and his ability recognised by all; but somehow or other, statesman as he undoubtedly is, he does not possess the faculty of inspiring others with full confidence in him. Sincerity, that first of virtues, that grand characteristic of all who would lead others, is not generally attributed to him. He does not seem to have set any one great object before him as the aim of his political career, and pursued it through good report and evil report to the end. He has worked spasmodically, quickly seizing an idea, energetically pursuing it, and then abandoning it for another without reference to its consistency with the first; this has been the main characteristic of his public life. Besides he is too zealous, too eager; and by the power of an invective, which sometimes degenerates into Billingsgate, he has wounded the amour propre of too many not to insure always a violent opposition against him. He forgets or never knew the value of the maxim, always to treat an enemy as if he might one day become a friend, and a friend as if he might one day become an enemy. In private life he is charming, free from all superciliousness or conceit, genial in his manners, fascinating in his conversation, and those who esteem him most and most appreciate his noble qualities, most regret the tarnish which conceals them from common view. Featherston, we suppose, is out of the question; those barren hills and that bleak beach of Wellington occupy all his attention and absorb all his thought; so that he who might be the great statesman of the colony is satisfied to be the Superintendent of an almost insignificant province. Fitzgerald, he is understood to be an eager bidder for office; the impulsive Irishman proclaims it in every page of the Canterbury Press, and in every page he bewilders his readers by the brilliancy of his writing, and the camelion-like hues which his policy assumes; never twice the same, fertile in ideas to profusion, he is the very model of political inconsistency. Providence in its bounty has endowed him with every sense but common sense, and with every kind of ability but that practical wisdom which is rewarded in this world when genius goes a-begging. Last session at first his power in the House was enormous, but soon it began to be felt that his light was as unsafe a guide as that of the will-o'-the-wisp. Major Richardson makes an amusing speech, but fails utterly to inspire people with any belief that he is a leader of men. Such be your Government, O people of New Zealand, from whom you are to get such salvation as you can.

Our sympathies are with the Northern Island, and we tremble for its fate. The Middle Island is rich, and safe, and strong, and says "What have I to do with thee, thou poor and feeble but lovely Northern neighbour; have not I gold fields and sheep runs and population, am I not prosperous in the extreme, and what hast thou ?- -a soft and genial climate, abundance of the richest soil which you cannot use, and a native difficulty. Begone, thou art an unholy thing." Separation in some form is sure to be tried, perhaps not in its worst of a complete division politically of the two islands; but if we can forecast at all, two things will be aimed at by the Southerners, a fixed pecuniary contribution supplementing the heavily burthened revenues of the North, and the removal of the seat of Government to Christchurch. Auckland need no longer fear Wellington; if they are wise they will both unite their forces against the Southern combina

It must be understood that our contributor speaks here for himself alone. The sympathies of the Magazine are with the colony as a whole.-ED. S. M. M.

tions which are at this instant being made. Probably ancient jealousies will prevent this, or render it luke-warm in the extreme; in that case they will become an easy prey to their united opponents. We must confess we view the approaching session with misgiving,-with more of apprehension than of hope. Great and organic changes will be attempted, and if not fully, at least partially achieved,-changes which must necessarily be prejudicial to the interests of the North Island of New Zealand.

THE PAKEHA WAR SONG.

THE storm has arisen, and over the shore,
So lately reflecting the sunshine of Peace,
The trumpet has sounded. The toga we wore

We have changed for our armour, our land to release.

Too long we have waited the strife to avert,

By humanity's prompting compelled to forbear;
But our foes, all untrained to humanity's art,

Have thought that our waiting was sign of our fear.

They reck'd not the evil they sought to entail

They dreamt not of wounds, or of death, or defeat;

Of the numbers which (ere a new year they could hail)

Will have found their repose in stern death's winding sheet.

They thought but of victory, each wished at first

To engage in the clash of tumultuous strife,

But they found that our fear, not our courage was hush'd,
That each bang of our guns bore the knell of a life.

