TIM.

A Sketch, I.

Eagged, starving, his thin face blue and pinched with cold, he stood, offer ing his matches to the unheeding, hur rying passers-by. It had been bitterly cold all day, and all day he had trudged the streets, trying to make a copper or two to buy a meal and pay for a shelter this bitter night. Home less and friendless he stood there, claiming no home but the workhouse, calling none friend bat the terrier trembling at his heels. An earnest little face he had, stamped with that look of patience which is born only of suffering bravely endured. The clear-cut features were sharpened by cold and hunger, the blue eyes piteous in their glance ashe scanned the faces of the moving throng. He shivered every now and then as the keen wind swept round the corner, blowing aside his fluttering rags, and making the gaslight flicker in the lamps; but his voice was cheer ful as he bent down to speak to the dog cowering at his feet. " Cold, Smut V Smut "pressed a little closer to the boy's side, giving a monosyllabic wag1 of his tail in answor to his master's words.

The slow minutes passed, and each moment the boy's hunger and weari ness increased.

" 'Taint o' no use, Smut," he said at length, in a tone of dejection ; "wo sha'n't sell to-night. 'Tis too windy fur the swells to smoke, and when 'tis so cold they won't unbutton their coats fur to take out a penny."

The dog's tail drooped dejectedly, and he heaved a long sigh' as he looked up. questiouingly into his master's face.

" Keep up yer pecker, ole man," continued the boy, with forced cheeri ness. "We'll do betterto-morror, and we've spent a windy night on Black friars Bridge afore now," As ho dragged himself wearily along the brightly-lighted Strand, he paused for a moment outside a confectioner's window. Flattening his face against the glass, he gazed hungrily at the roast beef and turkey and plum-pud ding so temptingly displayed within. Through the grating from the kitchen below came savoury odours which filled the boy with longing, and the dog with restless excitement. Thoy had eaten nothing since the morning, and in this fasting condition a ni?ht on Blackfriars Bridge was not a cheering prospoct. Two ladies walking quickly up the street were struck by the pathetic little figure. The brilliant light from the shop window fell full upon the small pinched face and eager blue eyes, upon the untidy shock of reddish hair, and the fluttering rags.. The look of hun ger was unmistakeable, and it moved the elder lady to pity.

" Stop him for a moment, Edith; I must get him something to eat," she said, hastily entering the shop. The pretty fair-haired girl laid her hand on the boy's shoulder as he slowly turned away from the window. " You are hungry ?" she questioned, cloaely examining the intense little face upturned to hers. He nodded emphatically, looking up wifch wondering eyes at this beautiful, low - voiced lady, whose cold, sweet tones seemed so full of tenderness to him.

" You are often hungry 1" she con tinued.

" 'Most always, 1* he answered laconi cally.

" Well, here's a penny for you, and my friend will bring you out something to eat in a minute."

The boy was too much surprised to answer, but his sharp eyes were full of gratitude as he. awkwardly touched his cap. . i , ■

" Should you like to earn three pence to-morrow morning V she asked, still regarding the boy with greater interest.

" Rather !" he answered quickly. " There ain't many things as I wouldn't dofur.thripence."

" Do you know where Suffolk Street is?" • .

"Second turning to yer right," he said promptly. ' I live at the fifth house on the left hand side as you go, down," she said slowly. " Can you remember that 1" He nodded again, his face bright -with intelligence as he. followed her directions.

" I'lkremember."

" Odma at eleven o'clock," she said, "and ask for Miss Munro. lam going to make a picture of. you—send you to the Grosvenor if you are a success. If you are a good boy you shall have threepence a day until the picture is finished."

At this moment the other lady came out of the shop with a pafcelin her hand. . . i' ( l. ■ i

"Here is something to eat, my boy," she said, in a comfortable, motherly way. "Take it home and have a good meal, l^ow, Edith, if you are ready," ; - , ~., -, He watched them1 silently tjll they passed out, of sight, .jhis, -fgs.es round with astonishment. , . . .

"Here's1 ago !" he murmured, as Tie turned away from the brightly-lighted: window. "Thripence a day—why, I shall make my fortun'! Come, Smut, we'll find a doorstep and eaj our supper^. Oh, here's a go." , \ burning down; a rby-stree^ they soon found a sheltered door-step, on which they seated themselves. Smut pressed close to his master's side, eagerly sniff ing alt the parcel which the boy pro ceeded to open with fingers trembling, with excitement. ■-■----■

".Beef, roast Jbeef I \ Mn't we in luck, Smut 1 /■ ■ Aid : hot rUaters' jand bread I Oh, Bmuiviain'fc^he^stunner,' and no mistake f " " '

The food' was consumed in rapturous Bilence, while the icy wind swept by, unregarded by the happy pair in their sheltered corner.

