me,' she said, in the low weary voice that had become natural to her. 'I am not well; let me go away, and soon, as soon as possible. I shall be better then. Now I am worn out, and tired of everything.'

'All right, dear,' he said, thankful

that the scene was blowing over. ' You shall start for Malta as soon as we can get you off. Now we'll have dinner—there's the gong—so we have just made it up in time. We had better have some champagne to pick us up. Come along.' He pulled her arm through his, and almost dragged her downstairs, in laughing, good humoured fashion. She would be better when she once got away, he thought. The voyage was an excellent idea. How lucky it was he had spoken to Bolton. She could not help this sort of thing, he supposed; still, it was trying when a man had been hard at work all day. But she had never been so foolish before; it was evident that she was out of health. It was very bad luck that the little girl at Glapham had telegraphed that she had a headache too, and was obliged to go to bed. He had so longed to go to her—he had been looking forward to it all day—his darling, his prett yone ; and he thought of her even in that moment with a love that outweighed all that he had ever felt for the fragile woman on his arm since the day when he had first set eyes on her.

(Tobo Continued Tomorrow.)

THE-' AUCKLAND' EVEM©':STAIk Fffißtf . ATJCEEriT "Iff,lßf&

6



medical. TiTRS T) 8* QTUART'S Are the only Safe and Genuine FEMALE MEDICINES Advertised. FFMALE "PILLS, 2s 6d, ' Pronounced a boqn. iFEMALE LIVER and ANTIBILIOU9 PILLS IsGd, Prevent many troubles peculiar to the Sex. Good for all ages. A grand Safeguard an Corrective. Sold everywhere. DRUG COMPANY, Agents. TYR. HE N L EY'S DISCOVERY. The constituent parts are daily used by the leading physicians of Europe and America in their practice, who recognise in celery the best nervine known. The extraot of beef is most nutritive and invigorating, whiie the iron is a tonicfor the blood, and food for the brain. To be obtained from all chemists. S H A R L A N D & C 0., WHOLESALE AGENTS. EC O X AND SON, • DENTISTS, Kingsley House, Hobson-street, Auckland. Edwin Cox, Licentiate in Dental Surgery R.C.S., England. : ■ Herbert Cpx, Doctor of Dental Surger , University of Michigan, U.S., America. ~J~ GOODWIN O6 X, DENTAL SURGEON, ÜB, Queen-street, A«M*P.Society's BuilcUag ■ Auckland, ■"ft^OTICE OF REMOVAL. MR. T. TR AFFORD, SU B G EON DENT J& T Desires to inform his Patients and Friends that he has removed from Wakefield-street to more central offices Queen-Street, over Mr Wayte^s, Bookseller, opposite Wyndham-street Houre from nine a.m. till five.p.m. DEN Tlj TRT Mr A. L. SMITH, OLD-ESTABLISHED DENTIST, Corner of Hobson and Welleslky Streets. Artificial Teeth fitted Without extracting stumps. Other dentists' work repaired. Teetn stopped. Gas administered. Charges moderate Tramcars pass the house. aRANDPAPA'S MAGIC SALVE Patented. Prepared by MRS VIALOUSE, Kyber Pass Is. 6d. PER TIN. A certain cure for all wounds, sores, sprains corns, bums.scalds.bruisescarbuncles,boils and whitlows, also inflammation caused from bites of misquitoes, sandflies, etc., etc., etc. A single trial will give satisfactory proof of its efficacy. Sold by Chemists, For testimonials see hand-billa. OLFE'S SCHNAPPS is superior to brandy or whisky.