Once engaged, it behoves us to 'quit us like men,
To do all our duty, and trust to our might;

While we hope that the issue desired may attend,

Let us strike for our GOD for our QUEEN and the RIGHT!

Auckland, N.Z., August 21, 1863.

C.

MRS. SIMPKINSON'S PARTY.

Tale of the Garotters.

CHAPTER I.

IF that portion of the world which can afford to treat itself to three meals a day were canvassed, I doubt not but that the majority would agree upon naming breakfast as the most pleasant of the three. You have a consciousness of the day being before you, you feel fresh and bright after your matutinal "tub;" your letters are by your plate (I pre-suppose no unpleasant news expected), and, luxury of luxuries, there lies the Times, duly aired by your eldest daughter, awaiting your perusal. Herein, I think, lies the great charm of breakfast; you can read while the meal is going on. It is so undoubtedly the privilege of a free-born Briton to read his paper while at breakfast, that I feel confident any objection on the part of a wife would be considered by Sir Cresswell Cresswell as quite sufficient grounds for a demand for “ separation." It is while engaged at this pleasant meal that I beg to introduce to the reader some of the characters of this veritable story-Mr. and Mrs. Simpkinson, their two daughters, Arabella and Fanny, and Master Tommy, a young gentleman of the age of twelve or thereabouts, who will not often have to appear in the course of the narrative. Paterfamilias, deep in the "leader" of the Times, asks for a second cup of tea. Mrs. Simpkinson, loquitur: "Mr. Simpkinson, will you please put down the Times for one moment and listen to me ?"

Obedience is the first duty of a soldier; Mr. Simpkinson, being a volunteer, was probably deeply impressed with this maxim, so he laid down the paper, his looks plainly expressing his thought-"What the deuce is coming now?"

"I've been talking for the last ten minutes, and I don't believe you have heard a single word," said Mrs. Simpkinson.

"Oh yes, my dear," answered her lord and master; "you were saying that-that-"

"There my dears," and Mrs. Simpkinson turned to her daughters, "I knew how it would be; that horrid paper quite spoils your papa's breakfast, and makes him a perfect bear. I was saying, William," continued she with a rapid change from forte to piano, "that I thought that, as Bella and Fan have been out so often lately, we ought to show some return for the civilities paid them, and that-"

"Bless me," cried Mr. Simpkinson, jumping up suddenly, "it's halfpast nine! I shall miss the 'bus; my hat and umbrella, girls !”

"Never mind the omnibus this time, William. Girls, just leave your papa and me alone for a few minutes ;" and when they had gone out,

Mrs. Simpkinson, pointing to the door by which they had left, added "I have a reason for what I say, my dear."

"Well; I suppose what must be, must," ejaculated the resigned Simpkinson as he sat down again.

Indeed I have. In the first place, the girls have been out a good deal lately, and we really ought to do something; in the next place, I wish to show every attention to Mr. Soppleton. Fanny has, I am sure, made a great impression in that quarter.'

"Soppleton why the fellow is a downright ass!" exclaimed paterfamilias; "besides, I thought-why it's only the other day you were praising young Redford to the skies, and giving him every encouragement.”

"Pray, William, have you never made any mistakes in your life? I have studied Mr. Redford's character, and, I regret to say, the more I see of it the less I like it. He is accustomed to the society of wild young men, and has not got those sober steady habits which make the good husband. Mr. Soppleton is a quiet gentlemanly young man, who will devote himself entirely to his wife, and who has also a very comfortable income, £1,500 a year, I believe."

"W-hew! Now the murder's out" growled Mr. Simpkinson. "Redford has only about £600 with his salary, and that's why you throw him over."

"Mr. Simpkinson, I wonder at you; do you suppose for a moment such mercenary motives could influence me? No. Fanny's happiness is my object, and I believe that it will be best promoted by inducing her to accept Mr. Soppleton's attentions."

"Well, I prefer Redford; however, we were not talking about either of them, but about a party; I believe you want to give one ?"

"I do."

"Then give it any day you like; only don't bother me any more about it."