"No nastry Bridge for us, Smut; ahe give me a penny, and we'll sleep hi a jolly warm room to-night," said the boy presently, holding out the greasy paper for the dog to lick. My eye! ain't we in luck 1 Thripence a day, Smut, that comes to one-and-six a week. Oh, sha'n't we be rich V

Smut thumped his short tail loudly in response, and pushed his cold nose affectionately against his master's

cheek.

"Thripence a day if I'm. a good boy," ho went on reflectively. "But, Smut, I ain't a good boy. I swear at the chaps when they call me ' Carrots, and I lick.'em when they say you're a Ugly brute. Good boys don't fight and swear. If she finds out as I ain't good, I s'pose she won't make a pictur' o' me no more—she'll stop the thri pence a day. But she sha'n't find out, ole man. I'll tell her I'm a pious chap as goes to the Sunday-school. Gentle folks think a deal o' they, Smut. Ain't they green, just ?" At 11 o'clook next morning, he was admitted into the house "in Suffolk street by a neat maid-servant, who eyed him suspiciously as she curtly told him to follow her upstairs. He was shown into a large, barely-fur nished room at the top of the house, where he found his friend of the pre vious night seated before an easel.

" Ah, there you are," she said care lessly; "and your little dog, too. What is his name f

"Smut."

" Smut ? But he isn't black."

" He's been washed," explained the boy. He was awful black when I seed him first; that s why I called him Smut. But he don't mind, bless you. He's got the temper of an angel." " How was it he was so black when you bought him 1" she asked, indiffer ently. "He is white now." "Didn't buy him,hesaid ;" "I fought fur him. 'Twas like this. When I wur a little un, I sco two chaps with a pup they was agoin1 to drown. They'd left him to starve in a coal-hole, but he wouldn't die, and so they wore agoin' to drown him."

" And you fought them 1" questioned the girl. "That was very bravo of you.

" There was nothing bravo 'bout it," he said, hastily. " I dared 'era to fight, ono after t'other, and I licked 'em both. That's how I come to have Smut."

"He ought to feel grateful to you," she said. " Now, will you stand on that platform, and turn towards the window ?—That's right. Now, lean forward a little, just as you wore when 1 saw you looking in at the shop last night.—That's capital. Stand just like that and keep as still as you can."

For some minutes she workod silently, while the boy stood perfectly still, scarcely daring to move an eyo lash.

• " I think we .may talk a little now," he said at length ; " but don't mqre your head when you apeak." "Eight you are," he returned, fixing his eyes steadily on tho patch of murky sky visible through the window. " What are you called V she asked, standing back from the canvas and re garding her work critically.

" Tim," he answered briefly. " And what is your other name 1"

"Ain't got no other," he said. "I'm just Tim."

" Well, what is your father called V she suggested, a little impatiently. Ain't got no father; ain't got no body but Smut."

" Have you lost your parents long 1" she said, with no touch of pity in the clear, low voice.

" Didn't lose 'em ! never had none," he returned indifferently "' 'Spect I grow'd," murmured the girl, suppressing a smile. "But you are such a little boy to bo alone in the world. Where do you* live 1"

"Streets, most times," he said. "Summer months we sleep out o' doors, Smut and me. But winter time we get a penny lodgin' when we're in luck."

" And when you are not in luck V

" Then we sleep on Blackfriars Bridge or the 'Bankment. The Bridge is warmest. There you 'can' get a corner out o' tho wind if you go early, before the best seats are took. On the 'Bankment 'tis fit to freeze yer marrer."

" Wouldu't you feel happier in the Workhouse?" she asked carelessly, standing back once more to catch the general effect. " Shouid be better off most like," he returned quietly. " But there ain't no place fur dogs in the 'Ouse, and Smut and me ain't agoin' to part."

"Do you ever go to church f ques tioned the girl, after a pause, fearing that he would grow restless if he did not talk.

" Constant," said the boy, unblush ingly; "and we go to Sunday-school reg'lar, Smut and me." " Smut, too 1" she asked absently.