SSSSSE 55855J 5 in\mhn*m*BmmimmmmmmmmmammmmmmmmHammmmmm*m -Booksellers, &c. "D E M O V A L., W. E. MEAES, BOOKSELLER, STATIONER, AND MUSIC SELLER, 198, QUEEN-STREET, AIJOKLAND, Wishes to inform hiscustomers.and.tiie publicl • • -' that1 he hast REMOVED TO NEW & MORE GOMMODIQUS PREMISES, Five doors below Wellesley-street, and Opposite W.McArthur&Oo.'a Warehouse, Where he win be glad to see all his old cus tomers and as many new oacs as will favour him with a call. A CHOICE STOCK OF BOOKS, MUSIC, AND STATIONERY KEPT. BOOKS, MUSIC, STATIONERY. Please Remember New Address: 216, QUEEN-S TRE ET, Five doors below Wellesley-street. W. E. HEARS, BOOKSELLER, STATIONER, AND MUSIC SELLER. /~IHAMPTALOUP AND, COOPER'S LIST OF WORKS ON HORTICULTURE. s.d. Adamson's Australian Gardener „ n l 6 Australian Gardeners' Guide ... „ .. l n Barnes, J.. Asparasus Culture .. ..13 Beeton, All About Gardening.. .. .. ? 0 Burbridge, F., Propagation and Improve ment oC Cultivated Plants.. :. ..14 0 Burbridge, V., Horticulture 5 0 Doyle, M., Fielci and Garden Plants ..10 Early, W„ Profitable Market Gardening.. 2 6 Fremlin, R., Potato in Farm and Garden ..13 Glenny, G., Amateur's Hndbk. of Gardng. 1 3 Haldane, R. C, Sub-tropical Cultivation.. 10 0 Hibberd, S„ Profitable Gardening ..' ..4 0 Hobday, E., Handbook for Amateurs and Practical Gardeners.. .. ;» . t 7 0 Hobday, E., Cottage Gardening .. ~19 Hoopers Gardening Guide .. _. ..JO Illustrated Die. of Gardening, 4 vols, each... 15 0 Johnston's Gardeners' Dictionary .. .. 8 6 Murphy's New Zealand Gardening.. .; 2,6 Quinn. C. W„ Garden Receipts .. .. 19 Robinson, W., The Sub-tropical Garden „ ff 6 Robinson. W.JThe Flower Garden.. _17 0 Shaw; C. W., Kitchen and Market Garden 3 6 Smith, W. G., Diseases of Field and Garden Crops .. .. ..5 0 Sutton'sCultureofVegetablesandFlowers 6 0 Thompson, D„ Handy Bk. of Flower Grdn. 7 6 Vilmorin, Andrieux, The Vegetable Grdn. 17 0 Watt's Vegetables, and How to Grow Them 1 3 Wood, J. G.. Our Garden Friends and Foes 4 0 Wood, S., The Forcing Garden .. . «.• 4 0 Wright's Mushrooms for the Million .. I' 3 76, QUEEN-STREET, AUCKLAND. Tailoring. EXTRA PAIR OF TROUSERS j l<y TO "%g gj "MEASTJEE. h^ H « 50a. -. a ssa. 60s. § | g § 655. °70s. r7ss. [5S B 8 80a. 85s. 90s. § _j — -_» g k&SP H- ROBINSON, TAitOB,Jr | g ntoSv corner of j^s' 92 6 y^^ S I \f~j GREY 3TRgKTB. \.yjr EXTRA PAIR OF TROUSERS" -Yj\ D W A R D f\ A S H,! ■Welleslby Street West. SUITS! COATS COATS VESTS VESTS TROUSERS TROUSERS SUITS Tj-nnm SUITS COATS BEST COATS Vests vests suits VAT TTI? SUITS : TROUSERS V-aJ_iUJli TROUSERS COATS IN COATS SUITS TOWN suits VESTS -1- UVV IN. VESTS TROUSERS TROUSERS SUITS SUITS i COATS COATS VESTS VESTS ', SUITS! NO TROUSERS GIVEN AWAY! FOR the besfc style, go to J. H. Dalton,; Tailor, Victoria-street East. Buisness Notices. QRION. QRION. (TYBIQIS. WHAT IS IT? HORSE COVERS, '^ GAITERS. EE> 00' WATERP.ROOI' — '"^ RIDING and "DRIVING APRONS. ■ '} P. 0.8.284] [HIGH-STREET & COSTOMS-ST, W. A'» th v r 'tit as y,; MANUFACTURERS' AGENT AND WHOLESALE GLASS MERCHANT. ORDERS INDENTED. GOODS IMPORTED DiRECT. QUALITY GUARANTEED. Window Glass Plate Glass Wire Nails Portland Cement Chinaware - Havanna Cigars, etc. FOR SALE, 1.000 CASES WINDOW GLASS (aborted size) fllO TOBACCO GROWERS. SEED. SEED? .SEED. The undersigned hasjustreceiTed'aparcel of new Tobocco Seed from America, containing the following varieties: Kentucky, Broad Leaf Connecticut, Golden Leaf, and Dark Virginia (these descriptions having proved most.suitable for the various districtsin this colony)'. ' Packets containing sufficient seed for one acre, otany of these varieties, may be obtained on application; price, \s per packet. „ ■ '■ • AUSTIN WALSH, ■ July 23* 1887. Tobacco Factory, Auokland. J. BUTCHER.] [J. GROOM. \y'E HAVE FOR SALE: Rod and Bar Iron, Wire Nails Feucihg Barb Wire, Roofing Iron ; Sash Weights, Buckets, Tubs Springs and Patent Axles Coarse and Fine Salt •. 110 h.p. nominal Portable Engine, by Wallis and Steevens, with duplicate wearing parts ~ Hoisting Engines, from 3 to 5 lup.,- With reversing gear. GROOM, BuFOHER, & Co., FORT-STREET. Telephone 211.] T\7~ONG GONG AND CO., GENERAL GROCERS. IMPORTERS OF TEA and CHINESE GOODS. PURE TEAS A SPECIALTY. W. G. & Co. are prepared to supply a Artt class article at lowest prices for cash. 37, GREY-STREET, ' , * Two Doors above Market Hotel.