So saying, Mr. Simpkinson took up his hat, and, in an exceedingly bad humour with his wife, himself, and all mankind, went forth to the city. He was a stockbroker; and the house where the above conversation took place was a detached villa in Albert Terrace, Maida Hill. To it we must now return, leaving the old gentleman to pursue his way along the Paddington Canal to catch a city bus at the Edgeware Road.

"Well, my dears," said mamma, entering the morning-room; "your papa has consented to give a ball, so we must set to work upon the arrangements."

This was no such easy matter, as the architect who had planned No. 12, Albert Terrace, had made little provision for ball-giving tenants. The drawing-room would do to dance in, the dining-room for the wall flowers; the morning-room at the back would be required for tea and coffee, and that opposite would be the receptacle for coats and hats, but where was the supper to be laid out ?

"I suppose, my dears," at last said mamma, "we must give up the idea of supper, and be satisfied with sandwiches handed round."

"Oh, impossible, mamma "" cried both young ladies in one breath. "What would people think?" said Fanny.

“And besides," added Arabella, "only fancy what Mrs. Fitzhammerton would say !"

Now the Simpkinsons were but new-comers in Maida Hill, and Mrs.

Fitzhammerton reigned supreme as Queen of Fashion in that suburban region. It was at last decided that a marquee should be put up in the back garden, which (the marquee, not the garden,) could be easily warmed by a stove, and that the only thing to do was to hope for a fine night, which, it being now the latter end of October, implied that the Simpkinson family was of a decidedly sanguine temperament. The next thing was to determine who should and who should not be asked, and Fanny sat down, pen in hand, to write down the names as her mother dictated them.

"Mr. and Mrs. Fitzhammerton, of course," said Mrs. Simpkinson ; "Lady Snarlington, the Fullertons. Let me see-"

"Mrs. De Vincks, I suppose, mamma," said Arabella.

"I have half a mind to give her her right name, and call her 'Winks,'" whispered Fanny to her sister.

"Oh, yes, certainly," said mamma, "Mr., Mrs., and Miss; she sings very nicely

Sings!" interrupted Fanny; "I call it screeching out of tune; and must I request the pleasure of the company of that dreadful hawhaw son of theirs?"

Fanny," said her mother, "you must not be so sarcastic; sarcastic young ladies are not admired at the present day. Mr. Adolphus must of course be asked; and as for his sister, she was the favourite pupil of Signor Smitherine, and that stamps her at once as quite an 'artiste.' Mr. Augustus Soppleton; and, Fanny, please pay attention to me, I beg you will make a point of not being engaged when Mr. Soppleton asks you to dance. He is a young man whom I admire excessively, and for whom I have a great regard. I think I may say he paid you marked attention the other night at Lady Snarlington's.

Fanny held her head down very low whilst writing this name; her mother was too absorbed in mentally reviewing her acquaintance to notice the look of sorrow which came across the previously joyous face of her youngest daughter.

"I suppose, mamma," asked Bella, at the same time pressing her sister's foot, as you have come to the gentlemen, Mr. Redford's name ought to

be put down?"

"I really am not so sure," was the answer, while Fanny's cheeks and neck became crimson; "I don't know whether Mr. Redford is exactly the kind of young man I like to see dancing with my daughters."

"Oh, mamma!" ejaculated Fanny, without, however, looking up. "And," added Bella, "you forget what nice parties his aunt, Mrs. Holmeswell, gives, and how often we have gone to them."

"Well ; I suppose he must be asked; put him down, Fanny. Mr. and Mrs. Slipton, the Twentyswells," &c., &c.; and, the list duly finished, the young ladies sat down to write out the invitations.

To a good walker, the Regent's Park is no great distance from Albert Terrace; you have only to cross the Edgeware Road, go up the St. John's Wood Road, turn to your left, and you find yourself in that grand resort of nursery-maids and Life Guardsmen from the Albany-street Barracks, who seem, in conjunction with the wild beasts of the zoological, to have a monopoly of the park. On week-days it is deserted enough. A few perambulators are wheeled up under the shade, their contents being permitted to choke themselves quietly, whilst their attendant flirts with