" Leastways, Smut waits for me out side," he said hastily. " Oh, we're right down pious chaps, we are."

" There, I have done for this morning," she, said • presently, rising from her stool. '" Here is your money. I would give you more if I could afford it ; but lam poor, like you. Can you come at the same time to-morrow ?"

"Eight you are," he said, pocketing the pence slowly.

" Then I shall expect you at eleven. Good-bye—goodrbye, §mut."

Edith Munro had,a vivid recollec tion of' Tim as she'had beheld him in the Strand three weeks ago. The scene, had "impressed itself pii her xniiid. The busy street, the flickering lamplight, the slendej? figure of the boy as he had stood with his face pressed close against the glass, looking with longlug,

eyes into the brightly-lighted shop. But the picture had appealed to her imagination without in a way touching her heart; she had regarded the pathetic little figure as a possible "subject," but no tenderer feeling had moved her.

Tim passed as a model in the Suffolk street studio for some hours every day, and the painting was beginning to look life-like under the artist's skilful fingers. Encouraged by her careless questioning, the boy poured forth the whole of his pitiful history, unconscious that the words fell on inattentive ears. Nothing was hidden from her. His poverty, his loneliness, his passionate love for Smut, all were laid bare before the girl, whose interest in him was purely selfish, whose ques tions were prompted, solely by the desire to keep him quiet. Tim, how ever, was happily ignorant of her in difference, and her apparent sweetness awakened in him a devotion which filled his hungry little soul with en thusiasm. He thought of her as one far removed from the rest of the world —without a taint of evil. A sense of his own umvorthiness took possession of him, and weighed heavily on his loving heart. He had told her that he was a good boy—that he went regularly to church and Sunday-school, and the remembrance of this had be come unbearable to him.

As he walked slowly down SufFolk street ono morning, a mighty resolve formed itself in his mind. He ran upstairs hurriedly, fearing that his courage might forsake him if he gave himself time for thought, and his first feeling on finding the room unoccupied was one of disappointment. Smut curled himself up in his usual corner near the window, and Tim stationed himself before the easel, looking bitterly at the ragged figure which met his gaze. "You a good boy 1" he said, re garding the painting contemptuously. "You look like it, don't you? Your little game's 'bout done, ole man; you'll soon see the last of her."

He took his place quietly when she came in, his heart beating heavily under his ragged jacket as ho gazed out silently upon the patch of grey sky. The unusual silence struck the girl, and she regarded him with something akin to interest as ho stood there with the light falling upon his rigid little face.

" What makc3 you so quiet to day, Tim ? Has Smut been a bad dog V

" No, it ain't Smut," returned the boy drearily. "It's me that's been bad."

" Why, what have you done 1" she asked, her eyes growing warm with amusement.

" Twas the first day I came here,' he said, in the same dreary tones, never removing his gaze-from the win dow. "I told you a crammer; I said as how I went to church and to Sun day-school." " And it was not true V'\ she ques tioned lightly. "Never been inside a church — 'cept to warm myself," he answered doggedly. " Never been to Sunday school in all my born days."

" What made you tell such a story ?" she inquired, tho ludicrous side of the scene alone striking her.

" Wanted you to think I was a good chap," he returned, in a low, shamed voice. " You said you'd give mo thri pence a day if I was a good boy." " And why do'you tell me about it now1?" she nsked, curiously. "Is it because you know that I cannot finish the picture without you 1" " No, it ain't!" ho answered, roughly, looking round from the window for the first time.

"Why, then?" "Don't know 'xacly, but it ain't that," he said more quietly.

"Don't you know that it is very naughty to tell stories 1" she ques tioned, with an uncomfortable) sense that some rebuke was required of her.

" 'Spose so," he answered, humbly. " Well, we'll say no more about it," she said, vaguely. "But don't do it again." When Tim entered the studio next day he found Miss Munro sitting before her easel, looking pale and languid.

"I shall not want you this morning,' she said, wearily. "I am not well enough to paint to-day."

"You look awful white," said the boy gently.

"You can come to-morrow, as usual," she continued in the same sub dued tone. " I daresay I shall be fit for work to-morrow."

" Hope you'll be better soon, "he said, as he awkwardly moved away.

He walked slowly down the street and along the Embankment, his dog trotting close at his heels. A thin, grey mist hung over the river, veiling the opposite shore from view. As he looked thoughtfully across the stretch of water, his eyes absently followed a boat as it silently became visible out of the mist, and as silently melted away into it once more. Smut jumped up upon the wall presently, and sat there, looking down gravely into the gloomy water. Tim patted the dog with an absent air, and when he spoke his voice was low and sad.