WELLESLEY , T^ 60,000 feet k^Sw^" 60,000 feetoTsMntl^^MliW Lead-head N^. w w ?^ »tth* e .ow«aite^ Liberal dlscomiuto ZtL GtORGt MQCAUt IgpraEß sjjwim. Sales in 1884 mfciHHlUK* B^w,iß?i»....m(iji|i.ii3L£; Increase...... 42,258 j^^; at 26i; Q"rjEE^^ i; Itcii^a. WTHREK OUT OF "EVERY FOUR Ift cihnjss bold-bt thh-worujihi' '• stagers:" ■'?& UPWARDS OF THREE- HUKBBED FIRST* PRIZES! . •■-« aud^' CmiISTCBEUB((IE-,B^nio|' 1 . TWO CALM; TWO'StefEk"J|EDlli TO BE OBTAnpJD' AT, 2s to PER WEEK .' 2s^ptWffi BEWARE OF GERMAN. AKffl» """■ " iMrTATIOKS.: - -SINGER 'gEwSi -MMJHHH'' ADDRESS: 'QtffiEN-SiBEEE .OPPOSITE MESSRS GARLICK-ill f CRANWEiL; '; OALS, COKE,'CHARCdi3j"tf :ST; - < www • •'• ,^estWa, Titw&aqd Mrimi^tj firstclassl'aupiri; Newcasfe w#JP»JS Removed,£nd Goodj.«S®* I the city and suburba, at. wfffflt.HlWH1 * the Aadress : C. HlPEßopposiatheftw* Reservoir, and coraer of I»lWB.««ff« hspe floats. — r—•— ---0 s SA " ED SONS #$ '■## - ■ , (s?s Saymgs Rjflli = , Now. BEWO PWJ*O ***?',, BRIOKS SLATES WINDOWS tDOOiISf: ■■■■- pi SHOFfEBp™ I IRONPES, ~ I ,VERANDAHS, ta. I WrL . L JE *OLB OSBAF. 1 Customs Sxiu^^ 1 FAGTOEY, 1 ■ ' ".WHE^ 8, j -: G „O P ,H. Niton's, Tailor, view