" She said as how she was poor that first night," he whispered brokenly, " and I've never given it a thought! She lays out thripence a day on that pictur' 'cos she's agoin' to sell it. Just like me and my matches, only her money takes longer acoming in." Smut was quick to read the sadness in his master's tone, and he pressed his head close against the ragged jacket with an inarticulate murmur of sym pathy . " You're sorry, ain't you, ole chap 1" continued the boy wistfully. "You love her too, don't you ?" Smutwiigged liis tail enthusiastically. It was his private belief that his master overrated Miss Munro's charms.

"She's hard up," Baid Tim, after a pause, << She's awful hard up, Smut,

She ain't got no money to buy any breakfast—that's why she looked so white. And we had bread and hot coffee 1" he ended, with a sob. For some minutes he was silent, his eyes wide and miserable as they rested on the grey stretch of water ; but his face cleared presently, and a smile parted the small lips. " I've got it!" he cried, triumphantly, raising his aims from the wall. " I'll tell her to-morrer. Come, Smut."

It was with shy eagerness that Tim entered the studio next day. His little face was pale and pinched, for he had tasted no food that morning; but his expression waa one of entire happiness. In his hand he carried a parcel done up in a dingy piece of newspaper, and this he proceeded to lay timidly upon the girl's lap. " Why, what is it ?" she questioned, regarding the boy curiously from her high stool as she sat at the easel. "It reels quite hot."

"It's — it's taters," he said, awk wardly. "Potatoes?" she echoed in amaze ment.

"They're—l brought'em fur you," lie explained, rubbing one thin leg against the other nerviously, "Most think roast 'taters prime!—l never touch 'em myself," he added hastily ; "no more does Smut. Come kere, ■sir!" as the dog snuffed longingly at the parcel still lying unopened on the girl's lap. i

She looked helplessly from the par cel again, and then the room rang with her merry laugh.

"Thank you," she said, as soon as she could speak. I—l will look at them presently. Will you put them in the fender for—the present ?

Tim experienced a vague feeling of disappointment as he silently obeyed. He had hoped to have the pleasure of seeing her eat these potatoes for which he and Smut had gone breakfastless this bitter morning, and her laughter had pained, without enlightening, him. He was almost glad when at length she fcold him that he might go, for he did not feel at ease in her presence to day.

" Here is your money," she said "It is sixpence this morning; I forgo! to pay you yesterday."

" Keep, it," ho said awkwardly. " Keep it till I ask for it. I don't want thripence a clay no longer. I'll ask for it when I want it.'.

" You want to save it up till it gets a big sum f she questioned carelessly. " You are going to buy something with it?" " Y"cs,'' he said eagerly; " that's it. I'm ngoin' to buy something." " Very well then, I will keep it for you safely," she returned, replacing the money in her purse.

" And I'll ask fur it when I want it," he repeated earnestly. " You'll know as I don't want it if I don't ask fur it.'\

Tim had never found it easy to pick up his scanty living, aud the effort had been greater than ever of late. His small face regained its old, half-starved look as the days passed on, but he bore himself bravely in the presence of the •j;irl for whom he was sacrificing so much, and she never noticed the change in him.

She told him one morning that she shotiM not need him after that week, for the finishing touches were now all that the painting required. He re ceived the news in silence, and for the few remaining days went about sadly, treasuring up every careless word that she uttered. His affection fov Smut, too, seemed to deepen as the. week drew to its close, and it was with pas sionate misery that he talked to the dog as he washed him that Saturday morning.

"It ain't 'cos I don't love you, Smut," he said with a sob, " You know lhat 010 man, don't you ? And yon won't forget me, will you, Smut?— Praps I shall see you in the street some day, ole chap. I shall come and look at the 'ouse constant."

His little face was pale and set as he entered the studio, and there was a strained look in the wide blue eyes as lie took his place before the window. The light fell softly upon the ragged figuro, upon the warm-tinted hair, the rigid features; and the girl .sitting near at hand saw it all, and felt only an artistic pleasure in her model. His poverty, . his wretchedness, were nothing to her; he had fulfilled the service she had required of him, and would pass for ever out of her life when he left her room to-day.

" You said once you felt lonesome at times," he said at "last, his eyes fixed earnestly on the window.

:{' Yes," she agreed earnestly. "It is lonely up here.' He was silent again, looking steadily at the little patch of sky visible above the roofs of the houses opposite. "Smut's a very good dog," he con tinued presently. "He ain't pertickler neither—anything as is agoin' does for Smut; and he's that patent when your'e out of luck!" • He seems an inoffensive little dog," she allowed, glancing at the terrier as he lay under the window. Why, how white he looks to-day." " Been washed," explained the boy briefly. ;«'He's a handsome dog, is Smut—when he's clean." •

"There; I think I have done with you now," she said, after a long silence. " You have been" a very good boy, Tim, and the picture is a great suc cess. 1'

He descended from the platform slowly, and stood twisting his cap in his hands, while his lips twitched nervously.

" You can keep him, if you like," he said awkwardly. «He's very good company, Smut is."

" Keep him ?" she echoed carelessly. " But don't you want him V ■ " No," he answered slowly. ** J I'm tired o' Smut." .■

"In that case he can stay," she re turned indifferently, »I daresay he will not be much/trouble."' •

"He ain't a bit o'trouble," said tlie boy wistfully. " And he's very affec tionate." „ ■v a a ti\ "Well, he can stay," she said. " And here's your money, ? Tim; quite a large sum now, isn't it V <I_l don't want it,' he returned hastily. • I said as how I'd ask fur it when I wanted it.' • .

' But you are not coming any more; you know. I have finished with you now.' » ~ 1 I ain't got a place to put it to, he said. 'I'm sure to lose it if I take it away:' ' .. , 'Well, call1 for it when you want it, she suggested. 'Then you can see Smut.' '. .'■.. .

'Yes,' he echoed with a. strange smile; 'then I shall see Smut.' ■ . He took the dog in his arms and smoothed the- rough white coat with tender lingers. ;.: ' Smut knows as he's got to stay, he said, placing the little creature on the floor. ' I'll call for the money when I

want it.'

He stood in the doorway for a mo ment, taking a last, lingering look at the dog trembling in the corner—at the girl as she sat there, impatiently waiting for him to go, and then, with a short, dry sob, he went slowly down the steep staircase, and out into the wintry street. R A. Key. '

THE AUCKLAND EVENING STAR, FRIDAY. MAT 1&^1887,

6



Conveyances. TIME TABLE DAVIES BROS." 'BUSSES DEVONPORT TO TAKAPUNA, HURST MERE, LAKE BEACH, AND SCHOOLHOUSE, Telephone: Devonpobt Bureau. Leaves Victoria Wharf, Dkvonport.— 820 a.m., 10.20 a.m., 12.45 p.m., 2 p.m., 4.20 p.m. Sundays—lo a.m., 11 a.m., 220 p.m., 3 p.ni. Return Fares, Is 6d; Weekly Tickets at Reduced Rates. Leaves Takapona. — 9.5 a.m.. 11.15 a.m., 1.35 p.m., 3 p.m., 5.15 p.m. Sundays—ll a.m., 12 a.m., 4 p.m., 6 p.m. Special Trips can be ar ranged at Post Office, Devonport. Ladies' and Gent's SADDLE HORSES, BUGGIES, BREAKS, WAGGON ETTES, and conveyances of every description at shortest notice. Expresses meet every boat to receive and foi ward luggage of all descriptions. -TTTT ELLS BROS. CONVEYANCES ON HIRE. Office: Victoria Wharf. General Carters, Receiving and Forwarding Agents. Waggon for Furniiure Removal, Coal, Coke, and Firewood Dealers, General Carters, &c. Telephone : Devonpobt Bubeau. PATERSON AND CO., GRAIN MERCHANTS. LIVERY AND BAIT STABLES. Omnibuses, Brakes, Cabs, and Saddle Horses for Hire at lowest rates. Special arrangements made with Evening and f Picnic Parties. Stores and Stables:— Lome-street, Mt. Roskill, and Avondale, Auckland, N.Z. ATERSON'S 'BUSES START From Victoria-street to Mount Roskill—B, 8.45, 9.45 (via Stonayhurst), 10.30, 11.15 (via Stonoy hurst), 12, 1 (via Stoneyhurst), 1.15, 2.30 (via Stoneyhurat), 3.15, 4, 4.30 (via Stoneyhurst), 5 (via Stoneyhurgt), 5.15,5.3U (viaStoneyhurst); 5.45 (viaStonoyhurst), 6.5, 7 (viasitonoyhum), 8.30, 10 (via Stonoyhurst). Saturday—l2.3o, 1.15,2,8,9,11. . From Mount Ro3kill-^7'<<TiaoStonoyhurat), 7.20, 8 (via Stoneyhurst), 8.25,8.45 (viaStoneyhurst), 9.30, 10.50 (via Stoneyhurst), 11.15, 12.15 (via Stoneyhurst), 1, 1.15 (via Stoneyhurst), 2.80, 5.15 (viaStoneyhurst), 4,1.45 (viaStoneyhurst) 5.30 (via Stoneyhurst), 8.15,7,9.16. Saturday— 1.15,2,8.30,8.45. ' . From Queen-street (opposite Wyndham-street) Ito Mount Eden—B, 8.30, 9, 9.30, 10.15, 11, 11.30 12.30, 1.15 (omitted on Saturday), 2, 2.45,8.15, 4.15,4.30,5, 5.7 (omitted on Saturday), 5.30, 6.5 9, 10. Saturday—l, 1.30, 7, 8.15, 9, 10, after opera. From Mount Eden—7.30,8,8.30,8.45,9,9.30,10.15, 11, 11.30, 12.15, 1.15, 2, 2.15. 3.30,1, 4.15, 5, 5.30 5.45,7,9.30. Saturday—6, 8, 9, 9.30. From Union Bank to Mount Albert and Avon dale—9.ls,lo.ls, 12.15, 2 (omitted on Saturday), 3 (omitted on Saturday), 4.15 (omitted on Saturday), 5.15, 6.15 (omitted on Saturday) 8 (Mount Albert only), 10.15 (omitted on Satur day). Saturday—l.ls, 2.30, 3.45,9,10,11. From Avondale and Mount Albert—7,B, 9,10 15 11.30, 1.30, 3, i, 5.30, 9 (Mount Albert only)! Saturday—2.3o,s, C.30. From National Bank to New Lynn—lo.3o (from Avondalo only), 1.30, 5.30. Saturday—lo.3o Sundays, weather permitting—lo.4s,6. From Now Lynn — 8.15, 12.15 (from AvondsUe only), 3.15 (omitted on Saturday). Saturday— 5.30. Sundays, weather permitting—9 a m 4.30. ' Special 'Buses put on should sufficient Induce ment offer. Hotels. pRINCE OF WALES HOTEL, HOWICK, MRS. HINDLEY, Proprietress. The above Hotel has been renovated and im proved, and affords good Accommodation to Visitors. Parties driving out on Sundays, and requiring Dinner, are respectfully requested to Telephone the day previous. Good Paddocks and Stabling, with best oaten chaff, hay, and corn. mHE COMMERCIAL HOTEL, WHANGAREI. LORAM, Proprietor. Commercial Men, Visitors, Families, &c. will find this Hotel replete with every convenience for the comfort of Patrons on the most moderate terms. W WW W¥ THE RENOWNED OLD CITY CLUB HOTEL, SHORTLANDSTREET. RENOWNED, because it was known of old as the resort of the business men of Auckland, who have the credit ef appreciating good liquors. I have the pleasure to announce that having Purchased the Lease, of this Hotel, and being determined to supply only the BEST BRANDS, I do not fear the result MY SPECIALTY is that I «tick to JOHN WALKER & SONS' OLD HIGHLAND KIL MARNOCK WHISKY that took FIRST PRIZE MEDAL at SYDNEY, MELBOURNE, and PHILADELPHIA EXHIBITIONS, HEN-" NESSY'S and MARTELLrS BRANDY, and I will sell them in the bottle or glass UNADUL ■ TJSRED. ■ ' b* a r oberts« PROPRIETOR (LATE Off ALBERT HOTEL).. V



. i. ; Business Notices.- ~ CONSUMPTION^ CURAjg "MR G. T. CONGREvA oi consumption" AND ITS SUCCESSFUL TREATMENT. ■ Stowing that direful disease to be curable in all its stages •' »ta , ASTHMA, CHRONIC BRONCHITIS, fe —————————— . . , . ■■, ■. v* Feom tub " Christian Herald," March 31 i BS 6 MR G. X. CONGRKVE'B ™f £™TOF TONSUMPTION \ " Continues to be m»ite t» great) blessing to aufferers, far and wide to kingdom." ' ■ "SftJSlfi " The world t»nci w« otreelves owe him a debt of gratify. Notion •' ' a young lady undfci lite e-re., who has recovered her health, »*lA»iiS§l9W cases (Mr Oongreve io publishing one ever week), many of wtiofcllapW past all hope." \ _ : ' ■ ; "There can be lo doubt that for Consumption and other Cheat Camii ' f greve is a specialist of tbe first order, and stands unrivalled, CertainlyT fcl*! othordiscovery in medical science from which the conßumptivepatienttaavS*l!! hope as from bis." • ■ J*'*9w| " The Oink jwauaVlo and THIUT7-THRKE oases which are recorded in v - book are a most convincing testimony; but what have been long ainatverr^ of cure which have been publiahed for several years past in the weekly! Jail I included), one every week." {The reader is referred to the " GhristiaVSi I tian Age," "Christian Globe," &C..&C). "orid,»*E. The author (Mr Congreve, of Coombe Lodge, Peckham, London) haehs entreated to make his treatment known in all the British Colonies I Book U- SIXPENCE, Oil SEVENPJBHCE, POST JfiEß^j PusLisfTED by UPTON AND CO., AtJOSLAND, ' And may be ordered through any Bookst'ler TIT-BITS~~I FOR ECONOMIST! T ARGE SIZE 9x4 BLANKETS, good quality, 3s lid each, orfe JLJ 12s 6d per pair. Only at the Sale of the D. I. C.,;CaDal| Queen Street. mo MEET THE TlMES.—Winter Dress Materials, qi, s|V(|f -*■ (several hundred pieces to select from),, well worth from 9d to fij the Sale of the D. I. C, Canada Buildings, Queen Street. T ACE CURTAINS, 6 yards long, 28 lid per pair. Only at the Grc| 1 -*-^ the D. I. 0., Canada Buildings, Queen Street. ' T ITTLE BOYS' SUITS, all sizes, at about half original prices, at tie I -*-'• Canada Buildings, Queen Street. OVERCOATS FOR MEN at 16s 6d, worth 30s, lined thrdtigbulg plaid. This line cannot be procured again. Can nyw be'isii Sale of the p. I. C, Canada Buildings, Queen Street. ' TV/TANTLES AND MILLINERY half-price during the Sale of the ft I ■^-^ Canada Buildings, Queen Street. T ITTLE BOYS' OVERCOATS at 25 percent, less than our;bnginit{j •*-* at the Great Sale of the D. I. C.^ Canada Buildings, Queen Street, (CALICOES 2d, 2id, 3d, 3U per yard at the Sale of the D.3 ■ Buildings, Queen Street;. as: >r i tu1 ]\TEN'S- TWEED SUITS at 17s 6d the complete suit;ißsfe XTJ- AucklaniJ^.at ,255. At the Sale of the D. I. C, t§^^ Queen Street."' '■' "I T^HITE TWILL SHEETINGS from 7fd to Is per yar^vortl^! cent^mor^e. At the Sale of the D. I. C, Canada'M® Street. ■-.;. ?..■...' _ . . . - .. . .^.";--_ XjUOWERS AND FEATHERS half-price during the Sale of theDi -*: Canada Buildingfj, Queen Street.: jgjCONOMISTS in these times should look where they can spend Mb to the best advantage, and a glance at our Stock and Piicea vience the most sceptical of the WONDERFUL BAR GAB AT THE SALE OF THE - - ILIJ. I, V_A CANADA BUILDINGS, QUEEN ST., AJJCO JOHN" SCOTT, Pbopeieiok. BRICKS, PIPEST HENDERSON- HOBSOWVOtt ■■■.■. ■ : ? THE AUCKLAND BRICK ARD POHEeY COMPANY T)EQ to announce that they have completed the purchase of the bitf^1 property of the Auckland Brick and The Comfant (Liwim). The extensive works at Henderson and Hobaonvillo are now in full opetatH are turning out Bricka and Pottery of tho 6neat qaality. ' " ORDERS RECEIVED AT THE 1 COMPANY'S DEPOT, BREAKWATEK ROAD. ' ■ ■ ■,%:r-.:. BY '.'■■■' ■% EDWIN HORNSBY, AGENT, ' , , OR AT THE TOWN OFFICE, 14, VICTORIA ARCADE, lORT-STR*? ~ JOSEPH BAKBER, GeDer^J WE ARE THE'CHEAPER. KABANGAHAPE ROAD V . GORNER OF BASEST.